The Shins.

I am battling a mild case of shin splints--for all you non-runners out there, it means when the front of your shins feel a little sore from running. It happens to me once in a while and usually goes away with time, some ice and taking it easy, but it never fails to annoy me because I don't want to take time, some ice or take it easy.

After my run on Thursday, my shins felt particularly sore and so I took off Friday and Saturday morning woke up debating whether or not to go out to the park and run. It was 70 degrees warm and sunny and brilliant, and after a few test hops in my apartment, I thought to myself, what the heck?

It didn't go so great. The sun was shining so brightly, that it actually felt too hot for a run and I felt thirsty immediately. The pope is in town and apparently, he was going to be going down Fifth Avenue, so rather than get lost in nature, all I could hear was the roar of helicopters that were hovered over us. And the worst of it was that every so often my shins would hurt me, rattling me a bit. By the time I reached the hardest hill of run, I was nervous I couldn't be able to make it up. Then when I passed this girl, I ended up tripping, my ankle twisted and I landed hard on the side of my foot. Hurt a little but I kept going, and all of a sudden, I was walking. The rest of the run was like that--running and walking. I know that I had the strength to do the run, but I was mentally spent.

Afterwards--to make me feel better--I decided to treat myself to some window shopping and ended up buying an overpriced, but super awesome dress for Jacey and Kunka's wedding that I wish I could wear NOW. Then I got a pedicure to pamper myself. Dan and I met up, and together we went to Ruby Foo's to meet my sister Annette and Kent who were in the city to see a show that evening. We have a great dinner. But then we got up to leave and all of a sudden I could not walk. My left foot was killing me with every step.

"What's with you?" Dan asked as I hobbled around.

"I don't know." I said. But then it hit me. That moment on the hill. I must have sprained something.

We went home and watched The Bridge Over the River Kwai, my foot throbbing with pain the whole time. Every hour, I iced it, but it hurt so much to walk that I was hopping on one foot to and from the freezer.

Dan sighed. "It doesn't hurt that bad. It's all in your head."

I did not like him very much then. Then I asked him to get my computer for me, and he sighed deeply and acted annoyed. I didn't like him at all then.

By the end of the night, and two Advils later, it felt a little better and I am happy to say that this morning it's practically recovered and I can walk without a noticeable limp.

I decided that I would take the day off from working out, and take it easy this week. Maybe my body is trying to tell me something. Take time, some ice, and take it easy. But why do I feel so guilty about it?