Sometimes when I run or play tennis or ultimate frisbee with friends, including The Courant’s editor, Andrew Julien, I'll list a few injuries at the outset just to set the psychological tone. In that spirit, I must report that I started this trek with a week-old ankle sprain that swelled up mightily on Sunday, from kayaking, oddly.
So I bought some expensive, natural goop at Whole Foods, loaded up on generic ibuprofen and hoped for the best. No way it would heal in an average of nine miles a day, I figured.
Two days and 19 miles in, it's under control, no pain. The danger: I often walk just a couple of inches from the asphalt highway lip and if I roll the foot just once, the jig could be up. It's like a soccer player with a yellow card – one more and he’s out for that game and the next one.
I feel fortunate and grateful that whatever ailments I have, they seem to disappear when I hit the road, the field, the court or the woods. Hiking over steep rocks on the Appalachian Trail, I was thinking about the millions of people who can’t do that because their mental or physical ailments, through no fault of their own, don’t go away with a little shot of adrenaline.