Doggedly continuing on with my "making the best of it" and "doing the smart thing," I decided to jump back into training but just replace the running with low-impact stuff. The result was me spending two straight hours in the pool and my skin shriveling up like a raisin, but I did it. I also made a PT appointment for tomorrow with my man Dan, and bought a new pair of running shoes that hopefully won't try to kill me like their broken-down brethren did.
All of this sounds great, and I can't think of any better way to handle it, but for some reason it does nothing to dispel the cloud of gloom I feel over being injured in the first place. It's like I'm realizing for the first time that I can be broken. Like, crap, if it happened once, it could possibly happen again, at a much worse time and in a much worse way. Or maybe it's just the horribly cold weather bringing me down. Or chlorine poisoning.