Feets Don't Fail Me Now!

This is the post that I am 100% sure you have definitely not been waiting for.

But I have to do it.

In the name of all things holy, and Lord knows this blog has been blessed by his own hands, I have to write the following. (Not for the faint of heart)

Due to an outrageous amount of miles run this summer, my body has changed in a few ways. That is to be expected, I do believe. However, there has been one change that is exciting in a completely different way.

My feet. I'm pretty sure they are the ugliest feet in tarnation.

I'd even go so far as to say grotesque.

I have blisters and calluses. In fact, there is one spot on my left foot that is now covered with three blisters, one on top of the other. I know, I didn't think that sort of thing was possible either. But it is. Oh it is.

But the blisters and calluses are not alone. No sir. They are accompanied by some seriously screwy toes. I have already lost two toenails, and during the 20 miler, I lost two others. Now, I don't know many of you have lost toenails. I'll estimate 5,000 out of 635,400,000 readers of this blog have lost at lease one. So I'd like to shed some light on this allusive and frightening experience.

What causes this spirial towards annihilation is that your toes repeatedly hit the same spot in your shoe countless times throughout multiple short runs or one long run. This is due either too ill-fitting shoes, downhill running, or just the violent (yes, I would say violent) repetitious toe-slamming that happens within a shoe during activity. One day, you take off your socks and things just don't look familiar. You see a toe, maybe it's the ring toe, or perhaps the pointer toe, and it's a little blue-ish. And it's a little sensitive. And you look closer and realize that it's also a little swollen. Essentially, what you have now is a sort of blood-blister under your toenail. Sounds awesome, right? It gets better.

Now, this baby will remain in this condition for an undetermined amont of time. A week. A month. Who knows? You're at the mercy of the toe. For me, the first toenail that went down this slow path of destruction was kind of intriguing....I didn't quite know what was happening, but I knew it was an injury that really only runners encounter, so that was exciting. I felt like a real runner. But what happens next is less than intriguing, it's actually completely gross. So brace yourself.

You reach a point where this sorry excuse for a toenail starts to drive you mad. This thing is taking over your life. You worry that it's going to fall off at some very inconvenient time (because let's face it, there's no better way to ruin someone's day than by having one of your toenails falls off right in front of them):

• When you're in a business meetin'
• When you're having a picnic
• When you're ordering a mojito on a patio
• When you're snuggled in bed
• When you're sharing a milkshake
• When you're showing off some dance moves

Finally, if you're like me, you decide to take matters into your own hands. And you spend days trying to work up the courage for what needs to be done. Do you remember pulling out your first tooth as a little kid? Because that tooth just dangles there, and it's no good for nothin'. It's gotta go. You give it a little yank and "pop!" you're gappy-toothed. Same idea, different body part. And while the "popping" isn't painful, it is still traumatic. Because you start to feel a little separation anxiety. That toe is missing it's partner in crime. It's missing it's Robin. It's Ernie. It's Clyde. And it just plum looks weird. I mean, a nail-less toe? That's just wrong.

But time goes on, and after the shock wears off, you start to notice a new life sprouting into that toe. And you realize how delicate the circle of life really is.

So that has been the cycle of my sad, sad feet. As of now, I have lost two and two others are one their way out. Yes, it is a massacre. But do not pity me. Because I am proud of my Frankenstein Feet. All it means is that these tootsies have seen some miles.