After talking smack, and even trademarking a new form of low grade smack talking suitable for fat, middle age cyclocross novices... I had to bag the Ed Sander Cross at Lillypons this morning.
I plead old age and abuse.
After nearly 30 years of contact sports, starting with Pop Warner football at about age 8, my knees and ankles and back ain't what they oughtta be. In fact, it's fair to say they are what they ain't oughtta be.
In English, rather than authentic frontier gibberish, sometimes the joints just sort of blow up for no apparent reason. Yesterday morning, I awoke with a pea-sized swelling on the outside of my lower right ankle, aka "my good ankle," adjacent to the joint where the achilles tendon reaches the joint. I spent the day trying to heat it, thinking it was a tendon or muscle problem. Bad mistake. This made it very, very painful, and by night, I was walking around like a zombie in every respect, except for wanting to eat warm, steaming brains. (I was up for some Mexican food instead). I was limping, moaning, had my arms outstretched for balance, and could only move with a shuffling gait, dragging my right leg kind of sideways. It felt like somebody drove a nail into the joint, sideways.
I know what you're thinking: "fat bastid got himself some gout." No, that's not it. First, the big toe should have been hurting, that's the tipoff for gout. Second, this joint problem sometimes happens if I wear the wrong shoes, or stand or sit on the ankle in a funny way. I recall sitting down and reviewing some documents on Friday with my leg tucked under me, probably just sat there reading without moving once for about three hours. That would have done it.
So anyhow, I started icing the joint up last night after dinner, basically out of desparation, and that relieved the pain and swelling. Seems hot packs had made things worse. Whoops, bad tactical maneuver there, Bob. I went to sleep with an icepack on my ankle (which is a big turn on for Eskimo chicks, unfortunately I'm married to an English girl), and I awoke with only enough pain and stiffness to make walking somewhat painful.
Would I have roadraced on it? Damn skippy. It didn't hurt bad enough to make spinning or even standing sprints impossible. But 'cross? No way. That right foot usually bears the brunt of dismounts, and it hurt bad enough that my leg was nearly buckling each time I put pressure on it climbing the stairs, and I even aggravated it a little driving out for the paper. Like I said, it has to do with putting pressure on the joint from a funny angle for a sustained period of time.
So, here I sit, having a nice side order of my own words, along with some crow for the main entree. No 'cross race for me today. What is the lesson learned?
No, it's not "don't talk smack before a race."
It's "don't do *any* legal work for a couple days before a 'cross race."
Sure, my boss may be a little weird about it, and wonder why I refuse to do any work starting on Wednesday, when I have a 'cross race on Sunday. But once I explain that foregoing legal work is actually tapering for my "C" races, I'm sure he'll be cool with it. Don't you think?