Lilly

My ankle twists, twinges, but holds, packed tightly into its heavy black brace. I treat this like I would any stumble and find level ground on the next step, and the next, and the next. Later, when I peel the brace off of my foot, the joint will be swollen and puffy but not bruised, and a bit of ice will fix it up again. It’s annoying, but it’s not holding me back anymore.

“A mile a day,” I told my best friend yesterday. “That’s all I’m starting with. A mile a day.” I have a 5K to run next month, and staying cooped up on the couch will not bode well for my finishing time. This is the first chance I’ve had to run freely—last week I didn’t dare lace up and get out on the streets for fear of injuring myself before I was done with club soccer tryouts. But those are over, and I made the team, and now training for my race will only get me in better shape for when the season starts in August.

I feel less helpless than I have over the past few months. I feel like I can focus again. Maybe it doesn’t look like much to other people, but it means as much to me as I say it does. I feel like I’m finally in control again. ♦