You may want to be seated before you read today's post: I sit here today at the office (complimented by my baby-pink thong) with CANKLES!
The urban dictionary defines Cankles as:
n. 1) An aesthetically unfortunate physiological condition which leaves its victims with no discernable narrowing of the ankle between the calf and the foot. 2) The area in affected female legs where the calf meets the foot in an abrupt, non tapering terminus; medical cause: adipose tissue surrounding the soleus tendon, probably congenital, worsened by weight gain and improved in appearance only by boots. 3) An ankle which has no discernable narrowing from the calf to the foot. History: The word is derived from a combination of the words calf and ankle. Victims of this condition are advised to avoid the following: ankle boots, ankle-strap shoes, anklets, ankle socks, ankle tattoos, high-top shoes, and any other footwear or legwear that might draw attention to the cankle region.
Who would have thought? ME? CANKLES? The horror! Thank god we've not yet reached Spring/Summer '06, as I could have kissed goodbye a whole season of cropped pants paired with suede Prada loafers!
I blame the running. I woke up on Saturday morning at 6:08 to prepare myself for 6 hours of pure, unadulterated insanity (read: 23 miles of running). I met my group in Southeast DC and we embarked on the stupidest journey of our lives: running down the mall, around the Kennedy Center, and up the Capital Crescent Trail to downtown Bethesda ... AND BACK!
Everything was going great until about mile 15 when I lost all feeling in my ankles for about 20 minutes. Had I not been running for about 3.5 hours already, I could have predicted what would come next: at about mile 16.5, the feeling returned to the lower region of my legs and I had to run the next 6.5 miles with my ankles on fire. I can honestly tell you that I would not have been surprised if I had looked down and noticed little blue flames shooting out from my inner ankle bones. At about mile 20, I was so mentally exhausted that I let out little lion cub whimpers about every 3/4 of a mile or so. As we finished, I let a couple small tears eek out in what I refer to as "Complete Mental Breakdown Mode."
I ended up having to catch a cab home to Dupont, as the Metro was not even a possibility at that point. I arrived home and crawled up my front stairs on all fours. I showered in a daze, and settled in for what I hoped would be a long nap ... but there's just something about throbbing, apple-sized ankles that doesn't let you get comfortable for more than 6 nanoseconds at a time.
To add insult to injury, I decided it would be a SMASHING idea to join Asa, Mav, and Sid at Halo that evening. I spent about an hour on my feet and then had to make a plea for a return back to Asa's house (where we spent the greater part of the evening with some therapeutic red wine and the Oprah 20th Anniversary DVD).
I iced what Asa so affectionately refers to as my "cankles" all day Sunday, and felt like I was ready for stairs and a full workday in heels by 7:30 this morning. Cut to my cankles swelling right out of my heels today by about 1:30PM.
So now I sit here in misery, chained to my desk because I'm bare in my stocking feet, calling my assistant every 2 hours or so to bring me some more Excedrin.
And poor Chaz, his first day back in the States and he's in for quite the evening of massaging the heck out of some cankles ... what he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?