AND... Plantar Fasciitis... Tips and tricks?

Oh, so pretty--From Wikipedia

I haven't been walking well for, oh, about 8 months now. My feet hurt. My left foot, in particular, hurts a lot. Right by the heel. Like in this really remote spot by the heel on the underside of my foot. See that "Most Frequent Area of Pain" spot in the super helpful picture from Wikipedia above? Yeah, that's the spot.

It's been going on for a while. I remember being at Disney for the Dopey Challenge and thinking I couldn't walk barefoot on the hotel room floor because my heels hurt so badly (I usually say that to my husband, "My HEEL hurts...", not "my foot.") And post-Dopey, it definitely didn't go away. It's just gotten worse, really. When I found myself not wanting to put on my shoes for work (I try to look professionally presentable and often wear flats to work) and shopping online for Danskos and trying to come up with ways to justify wearing my Oofos  to work. (Oofos don't feel right at work; they've asked us not to wear Crocs, and they are made of the same material.)

On a positive note, I finally have my red shoes. I'm sure that my early childhood obsession with the Wizard of Oz has led to a lifelong fascination with red shoes. I have a pair of red boots, but I've never had a pair of red shoes. And now I have a pair. I also have a pair of really cool brown Danskos. And an older paid of black Danskos. And all those are great (although somewhat limiting if you are a person who cares about what your feet look like with dresses and skirts). 

So I haven't been walking well for about 8 months. And finally, on Thursday at one of my high school's soccer games, I walked (limped) up to a trainer friend and asked her to look at my feet. She thought something might be broken and recommended I go see a doctor to get it checked. (My hubby did a little bit of the "I told you so" thing, but he was relatively restrained). 

I figured that I'd have to go to the school's Clinic, they'd have to refer me to someone else, and then I'd have to wait to get in. I called the school's Clinic, and they told me that they'd just have to refer me to someone else anyway, so I might as well go somewhere where they could do x-rays. (It was rather efficient of them, and I appreciated it. I often feel like medical stuff is a lot of hurry up and wait.) 

And the cool thing? I didn't have to wait. There is an actual walk-in orthopedic clinic in South Bend. I had no idea such a thing existed until I went online and realized that I could go yesterday afternoon between noon and eight and be seen right away. Brilliant. 

I went. They x-rayed. It's not broken. It's PF. A friend, though, told me that given the choice between the two, he'd take a broken foot any day of the week. It took him two years to get over PF; a broken foot can be out of a cast in six weeks. The doctor sounded more optimistic than that. She gave me some stretches. Told me to take on the ole frozen water bottle/lacrosse ball foot rolling routine. Recommended I take an anti-inflammatory 24 hours a day for a while. And even gave me a physical therapy referral. (All in a walk-in clinic. It was amazing.) Also, my friend told me to try this essential oil because it worked for him. I ordered it this morning.

I'm pretty sure that if you told me that standing on my head, blindfolded, while mosquitos sting the bottoms of my feet would make me feel better, I would try it. So I'm all in on all the things here.

Oddly, I forgot to ask the doctor if I can run. I just said to a friend this week, "I don't know who I am when I'm not running." And I've been running through the pain (It doesn't actually hurt all that much when I'm running. It hurts when I stop running.). Going to have to do some research on this one. I feel like my high pain tolerance might actually be helpful here? 

For now, PF on, friends. 

How's your crow?

Skirt Sports Redemption Shorts First Run--Sweet! 

There's this great scene in the movie Hook where Robin Williams' character, Peter Pan, has grown up and forgotten how to crow. The Lost Boys spend an inordinate amount of time in the film trying to get him to remember how to crow, and when he finally does, he can not only crow but he can fight and fly. 

To extend the metaphor (but not to ally myself with a Disney villain or anything), there's a scene in Disney's new film Descendants where Ursula the sea witch's daughter, Uma, sings a song about her crow--"My crow's as real as it gets!"That line gets me every time. 

Both of these scenes popped into my head today as I was out running in the heat. Peter Pan grows up and forgets how to crow. Then he finds it again. I periodically lose my crow; I beat myself about not getting a run in, and I lose a bit of my swagger. I pay too much attention to my watch, and I beat myself up about running too slowly. I think back on races I ran and the shape I was in. I forget that my crow is the same. 

Lately, when I find myself alone on a run on a back road, and the road is curving up to challenge me, and the wind is nowhere to be found, and the asphalt is giving off heat, and I need a little bit of a push, I crow. Like out loud. Loudly. Sometimes multiple times. I imagine it's not all that unlike Serena Williams' yell at a serve or Robin Williams' crow when he finds it. Shouldn't we all have such a thing? 

Crow on, friends.