Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Here I Go Again On My Own....

Well, OK, not "on my own," but hey, I'm definitely "goin' down the only road I've ever known".... You know, the more I think about it, Whitesnake really doesn't fit my story, but whatevs. I don't trust people who don't love classic hair band music.

I digress.

Backstory: almost four weeks ago, I was playing a little beach volleyball. Fun in the sun, working new muscles, good times with friends; it was fantastic. While running for a ball, I managed to get my big toe caught in the sand, forcing it down while the rest of my foot traveled forward. Painful to say the least. I had a little bruising and the discomfort was minimal, however, the few classes I tried taking after the injury I noticed I was doing a lot of sickling on that foot. I've come to realize that since starting pointe, my pain tolerance has definitely gone WAY up.

Fast forward to yesterday: So there I was.....all excited about going back to ballet class after taking a week or so off while I moved condos. I got my ballet bag packed up, went to work, planned out snacks and food - I couldn't wait!

While at work I thought, "Hmm...registration for pointe class is going on right now (new semester starts Monday). My toe still hurts from the beach volleyball injury....I should probably get it checked out before paying for classes, 'cause I'm a responsible Adult Recreational Dancer."

So I call up trusty and find myself a podiatrist. I go to an appointment at 3:30.

The podiatrist, who is a very pleasant young man, takes some x-rays, pokes around, and tells me, "Young lady, you have a bone cyst and a possible small tear in your ligament." He then refers to ballet as a sport, which I secretly love, since it means he understands the rigors that ballet puts the body through, as well as the amount of conditioning necessary to do it well.

I sigh, disheartened, and give him my best "TO GO HELL, DEVIL MAN" stare. Unphased by my ire, he proceeds to tell me I have to take the next session of pointe off, take the next few weeks of ballet off, and go buy ugly rigid shoes or else he will put me in a boot.

I stomp as gracefully as I can out of the office, armed with a list of orthopedic-approved shoes and a growing dread of telling La Danseuse I have to take time off....AGAIN...for ANOTHER injury.

I'm wearing my new orthopedic-looking Danskos today. I feel like an oaf, but I have to say, I'll be damned if they're not pretty comfortable...

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