The Pregnant Ankle: Part 2

The Pregnant Ankle: Part 2 1

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Not up to speed on my spastic descent down Camelback mountain? Catch up with Part 1.


I just sat there like an idiot, staring at my rapidly swelling ankle and trying not to cry. Partly because I didn’t want to appear weak, but mostly because there were other people around, and I’m what’s commonly known as an “ugly crier”.

“Are you okay?!” Scott called out while running back to check on me.

“I’m…..fine.” I managed in between my ‘I’m-in-a-lot-of-pain-now-so-I’m-going-to-do-Lamaze’ breathing charades.

“Are you going to be able to make it the rest of the way down?” he asked with legitimate concern.

I was worried about the same thing. We still had over a mile to go. A mile of downhill, uneven, rock-laden ground that demanded a stable ankle.

“I think so,” I winced, “Just give me a minute, okay?”

I continued my over dramatic breathing for an extra thirty seconds, eventually rising to my feet to finish this stupid hike, which ironically, was my idea to begin with.. The first several steps were excruciating, but after four or five minutes, my ankle felt totally fine! I mean, it didn’t look fine, but the hiking wasn’t even bothering it.

“Scott, my ankle feels totally great, now! It must be the swelling that’s keeping it stable or something. If I roll it in a circle it hurts, but walking down all these rocks isn’t even a problem!”

The second this overconfident declaration left my lips, it happened again. Same ankle, same collapse to the ground, same lamaze breathing to prevent an extremely public ugly-cry breakdown.

“Trats, are you sure you’re alright?” Scott asked quietly while examining my ankle.

“I dont’ know…” I spit out between breaths, “I think heard a pop that time. It really hurts.”

“I’m worried you might have broken it.” Scott confessed, while contorting my massive cankle into various unnatural angles, asking me which ones hurt. Scott spent three years working in orthopedics — if he was concerned, I was concerned.

“What do you feel?” I asked, my voice thick with panic. “Did I break it?”

“Possibly. The only way to tell is with an X-ray.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. I was about to return home to an insane work schedule, not to mention a to-do list that’s length rivaled Dante’s Inferno. I didn’t have time for an X-ray! And I surely wasn’t getting one while on vacation.

“Here,” Scott offered, “Let me carry you.”

“No.” I insisted. “I don’t want to be carried.

“C’mon,”he urged, “Let me give you a piggy back ride.”

“No way.”

“Katrina…if it’s broken, walking on it could make it a lot worse.”

“I think a piggy back ride would make it a lot worse.” I countered.

“Come here,” Scott cooed in a baby voice while lowering himself down into squat position, “Get up here.”

That was all the motivation I needed to rise up off my haunches and complete the death march. Let’s face it — the only thing worse than a public ugly cry is a public piggy back ride.

Thankfully, my ankle felt much better after a few minutes of walking. I was able to finish the hike, and spend the rest of the day on my feet without much trouble. By the time we returned to the hotel room eight hours later, it had doubled in size and was causing a ridiculous looking limp…but we were leaving for the airport at noon the next day, so it’s not like it ruined my vacation, or anything.

Come to think of it…it actually made my vacation…better?

Yes, I realize that sounds delusional…but take it from me — my hiking injury came with a lot of perks. Don’t believe me? Read through this list and then tell me you’re not considering spraining your ankle during your next weekend getaway.

How spraining my ankle on a hike made my vacation amazeballs

  • Because I blamed the sprain on my unsupportive New Balance shoes, Scott immediately took me to Nordstrom to buy a new pair of Nike Free 5.0s. No questions asked.
  • It was the perfect excuse to indulge in a post-hike couples massage.
  • It reaffirmed that Scott has a deep, piggy-back offering love for me.
  • My crazy-looking limp got me lots of attention.
  • My crazy-looking limp also got me to the front of every line at the airport. (And In-n-Out Burger.)
  • Upon returning home, my CrossFit coach forbid me from doing box jumps as a result of my injury. No box jumps for an entire week? Darn.

The best part? The swelling is mostly gone, and my ankle feels this close to being back at one-hundred percent. Praise the Lord, as I don’t think I could handle a super long recovery like the one I had with my last sprain.

Long story short, my ankle feels great and I got a new pair of shoes out of the deal. Turns out having a pregnant Kim Kardashian ankle isn’t so bad, after all.

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The Pregnant Ankle: Part 1

The Pregnant Ankle: Part 1 10

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One of the highlights of last weekend’s trip to beautiful Scottsdale was a lovely hike Scott and I took to the top of Camelback Mountain.


(Well…it was mostly lovely.)

Camelback Mountain is the highest point in all of Phoenix. This means once you get to the top, you’ll be rewarded with a stunning 360 degree vista of the city. It also means you’ll be enjoying sed view while breathless, drenched with sweat,  and possibly injured.

Scott and I opted to hike the Cholla Trail, as it was the only one open.  Little did I know, the route we selected had a difficulty ranking of “Black Diamond”. This meant the following things:

  • Long rocky segments and possible drops with exposure
  • Dirt and loose rocks with continual unevenness
  • 12′ or taller, loose rocks, exposure to drops

For added context, here’s a description of the hike, straight from the Cholla trail website.

The Cholla Trail is less known than its counterpart, the Echo Canyon Trail, gaining the summit from Camelback’s eastern side. The last 1/8 mile before the summit requires rock scrambling.

Be conservative in planning your hike! In addition to a gruelling climb, warm weather months can bring hot, dry desert conditions. Everyone who hikes Camelback for the first time reports that it was more difficult than they expected.

I wasn’t aware of any of this until I was already halfway up the mountain. I suppose it was better that way.

