Screwed

I am screwed. Literally. A 3" piece of metal hardware, more than slightly resembling a dry wall stud, lives in the fifth metatarsal of my left foot. We joined forces during my junior year of high school after the second time that bone broke during a soccer game. Weeks in a cast after the first break didn't leave it strong enough and the orthopedist suggested "open reduction internal fixation" or ORIF surgery. Why do I remember this? I am a nerd.

I liked the doc; he had already fixed Olympic gymnast Shannon Miller's elbow. (She is a Big Deal in Oklahoma, as the most decorated American gymnast in history. I think she even has a highway named after her.)

Anyway, we did have one point of contention: He said the screw should be removed, eventually.

"When?" I asked.

"When you're older...after you're finished being active," was his reply.

So that'll be ummmm, never.

I plan to be moving, running, biking, swimming, paddling, climbing, jumping, scrambling....playing....for as long as I am able, and I'll remain grateful for the opportunity every minute.

When I am an old woman, I will wear purple. And at a very minimum, you will find me in one of those water aerobics classes, or doing tai chi, or out in my kayak talking with God and nature.

That said, the screw gets irritated during these long-mileage days nearing the race. After last Saturday's 16-miler, both feet were more tender than normal, thanks to a decision I made to wear thin socks (thinking it would be raining but it wasn't), but the top of the screw foot was especially sensitive and in need of ice and rest.

It could partly be mental. During the last mile of our run, my pal Jenna started talking about these winter races she used to do in her hometown in Canada, where they'd run on so much ice and snow they had to purchase special screws to put in the bottoms of their shoes. Like cleats, only grippier. I swear my left foot throbbed a little extra when she started describing how the screws worked, how they had to carefully put them in and only up to a certain insertion point so as to not harm the sole of the shoe (not to mention the sole of the foot!)

Regardless of whether it's in my head or not, my feet hurt. In our freezer, I keep a 20-ounce bottle of water mixed with rubbing alcohol. It makes an excellent foot massager...after a run I can put it on the floor and roll my feet over it, slowly, back and forth, for an easy, icy stretch while reading or watching tv.

The race is getting closer. We'll do 18 this Saturday, then drop back to 14 the next week, followed by the big 20-miler the weekend after. Then, it's taper-down time and the big day, the 26.2, is the first weekend in March. So far this year I've stayed on top of illness, injury, and the mind games that can keep my from my goals.



I'll be kicking back and putting my feet up every chance I get, because I'm not going to let being screwed get me screwed.