It could have been the uneven stairs, leading up to the SkyTrain station in Bangkok.

Or maybe it was the loose Thai fisherman pants I was wearing, which swirled around my ankles in a cascade of cotton. Perhaps it was the beggar on the landing, who distracted me as I was running.

No matter the cause, the result was a spectacular fall — I launched myself into the air and flailed around for a bit before crumpling on the stairs.

I knew something was wrong, but immersed in that moment, heat radiating through my legs and feet, I couldn't tell exactly what.

So I tried a technique that has always worked in the past: Walk it off.

However, I soon discovered walking was incredibly painful.

My friend Karen helped me hobble to the closest building, a small market. I elevated my foot on a plastic chair while Karen magically found a bag of ice, anti-inflammatory cream, an Ace bandage and strange pills.

At that point, with zero medical degrees between us, Karen and I decided that I shouldn't seek medical attention. We only had a few precious hours left in Bangkok. Even though the city boasts fantastic hospitals, why waste our time?

We got massages instead.

Two days later in Cambodia, with a throbbing toe that looked like a plum, I realized my mistake. The pain was increasing.

I had also been told that if I get sick or hurt in Cambodia, my best bet for health care was to head back to Bangkok.

That wasn't happening anytime soon. So I pressed on, trudging up and down temple stairs, all the while ignoring the ice pick in my foot.

Next stop was Malaysia, where I had a meltdown while trying to buy more ibuprofen. Because of the language barrier, a confused drugstore employee tried to sell me herbal tea while I burst into tears.

My trip drew to a close in Taiwan, where health care is reliable, easy and affordable. But at that point, why would I go to the hospital? I heard doctors there don't prescribe painkillers anyway.

Back at home, urgent care confirmed what I already guessed: I had been tromping around Asia for more than a week on a fractured foot.

There was also an infection from where I attempted to perform minor surgery on myself with a sewing needle.

Now my foot is securely fastened in a crutch shoe, where it will be for the next four to six weeks. It's definitely slowing me down: I can't run. I can't hike. My dog misses our long morning walks.

But when I think about the adventure this broken foot had — touring Angkor Wat, walking the observation deck of Taipei 101, strolling the Skywalk of the Petronas Towers — it was totally worth it.

I'm glad I pushed on.