The six miles in Rock Creek Park on Saturday went well enough, although the aftermath didn't. Sunday I had to go up the stairs one at a time like an arthritic old man. After 12 weeks of "recovery" to no avail, it was time to get serious about my sore ankle.
Only it's not my ankle, it's my foot. According to the podiatrist, it's Posterior tibial tendon dysfunction (Posterior Tibial Tendonitis), caused by tibialis tendonitis flat foot, acquired.
Actually, I was born with flat feet, I'm pretty sure.
I had a nice visit with the specialist. After two visits to GPs who poked around on my foot and kept asking, "Does that hurt?" to which I'd say, "Sort of," I got referred to a specialist (another, higher, co-pay).
The podiatrist listened to my tale of woe while I stood barefoot, looked down at my flat feet and had me rise up on my left five toes while standing only on my injured foot. Then he announced what I had.
That was it.
While I sat, he traced on my lower leg the calf muscle to where it attached to my foot via the tibialis tendon, below the ankle, and said, "That's inflamed due to chronic overuse. Fortunately it's not ruptured, or else you couldn't have stood on your toes." Around my ankle bone, the light yet pointed passage of his index finger traced the center of my pain exactly.
Prognosis: Ankle brace, contrast therapy, custom orthotics and ibuprofen for ten days for the swelling. The doctor parroted back to me sua sponte the "ten percent rule" which I often cite to trainees (never increase your weekly distance by more than 10% any week).
He said, "That six miles on Saturday, after hardly running for three months, way overdid it."
I hung my head in shame, secretly smiling inside.
Hey, I have a diagnosis, a treatment plan (I'll be transitioning to start-up running in two weeks, hopefully) and I'm back!