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Friday, July 6, 2012

For want of new feet...

If you know me, you know I am a walkaholic. I walk for my sanity and I walk to burn off the excess physical energy that builds from my current, unnatural state of horselessness. I walk just to stir the mental pot; there's something about doing a calming and repetitive physical activity that stimulates the mind in a positive way. I walk because it's less frustrating than pacing, because I feel like I'm doing something, getting somewhere. Sometimes I walk because it's all I can do. Except now, I can't.

Apparently, there are consequences (who knew?) to walking obsessively. I suppose there didn't have to be, but I guess I never entertained the possibilities until it was too late. I've always been able to walk forever, and I totally took for granted that it was all good. Enter: plantar fasciitis. The first time I heard those words, I was all "planter wha?". I damaged the muscles in the bottoms of my feet. How stupid is that? I had never heard of such a thing, and now I'm hearing that it's really common. Maybe if I had heard of it before, I could have prevented it. Wearing 'dead' shoes and having high arches (and a big ol' rear-end) are all contributing factors. I could have at least done something about the shoes, maybe. But I didn't. So now it's all about dealing with the "after-ness" of the damage. Damn.

Unfortunately, I also tend to subscribe to the "work through it" notion of dealing with physical pain. I have had pain in my feet for a year. I iced them after walking. I bought good shoes with special insoles. I took Advil. But I did NOT stop walking. Now, the pain is excruciating and I have no choice. DAMN. Now, I have special shoes to wear when I sleep and I am in physical therapy. Yes, I screwed my own self up that badly. Who does that? Me, apparently (well, and my daughter. She runs and isn't great about taking days off. She ran herself into a stress fracture a couple of years ago. Apparently it's hereditary;-) But as painful as it is, I can't help but think it's kind of funny, too. It's the usual kind of weird and twisted sort of situation that I tend to find myself in. And as if I'm not drop-dead-sexy enough, those special, night-time boots just make me that much hotter. You should see me struggle into them at night. Even better, I'm not supposed to walk on them, so if I have to get up to use the bathroom in the night, I have to take them off first and then struggle into them all over again. Because I'm not my sharpest in the middle of the night, it's no easy task and one that I am thankful there are no witnesses for. The limping around my apartment saying "ow ow ow ow" isn't exactly what I had in mind, either. I am not enjoying myself.

Physical therapy might be a bright light in the distance though. I've had one treatment that was more of an assessment, but they promised it would help...and that I could use the stationary bikes. I am being diligent about doing my stretches and wearing my special shoes, and maybe I can take out 'the crazy' on the bikes. Maybe, just maybe, I can get through my unfortunate incarceration with the shred of sanity that I possess, intact. I am pretty used to being crazy, but not at all used to any kind of physical limitation, and I gotta tell ya, I have no intention of getting used to it.

Until my feet have healed, I will make the best of it, do what I'm supposed to do, and continue to sing "I'm too sexy" to myself every time I boot up for the night, just to remind myself that in spite of current, outward appearance, I'm still fabulous:-)

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