In honour of my feet

In life as in dance: Grace glides on blistered feet. Alice Abrams

I had my cast off. It feels strange. Surreal. Two feet, side by side, one with straightened toe, the other still leaning left, pointing towards the east I imagine. To Mecca. The Divine. Buddha. God. Allah. Yahweh.

My feet know the direction of my soul. They lead me ever closer to my hearts desire to feel my spirit rising freely in flight. My feet are my soleful wings of freedom.

The doctor cautioned, "It will feel weird. You won't have perfect balance for a bit. Take care." And then she added, "You can't hurt your foot by using it. And oh, right. Don't try shaving for a least three days. You'll scrape your skin off if you do."

Practical advice.

The skin flakes and scales. It is amazing to see how much dead skin there is inside a cast.

I came home and took a bath, soaked my foot in warm scented water. Gently brushed the dead skin away. Rubbed lavender oil into both feet and thanked them for carrying me so gracefully through these past ten weeks.

I haven't been very kind to my feet in the past. Avoided professional pedicures because I couldn't stand someone touching them, looking at them and seeing how deformed my big toe had become.

It's thanks to C.C. that I have moved outside the comfort zone of hating my feet into treating them with tender loving care. Every night, as we lay in bed or watched TV or simply chatted, C.C. would take my foot in his hand and massage it. I've never let anyone touch my feet. Hated it. And then, this man walked into my life and without question, when he realized how sore my feet were, he began to massage them.

His gentle touch awoke me to the need to take care of my feet. They walk me through each moment of the day, step me forward, backward, sideways. They dance for me. Climb for me. Carry me through each step I take.

My feet are precious.

They deserve my tender loving care.

I have an appointment in six weeks to see how my right foot is doing. "We'll take an x-ray of your left foot then as well," my doctor said. "Let's see just how much work we need to do on it and then we can decide when you want it done."

It's interesting, thinking about my feet. I can't remember a time when I thought I had pretty feet or when I paid them mindful attention. The toes started moving sideways in my twenties. I ran and ran and never thanked my feet for carrying me the distance. I ran the marathon and never thanked my feet for carrying me across the finish line after 26 miles of constant running.

My feet have carried me many places and I have been remiss in my gratitude for their constant support.

The right foot is still swollen. The ankle tight. The swelling will abate. My ankle will loosen up as long as I take good care of it, exercise it judiciously and treat it with the care it deserves.

It's up to me. And my feet. They are my wings that take me where ever I want to go.

Thanks feet! I'm so grateful for your support!

And I am so thankful to be out of that cast! Hurray. Two feet firmly planted on the ground. Ready. Set. Go!