The Long Awaited Stinky Feet, Pt. 3
I guess it’s about time.
Almost 6 months to the day since I wrote Part 2 of my stinky feet story.
Coming up on two years since it all started.
There’s a reason there hasn’t been a Part 3.
See, I always assumed Part 3 would be the one where I would tell you I had a diagnosis.
And seeing as I still don’t have a diagnosis, I don’t have much to tell you.
To be honest, I do everything possible not to think about it. I can’t write a post about it and not think about it, so I just never did.
But the number one most common inquiry I get is “How did you go from Part 2 to half marathons?”
I really don’t have a good answer, but I’ll try to fill in some gaps.
I left you at the part where I started taking medication for fibromyalgia, despite insistence from the doctor that that’s not what I had. It was a combination of a last ditch effort and quite likely a way for the doctor to get me to shut up.
The only sure thing was a had chronic pain. Fibromyalgia is a disease of chronic pain, so on the off chance the medication could help for generic chronic pain, we gave it a try.
And it worked.
It didn’t make it go away. It didn’t make everything better.
But it was enough to start getting back to my normal life. A new normal life anyways.
Running’s harder than it’s ever been. Every step hurts. It takes me 20 minutes to get my feet ready to go out the door. But they hold me up, and I run.
I haven’t worn these beauties in almost 2 years.
I should probably throw them out. Give them to somebody who can wear them. But whether it’s denial or just holding out hope, in my closet they stay.
Getting a “little bit” better has made all the difference in the world. I almost forget what it’s like to feel normal- I just know I feel better than I did last year this time. I guess I’ve just gotten used to it. That’s what people do- they adapt.
Running’s hard for different people in different ways. It may be hard for one person because they have bad hips. It might be hard for another person because they have small lungs. I don’t know. Everybody has their “thing”. This is mine.
I don’t think I’ll ever be thankful for this disease, but I do appreciate how it makes me see things. Everybody feels sympathy for a girl in a wheelchair, or a guy with no legs..but you never stop and think about what their life is really like- what they must go through every single day. I know no matter what I’m going through, somebody else has it worse. And there’s always somebody that has it worse that’s handling it better than you.
So on the days when I start on the landslide to feeling sorry for myself, I think of them. I think about where I am now compared to when I was at my worst. I think about all the things I can do, and I try not to think about the things I can’t, or the things I used to be able to do.
Next time you put on a pair a sneakers and go out for a run like it’s nothing, be grateful. Next time you slip on a pair of cute heels, be grateful. Next time you hammer a sentence out on the keyboard with ease, be grateful.
To me it’s not enough to think about those that have it worse (though I do)- I think about those that have it worse and triumph.
The lady at the ultramarathon that had to drop out of the race because it was so hot her prosthetic leg sweated off.
The teenager that surfs with one arm.
The triathlete that brings three legs with her to the race.
That’s who I’m thinking about.
Here’s my most recent update: The Outcome
