The physiotherapist had me stretch both calf muscles so he could see what they each did. The right muscle stretched as I tensed, and relaxed as I stood straight once more. The left muscle caused me to wince from its tightness as I leaned forward, and as I stood again I breathed a sigh of relief.
Next he used a tape measure to see if there was any swelling, and the plastic was cold against my leg. He mumbled numbers, “41,” as he measured the right, and “43.5” as he measured the left, followed by a thoughtful silence.
“It isn’t a disaster, and you’re not out of action long term, but you do need to take it easy until we can sort this out.” He explained, his tone relaxed and calm, but with a note of seriousness. What followed was a compression sock and instructions for stretching.
Running is limited to 1-2km at a time, and cannot be strenuous.
Weights must be upper body only.
Spartan Race is unlikely.
And me, I simply feel disappointed in myself. Yes, it is only a race, and it isn’t my fault this happened. It was wise to go get it looked at, but the news was not what I wanted. Another day I will conquer the Spartan, but unless something drastic changes in the next week, that goal needs to wait.