Run Every Day: Hardest Day #2. The Injury Run
Phillip LaPoint
It was early February 2020, and I was working swing shifts. That morning I had a plan: 12 miles before work. I had a PT test coming up later that month and wanted to stay sharp.
I’ve got a noodle ankle. It rolls easy, and the Achilles on that side had been jacked up for years. Still, I was managing it. Until I wasn’t.
Around mile six, I hit ice. Hard.
My left ankle and knee both popped when I went down, and I knew right away it wasn’t a normal fall. I got up and tried to shuffle forward, but the pain confirmed what I didn’t want to admit. I was hurt.
I limped half a mile to the nearest road and caught an Uber home. Called the clinic on base and booked an appointment. They said 1330. I called work, got the green light to go.
But when I showed up, they claimed my appointment was at 1300 and hit me with a no-show. After some arguing, they played back the recording. It was their mistake—it had been 1330. I avoided the no-show, but they still wouldn’t see me that day. Told me to come back the next day.
Meanwhile, my knee looked like a grapefruit. My ankle wasn’t much better.
Not much I could do, so I went to work.
I knew the streak was on the line if I couldn’t get in a run before midnight the next day. So I showed up for my rescheduled appointment and asked the doctor straight up: Can I run on this? The answer? "It probably won’t make it worse."
That was all I needed.
I got off work after 2300, not a single step logged. I didn’t waste time. I didn't even change out of uniform—I hobbled around the parking lot in boots for 1.1 miles. Didn’t give myself a chance to chicken out or let anything else prevent it. Just did what had to be done. Boots probably helped a little.
The knee swelling came down after a week or so, but it took weeks of limping miles and physical therapy before my ankle could handle a real workload again. Even now, my Achilles needs daily attention. I stretch, I strengthen, and I do mobility work religiously. Otherwise, I’m back to rolling it all over the place.
If you’ve ever had to drag a busted leg around in the dark just to keep a promise to yourself, then you get it. The streak doesn’t care about timing, weather, or pain. It just waits.
