Call Me Icarus

They must have been delusions of gandeur, gossamer dreams weaving airily through my thoughts prior to the surgery. I scanned the race calendars in Ultra-Running and Marathon and beyond and stealthily planned to run a 100 mile trail race in February. After all, the podiatrist had said that the recovery would take six weeks - I wouldn't lose too much fitness would I? There was Rocky Raccoon on the 3rd and 4th or, to be safer and give myself time to log a few miles, maybe I should wait until the 17th and 18th and run the Iron Horse in Florida. A level, paved bicycle path in sunny Florida sounds like the ticket. These secret thoughts and dreams accompanied me to surgery, gossamer wings.

Weeks later the podiatrist removed the pin and I left my crutches behind. Finishing work, I returned home and looked forward to heading out the door with my dog for a mile walk. Let's test drive the new foot - see how it feels, take it easy this first time out the door. I bundled to face the blowing snow and sub-zero wind chill. I fastened my podiatric shoe and headed out the door. Step after step my goal of walking one mile - modest I thought - fled as discomfort increased and turned to pain. Reaching the corner I turned and headed back to home - .17 miles. 100 mile dreams - .17 mile reality. Call me Icarus.