Today is Tuesday.  On Tuesday mornings, I run.  This morning while I was running with my partner in crime/running buddy on St. Charles, I rolled my foot on a small patch of grass on the streetcar line.  I kept going because I wasn’t in any pain and I felt fine —  well, you know, besides the fact that it is a million degrees in New Orleans, even at 6am — but I was fine.  Or so I thought.  

I did my normal morning routine and went to the office.  I had a two-hour conference call this afternoon and when I stood up from my desk, I was overwhelmed with pain — it hurt to put any pressure on my foot.  (It should be noted that I am a person with a high pain tolerance, but y’all, this pain was next level.)  I limped to my car at the end of the day and was hopeful that the pain would be gone by the time I got to the coffee shop where I was meeting my friend.  Nope.  The pain had actually gotten worse — even while sitting — so there goes that optimism.  Fast forward a few hours to the present and I am sitting on my couch, my foot propped up, and an ice pack and a set of crutches nearby.