Running has been my life for the past 7 years. I rediscovered it on a beach in Jamaica, and when that happened, I rediscovered myself.
Then my husband roped me into Salsa lessons. At the first sign of foot distress, I blamed the dancing. For a couple of months I suspected it was the salsa shoes and opted for “dance sneakers” to help ease the force placed on the ball of my foot. But before I could even try these beauties out, the damage had already been done. Sure, I enjoyed the Salsa, but it wasn’t worth the cost of my passion.
We all have an injury story. I’ve had my fair share, but never to the extent of what I have now: a diagnosed partial tear of the Flexor Hallucis Longus, a new part of my anatomical vocabulary, and literally one of those muscles you never even knew you had.
Guess what? I’m special. Tearing the FHL is such a rare condition that nobody really knows how to treat it. Doctors are forced to look up case studies and, at best, provide a prescription for the most conservative treatment out there: Boot and Scooter, or what I now coin as “BS” for short.
My good pal Joe labels this sort of thing A.F.O.G.: Another Fucking Opportunity for Growth.