This, of course, presented a significant footwear problem. Only sandals felt comfortable, but I’m not supposed to wear those at work. I finally found a pair of flats – ones I had just recently been given – that seemed to double as a splint for my ailing toe.
The problem was, these shoes being new and not broken in, the first time I wore them to work produced the biggest, grossest blister I have ever had.
So my right foot hasn’t been 100 percent for a while. But, finally, I was enjoying full mobility this weekend, praising God that I don’t ordinarily have to take a single step in pain.
Until this morning, when I was groggily cleaning up the living room. I picked up a mason jar full of water and two dead flowers and went to take it to the kitchen.
And ran straight into the couch, with my right foot.
Ouch, I thought, annoyed at my own lack of grace. But I talked myself out of further investigation. It couldn’t be that bad.
Well, after the toe continued bothering me all day, I finally decided to check it out.
It is that bad.
Can someone PLEASE explain to me how I could play night after night of ultimate frisbee, often barefoot, for three years in college and not have anything like this happen, but in the matter of a few weeks of life in the big, bad city, I’m ready to amputate my own foot?
Some folks complain about having “two left feet.” I wouldn’t mind trading in my right foot for a compatible left at this point.
PS – A real Ireland post is coming soon. Or eventually. Whichever comes first.
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