Injured

"You've got a big bruise."

Brian and I are at the Y for a quick mid-week run-through of our forms and he's looking at my right heel. It's been bothering me all day; I couldn't even wear shoes and had to get out my backless clogs.

"I guess I didn't notice," I say. But I do now. My whole heel, from above the ankle on down, is black and blue. Last night, I'd spent quite a while working on my hooking kick, kicking the pad over and over. I can't believe that hitting the pad could do that to a foot.

"You should ice it," says Brian. "Soak your foot in a bucket of ice water. That's what I do every night." He's got plantar fascitis.

Yeesh. That does not sound pleasant.

At home, I find one of those ice bag thingees that I got from the hospital after a recent minor surgery. I stuff it with ice and tie it around my foot.

"What's on your foot, mom?" Robbie asks.

"Ice bag," I say. "I was practicing my hook kick on the pad last night and got a nasty bruise."

"You got injured from a pad? Mom, that's pretty pathetic."

Yeah. I know.