There are band-aid wrappers all over my life, on my desk, in my pockets, on my dresser, and in the bottom of every trash can. I have cortisone cream. I have poly antibiotic. I have baking soda. I have acid. I have Nexcare, Newskin, and Moleskin.
Every morning I sit down & prepare my feet for battle; gathering defensives so I can stand. I walk with a limp and run in agony.
This morning I can already see myself on the treadmill running (despite the pain it makes me happy) as I begin the slow painful process of getting into running shoes. But in another part of my mind I allow a quiet moment where I give in to the pain and do nothing. Where I let last night’s realization define me….BC in an act of kindness took my foot in his hand. I flinched. He ignored my reaction, gently rubbing around the open sores. My whole body tensed as I waited for the pain I knew was coming. “Relax.” He whispered. But no matter what he said or did the fear of pain smothered me. It was so intoxicating we were able to sit in the dark as he worked my feet and talked about the past, not our past, our past with others. “Relax” He whispered again taking my other foot in his strong hands.
I have been battling these sores on my feet since the middle of July. I trained on them. Ran, mud jumped, climbed, hiked, gave up, and started running again. And I am finally winning this fight. But it has come at a high price I have conditioned myself to feel the pain. I believe that any touch to my feet will hurt me and I run on them anyway. There is something in that: a girl who knows it is going hurt and accepts it as her sentence. I have lost ten years of commonsense and strength. I stand on weak feet on the wrong side of a door I should have never opened…but at least I am still running.
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