The last time I wrote a “life lately” post was far too long ago. My goal for these monthly updates has been a flop. It’s March 2016, and I have exactly one month left to enjoy my mid-twenties—26 is coming up fast.
Short version: I broke my left foot, specifically the fifth metatarsal.
This might be the best story I’ll ever tell because: 1) it happened in Mexico, 2) drugs were involved, and 3) I caught the worst stomach flu of my life 12 hours later that lasted six days.
Davida, Linley, and I wanted one last workout before our 5AM flight home. We chose a sunset trail run at El Jardín Botánico, a short mile up the hill from where we were staying. We jogged on the cobblestones, chatting about plans for the rest of the night. During a low-impact section I tripped on a rock and nearly fell. I joked, “I should probably start picking up my feet,” and we laughed it off.
When we reached the recreational area we picked up the pace. The plan was to run to the lake, do a quick circuit, and head back. About 30 seconds in I stepped wrong and heard a distinct crack in my left foot. I dropped to the ground and swore loudly. Adrenaline kicked in and I convinced myself I could hobble home. I made it a single step before realizing I couldn’t put any pressure on it. Lin and Davida helped me to the entrance. I removed my shoe and watched my foot swell immediately. I started to panic.
I called my mom and tried to sound calm. Davida sat with me while Lin ran to get a taxi. Then an unexpected pair of visitors—two folks who looked like they’d stepped out of the 1970s—walked by playing a flute with their dog. They came over, asked what happened, and the woman pulled a small tube from her bag and offered to rub it on my foot. I gladly agreed.
When Davida asked what it was, the woman replied, “Peyote.” My first thought: is that legal? Her response was, “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this.” Davida and I laughed through the absurdity—apparently peyote applied topically can have analgesic effects. Only in Mexico.
Lin returned with a taxi triumphantly and we drove to her in-laws to transfer to their car and go to the emergency room. Note: our flight was in about 12 hours.
The Mexican hospital was surprisingly efficient. They put me in a wheelchair right away, took me back for X-rays almost immediately, and then we waited for a doctor from a nearby town to read and translate the results. After a couple of hours the diagnosis came: a fractured fifth metatarsal and a possible partial ligament tear. The recommendation was a walking boot and strict non-weight-bearing for 4–6 weeks. I opted for an air-cast to get a second opinion at home.
My foot was black and blue and very swollen. Surprisingly, the pain was mostly triggered by pressure or awkward twists. While Lin and Davida packed, I rested and iced. I skipped stronger opioids and took extra Advil because I hadn’t eaten much that day and was exhausted, planning to sleep it off.
At midnight I woke with severe stomach unease. I blamed the Advil and not eating, but within minutes I was in the bathroom for the rest of the night. Linley stayed by my side through the vomiting and worse. The next morning I was a wreck—in pain, sick, and stressed about traveling.
We had a three-hour drive to Mexico City, then two flights totaling five hours. It was rough. Halfway to the airport Linley came down with the same symptoms. At the Mexico City airport I used a wheelchair and the handicap lane to avoid lines while Linley carried our luggage and pushed me, exhausted and crying. For the next several hours we were practically living in the airport restrooms.
We finally landed in Minneapolis after a long travel day. My sister picked me up and stayed the night because I was still very sick and barely functional. I slept on and off for three days. On day four, worried about dehydration, I went to urgent care. Linley, who had recovered, came with me. After several tests, it turned out to be a nasty bug—one that lasted six days.
I also had repeat X-rays and a CT scan for my foot. The fracture was still there and there was a small ligament tear, but the good news: no surgery. I was cleared to walk in the air-cast if it felt comfortable. I chose to limit weight-bearing and use a scooter loaned by Linley’s in-laws—much better than crutches. I nicknamed it Arnold.
After a few more days of rest I woke up feeling like a new person. Two weeks on, I can walk in the air-cast with little pain. For errands I use Arnold because I move slowly, but my recovery is on track. I have a follow-up appointment in early April and I’m hoping for a quick, four-week recovery timeline. Meanwhile, I’ve adapted my workouts—upper body, core, and single-leg exercises with my trainers, and even discovered I can row using one leg, so cardio is manageable.
Here are a few lessons I’ve learned in the first two weeks with a cast:
It’s okay to depend on others. My initial panic was fueled by my independence. The people around me showed up without hesitation and taught me that accepting help is human—and sometimes really comforting.
Slow down—physically and mentally. I tend to move at full speed all the time. Being in a cast reminded me that progress doesn’t need to be rushed. I can still get things done at a slower pace, and taking a break isn’t a weakness. Also: I now appreciate Netflix a lot more.
Life is good. In the grand scheme, this injury is temporary. I’m healthy, surrounded by amazing friends and family, and grateful for the life I have.