While the above description sounds totally miserable, I legitimately enjoyed the challenge of this hike. Sure, it was hot as Hades and more intense than three back-to-back Turbo Kick classes, but it felt good to get my sweat on. The scenery was breathtaking, and it was a heck of a lot better than being holed up in frigid old Minnesota!

The last part of the hike was definitely the scariest, large in part due to the previously mentioned “rock scrambling”. I’d never heard this term before, but can only describe it as hiking on all fours while fearing for your life. There were large, pointy rocks that were completely exposed. Scott had zoomed ahead of me at this point, which meant I was not only concerned I might fall 1.8 miles to my death, I also wasn’t quite sure I was still on the trail. Surely, climbing up over a ten foot high rock that comes to a point at the top and is totally open to thin air on all sides couldn’t be part of the trail?

(Apparently, it’s totally a part of the trail.)

I took a deep breath, summoned my inner Jon Krakauer, and vowed made that rock my biznatch.  Miraculously, I didn’t slip or lose my footing once! Within five minutes, I had reached the summit.


After a few photos, lots of water, and insisting Scott congratulate my rock scrambling prowess at least six times, we began our descent.

Let me say this: If climbing up long rocky segments and possible drops with exposures is a challenge, then making it down them in one piece is about as easy as scoring a perfect score on the SAT while simultaneously running a marathon.

There was whimpering, butt sliding (luckily my floral mania leggings remained in tact), and a few prayers, but I survived. After making it down the technical top third of the mountain, the bottom two-thirds would be a total cake walk hike!

(Or so I thought.)

Remember that part about the trail boasting dirt and loose rocks with continual unevenness? Turns out walking down that is easier said than done. Particularly when you are A: so incredibly relieved to have made it past the backwards rock scrambling that you’ve foolishly let your guard down, and B: are wearing minimalist CrossFit shoes that provide little to no ankle support.

Just as I was mentally applauding myself for deserving some sort of medal of honor from REI, it happened. My minimalist shoe-wearing left foot landed on a rock the wrong way. I heard a popping noise, felt my ankle roll to the side, and immediately tumbled to the ground. Gazing down to assess the damage, my eyes were stunned to see an ankle that appeared to be well into its third trimester.


To be continued…

Psst! Part 2 is up! Check it out here…

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Baby, it’s cold outside.

Baby, it’s cold outside. 4

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I really wanted to use a swear word in the title of this post, yet decided to refrain as ‘Sota is Sexy is family blog, and all.

(Well…sort of. A ‘dysfunctional family blog’ perhaps?)

While the song ‘Baby, it’s cold outside’ conjures images of fluffy snowflakes, drinking hot cocoa by the fire, and various other snuggly and cute things, let me assure you that the weather here in ‘Sota is anything but ‘cute’.

First off, it’s not snowing. Why? Because it’s -25 degrees (-55 with the windchill.) For those of you lucky enough to live in more balmy climates, let me explain that -25 degrees is way too cold for snow to even fall. Apparently, it’s also too cold for children — the entire state of Minnesota has cancelled school today on account of the frigid temperatures.

Now if only they could cancel the need for me to take my dogs outside.

I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining. I did spend the last three days is sunny Arizona, soaking up every last second of the 75 degree weather while lounging at our hotel pool.

Oh, wait. I still have to take the dogs outside at least five times today in twenty-five below zero — of course I should be freaking complaining!!!!

Sorry. Lost my wits for a second, there. (The cold does that to me sometimes.) How about this? Instead of subjecting you to my “I’m cold and Jolie has to poop again” rants, I’ll simply offer up some of my solutions for surviving such godforsaken weather? Cool? Cool.

(No pun intended.)

Katrina’s tips for surviving winter in the upper midwest

  1. Don’t go outside. At all. (This is why I love working from home. My commute never involves snow boots.)
  2. When you do have to take the dogs outside, make them wear snow boots. Not only does it protect their paws, you’ll be distracted from how cold you are as watching dogs stumble through snow with boots on might just be the most entertaining thing in the world.

So…that’s kind of all I’ve got. Two tips totally constitutes a list…right? Right? Whatevs. It’s the cold’s fault.

On another note, I read a fabulous book in Arizona, entitled Where’d You Go, Bernadette?  The plot, characters and format (it’s written entirely in correspondence!) were all so incredibly fascinating. Bonus? It takes place in my fabulous hometown of Seattle. I read the entire thing in less than twenty-four hours and was beyond sad to come to the last page. I think the best part was the unpredictability of the story line — never in a million years would I have guessed the ending. (And I’m pretty skilled as guessing endings, if I do say so myself.)

Part of the novel involves Bernadette’s family taking a January cruise to Antarctica, during which they proceed to complain that it is eight degrees outside. Eight degrees? EIGHT DEGREES? I would kill for eight degrees right now!!!!

Welcome to Minnesota, a place where we’re actually jealous of Antarctica’s mild January weather.

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When a man loves a doggie

When a man loves a doggie 4

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A conversation between Scott and I this week.

Me: Do you think you’ll ever want to have kids?

Scott: I don’t know. Maybe after Jolie’s gone.

Me: Why then?

Scott: I just want to dedicate all my energy to giving that little girl the best life possible. It’s not often a dog like her comes along.

Me: I see.

Scott: Although I can’t imagine having a child that never got the chance to know Jolie. That would really be a shame.

Me: Quite the dilemma.

Scott: Yase. My instincts tell me it’s best to just focus on Jolie for now. I don’t want to ruin her quality of life now that she’s in her golden years.


This, coming from the man who pretends to be embarrassed when I tell Jolie to “go see Daddy!” in front of other people. “She’s a dog, Katrina. I’m not her ‘daddy’.”

Heh. I’m gonna beg to differ on that one.


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