Reach for the Beach

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It’s much better than this time Sunday and Monday, but the pain in my achilles tendon persists, meaning my worst fear’s been realized: My husband was right.

He’s been after me for years months to stop running when I’m obviously injured. But his motives are always suspect. If I am down, he must be up…up to doing the chores, errands and driving that I cannot. It makes it hard for me to listen to his advice and even harder to admit that he might know what he’s talking about. So I’m sneaking out of the house this morning to do my first gym workout at the small fitness center where I now work. It’s only 45 minutes on the stationary bike. It’s also casual Friday, so I can actually gently stuff comfortable clothes into my gym bag to change into after I shower. There are no silk shirts or linen suits to coddle. And it’s Bagel Friday on our floor, so I don’t have to worry about where to get breakfast afterward. Hollah.

You can see the ocean from the fourth-floor terrace, and yesterday I set out at lunch to walk to the shore. I got 15 minutes into it when the ankle began acting up. Still, that’s 10 minutes more than I could do on Tuesday. The beach looks to be about two miles by street from my office building, maybe a little less. There’s also a nifty trail traversing a lagoon across the freeway. I’m thinking it’s only another week or two before I actually run it. First, I need to be able to get down stairs without wincing.

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