Spot the difference:
I was having an excellent run. I’ve been doing too much work, so had been looking forward to stretching my legs, and the air was good: clean and fresh. Running downhill through Radyr woods I passed a loose section. The path cleared and I guess I must have been looking forward instead of down, because a powerful, deadening pain tried to signal my brain that my ankle had turned over. I’m still moving and land on my right foot. Lots of momentum. My left foot plants and the pain goes up a notch to overload: nausea and weakness. Right foot again, and my body’s not going to let my left foot land and I’m flying, downhill. Landing on my left side and rollng to a stop like a premiership footballer the nausea sinks into my stomach. I lie still for a few minutes, muddy and grazed.
Eventually, I haul my sorry arse off the floor and weight the ankle. As usual, with a few steps it gets easier, and I limp and hobble my way home, embarrased. I am pretty depressed.
