Perspective

This ongoing ankle issue is really starting to do me in.
It's such a high level problem, though.
Shit runners say: "my physio said..."; "what kind of gels do you use?"; "I find Asics have a small toe box"; "I've been icing every night"; "ART has been working wonders for me"; "I need to take up trail running because the road is too hard on my body".
Rant over.
I think one of the reasons that I'm sort of off is because of the book that I've been reading called Room.  Yes, hot on the heels of The Book of Negroes which was about - you got it - Negroes, is a book about a young woman being held hostage in a glorified and heavily secured garden shed where she lives with her five year old son who was, for lack of better terminology, born into captivity.
Rather relegates the whole posterior tibialis issue onto the back burner and makes me thankful that I'm not confined to a small room, routinely raped, and entirely dependant on someone else for survival.
I'm also glad I don't live in Homs, that I'm not a child soldier, and that a relative of mine wasn't one of the sixteen mostly women and children that were massacred by a US soldier in Afghanistan recently.
No wonder I have dreams that I'm getting shot at and that my teeth are crumbling.
After I came home from physio today I walked in, looked at the mess that I had left the kitchen in, realized that I had not done one fun thing for myself all day, locked the door and went back out again.
I like when I do stuff like that, like the time I woke up really early on a Sunday morning and went for my long run and was practically done before our run group headed out shortly after 8am.  And the time I was living at home and woke up before the sun rose and went out into the dewy back yard and watched the sun come up with my dog.  When I went to Niagara Falls by myself.  Picked up garbage in the park.
Fucking cankle.