09 January, 2014

Impossible. (Or, how I decided to rebuild the empire of my body.)

I think everyone knows my resolution: a year with no heels.

But here's what you don't know. Or maybe you have surmised it: I'm pretty sure my body is falling apart.

Not the whole kit and kaboodle. Just my legs. I was born with horrendously flat feet. It's hereditary. My dad's feet look as bad as mine, though I think his problems ramped up as he aged. It's been one problem after another for me for the past year and a half, mostly stemming from gait issues. Now, daily things hurt. Standing to fold the laundry is the worst of all things I can do. Sometimes chopping food for meals is uncomfortable. It's little things, here and there. They add up to make me feel a little hopeless some days.

I know lots of people with pes planus never have trouble. I think I started back too soon after producing a small person from my body. That, and over the past ten years, I've significantly ramped up my activity level. I wasn't doing things like this when I was a kid; my feet hurt, you know? So my body hasn't caught up, and is working up a stiff learning curve, and I refuse to let it catch up.

But there's something going on that I've never seen before. All the physical therapy and such for my right ankle is really beginning to show. When I stand in front of a mirror and act with a decided amount of proprioception, my foot doesn't fall in, and the symptomatic look of too many toes is completely gone. Now if the rest of my leg will catch up...

Anyway, I fell off some insane heels in soft soil and hurt my "good" foot. I think it's healing, but every time I get on the bicycle and put it under load, I have shooting pains. I think there's a doctor's visit in my near future. I'm not sure what's going on... I'm a little concerned I broke something.

Where am I headed with this?

I refuse to let my genetics determine what I can do. I can't accept the status quo. Falling apart too young, becoming a victim of the second law of thermodynamics... I can't do it. I won't go down without a fight. My plan? To spend the next year of my life rebuilding what I can of what I have been given. I don't believe I can't get better. The change I've seen in my right foot tells me there's hope. It's going to hurt. I'm going to miss out on miles on the bike probably. There's no better year to do this though; Paul will be training hard for Ironman Chattanooga. I won't have as much time for high mileage tromping. I'm not eliminating the possibility of a shot at the Dirty Dozen race in Pittsburgh, but I want to be ridiculously active and mobile for years to come. It is imperative that I fix what I can now. I'm giving myself a very protracted timeline. While I was born with this problem, my biomechanics didn't develop overnight. I can't expect immediate improvement.

I can get better. I will. I can't accept that failure is inevitable.