Life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them, especially when you’re just trying to enjoy a beautiful sunset trail run in Mexico. My goal for sharing these “life lately” updates is usually once a month, but as March 2016 rolls around, it’s been far too long. With my 26th birthday just a month away, a milestone I was eagerly anticipating, little did I know that fate had a rather dramatic pre-birthday surprise in store for me. What started as an idyllic trip to Mexico with friends quickly spiraled into an unforgettable saga involving a broken foot, a bizarre herbal remedy, the worst stomach flu of my life, and a harrowing journey home. This isn’t just a story about an injury; it’s a testament to resilience, the kindness of strangers, and the profound lessons learned when life forces you to slow down.

A Mexican Adventure Takes an Unexpected Turn: My Broken Foot Saga

My last moments of blissful normalcy were spent with my friends, Davida and Linley, in the stunning backdrop of Mexico. We were determined to squeeze in one final workout before our early 5 AM departure for home the next morning. Our chosen adventure: a sunset trail run through El Jardin Botanico, a picturesque botanical garden nestled just a mile up the hillside from our accommodation. As we walked and jogged along the charming, albeit uneven, cobblestone streets, we chatted about our plans for the evening, completely unaware of the impending chaos. In a moment of low-impact meandering, I stumbled over a rock, narrowly avoiding a face-plant. My casual remark, “I should probably start picking up my feet,” now feels like an ironic premonition, a tiny whisper of what was to come.

Reaching the recreational area of the garden, we decided to pick up the pace, aiming for a jog down to the lake for a quick circuit before heading back. We were barely thirty seconds into our run when it happened. BOOM. My foot landed awkwardly on a rock, and I felt – and heard – a distinct, sickening CRACK in my left foot. The world instantly tilted, and I crumpled to the ground, a stream of expletives escaping my lips. Adrenaline, a powerful and deceptive force, immediately surged through me. I quickly removed my shoe to assess the damage, but convinced myself it was merely a sprain. “I’m fine,” I declared, forcing my shoe back on, “Let’s just turn around and run home.” But with the very first step, a sharp, undeniable WAM of pain confirmed my worst fears: I couldn’t put any pressure on it.

Linley and Davida, their faces etched with concern, quickly helped me hop to the garden’s entrance. There, I reluctantly took off my shoe and sock, watching in disbelief as my foot rapidly swelled into what resembled a giant balloon. Panic began to set in. Linley, ever the pragmatic one, immediately went to find a taxi, leaving Davida to sit with me as I descended into a full-blown hyperventilating fit. At this point, I was absolutely hysterical, a whirlwind of anxieties consuming me. My internal monologue was a frantic loop: My foot is broken. How will I work out? How will I walk around the lake? Oh my God, do I need surgery? My life is over. My foot is broken. I want my mom. Oh my God, I’m dying.

The Peyote Incident: A Bizarre Mexican Remedy

As I poured out my deluge of fears to Davida, she remained a steadfast presence, trying her best to calm my spiraling anxiety. I managed a shaky call to my mom, attempting to convey that I thought I’d broken my foot but was going to be okay – or at least, that’s what I hoped she understood through my panic-stricken voice. Moments later, a truly surreal scene unfolded. A couple, straight out of the 70s with their long hair and flowing clothes, strolled out of the garden, playing a flute (I kid you not!) with their dog trotting cheerfully beside them. These were classic hippies. Noticing our predicament, they approached us with genuine concern. I explained, through sniffles, that I suspected my foot was broken. The woman, with an enigmatic smile, pulled a small jar from her bag. It looked like aloe vera. “Let me put some of this on your foot,” she offered, “it will take the pain away.”

Desperate and in agony, I didn’t hesitate. “IT WILL MAKE ME BETTER? SURE, PUT IT ON MY FOOT!” She gently massaged the mysterious substance onto my swollen foot. Davida, ever cautious, then asked what it was. Her casual response: “Peyote.” Davida’s eyes widened. “Uhhhh… is that legal?” she stammered. Legal? My mind raced, WTF IS PEYOTE? The woman, sensing our confusion, simply shrugged and said, “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this,” before she and her flute-playing companion walked away into the twilight. Davida turned to me, a mixture of disbelief and amusement on her face, “YOU JUST DID DRUGS!” We later learned that while ingesting peyote is a hallucinogenic experience, applying it topically is believed by some to offer pain relief. Only in Mexico, indeed.

