When I was young, there were many times when me and my 3 siblings were all in the back seat of the car that little battles over space would crop up. This was especially true when one of us was suffering from an extreme case of motion sickness. Since all 4 of us were prone to this, everyone would scoot as far away from the ailing sibling as possible so as not to suffer the same fate. Vomiting *is* contagious you know.

Even during times of peace, boundary lines were being drawn. These lines were not always determined fairly, meaning bickering would start up, then my mom’s hand would fly back and her pinching fingers would blindly reach for any bit of skin they could attack. Most often, the two in battle were not who ended up suffering the ill-fated pinch. Crying ensued. Name calling followed.

Today, the battle over space was similar but different. Instead of children drawing boundary lines it was my toes that were battling for a little distance from each other. These toes, who have each been segregated into their own separate spaces (provided by my Vibram fivefingers), were left without boundaries. Just as us kids fought over space, my toes began a similar sort of bickering. I’m pretty sure I heard one of them whining, “He’s touching me.” *sigh*

It was a shoe-wearing run day and I was just happy to be able to let off a bit of steam mid-work day. My right calf was happy and my left knee was warming up to the idea of running again. My toes would just have to learn to get along in the same space. Michael Jackson sung in my ear, “…don’t stop ‘till you get enough.” So I forged on.

Everyone got quiet for a bit. Perhaps they were fearful that I’d reach down and pinch one of them or maybe ALL of them. The thought certainly crossed my mind.

All was peaceful until…I decided to extend my run a ½ mile further. It was then that the arches of my feet got all read in the face as if to say, “Why aren’t we there YET?!” Resisting the urge to run past the office, I decided I had indeed had enough. Now, everyone is happy – including me.

Ten days have passed since I injured the calf muscle. I’ve tried to piece together what I may have done wrong so that history won’t have to repeat itself. Unlike my mistakenly progressing too quickly with my VFF usage, the errors of my ways around this particular injury are less obvious. My suspicion tells me that after cutting back so much on my running post-marathon, then pacing Cindy for the last 9 miles of her marathon was not my smartest of moves. Still, I felt fine coming out of that run.

On the day of the injury, I wore a dress and some very low heeled shoes. The heel on these shoes is so slight that most of my friends would refuse to ever call them heels of any sort. Still, I wore them and must admit that I was feeling a level of discomfort the majority of the day. When I slipped on my VFF, my feet and legs seemed to sigh with relief.

I took on the streets with a vengeance – wanting to prove to the world that I was just fine on that “perfectly normal” day. If I had been fine, I wouldn’t have pushed so hard. In truth, I was just getting by that day. All day, I’d held back the tears from feelings I have been fighting back – because I just want it all behind me. Honestly, I often feel like I’ve been abandoned and it makes me angry. It doesn’t much matter that Tom adhered to the death-do-us-part clause in the marriage contract. I’m sure the fine print said that he couldn’t die until we were both old and gray. *sigh*

I digress. This post is NOT about that day. It’s not about feeling alone and vulnerable. It’s not about financial struggles, or single parenting. It’s about injuries of a physical nature. The point I was heading to was that I ran harder than I should have. NOW, I am paying the price for that – because today, I am still hurting.

Today, after attempting and failing to run a short 3 mile run in my VFF (following a successful 4.5 mile run in shoes), I am realizing that I must approach my return to running in minimalist footwear as if I hadn’t run in VFF before. I must forget that I’ve been training exclusively and successfully in them for many months now, that I successfully ran a marathon in them, and that I even qualified to run the Boston Marathon while wearing them. I must run as if I was just starting out.

And so…I start once again.