Plantar fascitis. Achilles tendinitis. Iliotibial band syndrome. Shin splints. Morton’s neuroma.
These are names you can get excited about. You’re limping around the break room. Co-worker asks what’s wrong. “I have had it with people who criticize the president’s stand on Syria without having a clue what’s going on there,” you scream. Um, no, why are you limping? Oh, that. If you come back with “well, it’s either my Morton’s neuroma or maybe just an ITBS flare-up, or possibly I dropped a piano on my foot while distracted over the weekend,” you’ll get the look of respect.
Sadly, you get nothing when you reply, “oh, Runner’s Knee.”
What the hell? Did they just run out of cool names? “Runner’s Knee” says “Well, what did you expect, you moron? I TOLD you running was going to ruin your knees.”
So I’ve been going with that dropped piano thing, which not only elicits sympathy from the masses, but gives me an undeserved musical cachet. Not that piano is much of a musical cachet. But still.
Yes, the old Runner’s Knee flared up shortly after viewing a photo of a butterscotch Dilly Bar, a concoction known to cause debilitating injuries. But I had no idea you could get it just from looking at a picture. I owe my sex-ed teacher an apology.
Anyhow, it’s Day 4 or 5 and it’s not as much fun as the brochures would indicate. I went through 700 theories on treatment till I finally found one that said to just run until you couldn’t take it any more, then walk. I like that one because it’s pretty much what I do anyhow.
The one other suggestion was to ice it. But we never seem to have ice, so I’m ice creaming it instead. I had a pint last night, but results are inconclusive. May try doubling up today.
But no butterscotch …