A Rush to the Mexican Emergency Room

Finally, Linley returned, a hero emerging from the darkness, literally hanging out of a taxi window, fist-pumping in triumph for securing us a ride. We quickly drove back to Linley’s in-laws’ place, where we transferred to their car for the urgent trip to the emergency room. The clock was ticking; we had a flight to catch in a mere twelve hours. The thought of navigating a Mexican hospital, especially with a language barrier, filled me with apprehension. However, my fears were quickly assuaged. The experience was surprisingly efficient and, dare I say, amazing. The moment they saw me hobbling in, I was immediately ushered into a wheelchair, no questions asked, and whisked away for X-rays. No waiting, no lengthy paperwork – it took a mere fifteen minutes to get the images done. The only real delay was the two-hour wait for a doctor from a neighboring town to arrive, translate the X-rays, and prescribe medication. This was due to the rural location, but compared to some emergency room waits I’ve experienced, it was still remarkably quick.

The verdict arrived: a fractured 5th metatarsal and a strong possibility of a partially torn ligament. The Spanish-speaking doctor, with the help of a translator, explained I would need to wear a boot for four to six weeks and remain completely non-weight bearing. This was a devastating blow, especially with my flight looming. I decided to get a walking boot (an air-cast) there and then, planning to seek a second opinion from a specialist back home in the States. Despite the severity of the injury, I was determined not to let it completely derail my life. We left the hospital, my foot encased in its new orthopedic accessory, a surreal mixture of relief and anxiety washing over me.

From Broken Foot to Stomach Flu: A Double Whammy

By the time we left the hospital, my foot was a spectacle of black and blue, severely swollen. Strangely, the pain was manageable as long as I didn’t put pressure on it or twist it awkwardly. Linley and Davida, incredible friends that they are, took charge of packing my belongings while I attempted to ice my foot and rest in bed. Given my recent lack of food, I opted to bypass the Vicodin prescribed by the doctor, choosing instead to stick with Advil. Exhausted, I hoped to simply sleep off the trauma of the day. Boy, was I wrong.

Around midnight, I woke with an unsettling sensation in my stomach. I tried to rationalize it, blaming the Advil on an empty stomach, but a dreadful feeling told me otherwise. What followed was a night spent almost entirely in the bathroom, a relentless battle against an aggressive stomach flu. Vomiting and experiencing what can only be described as a full-body evacuation, I was utterly miserable. Thank goodness for Linley, who, despite the horrific circumstances, stayed by my side, offering words of encouragement and comfort throughout the night. By morning, I was a complete hot mess, an emotional wreck. Being sick is bad enough, but the thought of traveling while this ill, with a broken foot to boot, was truly horrifying.

The Agony of the Journey Home

Our journey home was an epic testament to human endurance, and a truly graphic tale of travel hell. It began with a three-hour drive from San Miguel to the Mexico City airport, followed by two 2.5-hour flights. This was not just rough for me; it was an ordeal for all involved. About halfway into the drive, we had to make an emergency stop because not only was I dangerously close to “shitting my pants” (graphic, but honest!), but Linley had also succumbed to the exact same virulent bug. My poor friend, now also battling the stomach flu, was suffering right alongside me. We finally arrived at the sprawling Mexico City airport, where I gratefully flopped into a wheelchair. God bless wheelchairs, for they became my chariot of salvation. We said a tearful goodbye to Davida, who was flying out of a different terminal, and then, thanks to my broken foot, we were able to skip every agonizingly long line by utilizing the handicap lane. I can’t emphasize enough Linley’s heroic efforts; she literally carried a hundred pounds worth of carry-ons (both hers and mine) while pushing me in that wheelchair. All the while, I was bawling my face off, convinced my life was over because of my broken foot and the absolute misery of being so incredibly sick. The definition of a “hot mess” doesn’t even begin to cover it. The next few hours in the airport were a blur of alternating bathroom visits, a shared nightmare that forged an unbreakable bond of commiseration between Linley and me. We truly felt bad for ourselves, and for anyone who had to witness our plight.

