Ay ay ay

I had no particular plan for today’s walk. I took Jackson to work at Zilker Park this morning before 7:00, but wanted to come back and linger over the paper and my coffee.  About 8:30, I got a text from him – he’d forgotten his sunglasses, could I bring them please?  (I should probably interject here that, for a variety of reasons, which we won’t delve into right now, Jackson is without a license). I sighed, grumbled and rolled my eyes, but quickly embraced the idea – his job site is about ½ mile from the 2-mile marker of the Town Lake Trail, so this would be a perfect opportunity to kill the proverbial two birds with one stone.

Off Banks and I went.  The parking lot was jam-packed, which I’d never seen before.  At first I assumed there was some kind of lake festival going on, but quickly realized it was simply the whole day’s runners and walkers, trying to get their workout over with in the morning.

My toes hurt.  I figured they’d stop at least a half hour in, like they had the last couple of days, but they got worse, to the point where I was actively limping, constantly.  They THROBBED.  I think I know why.  Yesterday, “Casual Friday,” I wore jeans and flip-flops (but dressy flip-flops!). You know how, with flip-flops, you have kind of an unnatural step, walking while at the same time trying to keep your shoes on by bearing down slightly on your toes?  That must’ve put just enough strain on the toes to aggravate them all over again.

It’s a good thing I was walking a loop, because if I had been anywhere near my house, I think I would have gone back home.  As it was, returning to my car would have been equal distance, so I had no choice but to soldier on.  Oh, my God.  Every time I passed a ¼ mile marker, I would think, will this EVER be over?  I kept fantasizing about my right foot in a bucket of ice water.  About spinning on a stationary bike, pushing the right pedal with my heel or my instep.

I limped back to the car, came home, took three Aleve and soaked the foot in, yes, a bucket of ice water, and it was everything I’d dreamed it would be.  As I write, I’ve got the leg propped up on a chair.  Sounds suspiciously like “medication and bed rest,” doesn’t it?  This journey is nothing if not humbling; every time I think I’ve accumulated a kernel of wisdom, it crumbles into dust.  I may have a broken toe, and I keep walking five miles on it. Nobody has to tell me it's stupid, I know it’s stupid, but I can’t stop.