Home, But Not Healed: The Road to Recovery

After a grueling sixteen-hour travel day, we finally touched down in Minneapolis. My godsend of a sister, seeing my shattered state, picked me up from the airport and even stayed over at my place, knowing I was a complete basket case and still incredibly sick. The emotional and physical toll of the previous days was immense; I simply couldn’t stop crying. The next three days were a blur of on-and-off sleep, still feeling absolutely dreadful. By Day 4, I knew I couldn’t ignore my condition any longer. Unable to keep any food down and seriously worried about dehydration, I decided it was time for urgent care. Linley, now miraculously recovered from the bug, accompanied me, proving once again what a true champion she is. After enduring what felt like every possible test, the diagnosis was anticlimactic yet relieving: “just a bug,” albeit a tenacious six-day one.

While at urgent care, I seized the opportunity to get my foot re-X-rayed and also a CT scan – why not kill two birds with one stone? The good news was a mixed bag: my foot was indeed still broken, and the ligament tear was confirmed, but the excellent news was NO SURGERY REQUIRED! And, even better, I was cleared to walk on my air cast if it felt comfortable. Overjoyed by the prospect of avoiding surgery, I decided to minimize weight-bearing as much as possible, especially when out and about. Instead of crutches, which I find incredibly cumbersome, I opted for a sweet scooter generously sent by my boyfriend’s parents. I immediately named him Arnold.

I dedicated a few more days to rest after that whole fiasco of events. Then, on a Tuesday morning, I woke up feeling like a BRAND NEW WOMAN. It’s now been over two weeks since that turning point, and I feel even better! I can walk in my air cast with minimal pain, though for longer distances, like a trip to the grocery store, Arnold the scooter is my trusted companion, ensuring my recovery stays on track without putting undue stress on my foot. My follow-up appointment with the doctor is scheduled for early April, and I’m crossing my fingers for a relatively swift four-week recovery. Workout-wise, I’ve been diligently working with my trainers at PEC, doing modified routines focusing heavily on upper-body, core, and single-leg lower-body exercises. Last week, I made an exciting discovery: I can row with one leg! This means cardio isn’t quite as bad as I’d anticipated, a small victory in my journey back to full fitness.

Profound Lessons from a Fractured Journey

Despite the pain, the frustration, and the sheer discomfort of the past two weeks spent in a cast, this unexpected setback has offered a wealth of profound life lessons. These are insights I might never have gained had I not been forced to stop, reflect, and re-evaluate.

1. It’s Okay to Depend on Others

One of the primary reasons my initial reaction to the injury was such a “freak out” was my fiercely independent nature. I thrive on doing things for myself, and I genuinely enjoy being the one to help others, not the other way around. This injury stripped me of that ability, forcing me into a position of vulnerability and reliance. However, the incredible outpouring of support from the people in my life – my friends Davida and Linley, my sister, my boyfriend’s parents, and countless others – taught me a crucial lesson: depending on others in times of need is not only okay but profoundly human. It’s a testament to the strength of relationships and the innate kindness of people. And sometimes, I’ve discovered, it’s actually quite nice to be cared for, to let go of control, and allow others to uplift you.

2. Slow Down! – Physically and Mentally

My default speed in life is usually “light speed.” I’m constantly on the go, juggling multiple tasks, and always pushing forward, often missing the small, beautiful details that pass by in the rush. Being confined to a cast and a scooter has been a forced, yet invaluable, experiment in slowing down. It’s shown me that I can still achieve my goals and get things done, albeit not at the breakneck pace I’m accustomed to. This physical pause has also prompted a much-needed mental deceleration, allowing me to appreciate the benefits of taking a genuine break from constant movement and activity. It’s amazing what you discover when you’re not always rushing. For example, I’ve learned that I actually really, really like Netflix.

3. Life is Good

When you strip away the temporary inconveniences and discomforts, you’re left with a powerful truth: in the grand scheme of things, life is profoundly good. Beyond my fractured foot, which is a temporary setback, I am fundamentally healthy. I am surrounded by an incredible network of loving friends and family who have shown up for me in ways I never imagined. This period of adversity has deepened my gratitude for these relationships and for the simple gift of good health. Reflecting on everything, I wouldn’t choose any other life for myself, even with its unexpected twists and turns. This adventure, complete with its pain and challenges, has only reaffirmed my appreciation for the blessings I have and the resilience I didn’t know I possessed. It’s a reminder that even when things crack, life continues to offer beauty, connection, and growth.