Why I hate my feet.

I’ve never been a big fan of feet. Not sure why, but I just don’t really like them. Feet sweat, feet smell…you get the idea.

I have an extra reason to hate my feet, though: an irritating predisposition to ingrown toenails (this might get a little gross, guys. Maybe skip on to the next post).

I got my first ingrown toenail about 10 years ago, when I was in high school. I had spent the summer on my bike training for rides, and the believed cause behind the first one was the narrower European-made cycling shoes I was wearing. Other than the part where they shot a bunch of Lidocaine in me, which burned like hell until things went numb, it wasn’t as bad of a deal as, say, getting your widsom teeth taken out, or (as I would find out later) breaking a leg. In fact, it came with a perk: the suggestion/requirement that I wear some nice, roomy, open sandals meant that I had to spend a few days as a cashier at the grocery store instead of a bag boy, which was about the only way for a 16 year old guy to cashier.

The second one came the next year, and it was chalked up to the nail not growing back correctly the first time. Rinse/repeat with the whole Lidocaine and sandal and cashier deal.

Over the next ten years, though, things were alright. I still rode my bike, and a few years ago I trained pretty regularly for a 100km ride. I also started practicing in outdoor soccer shoes on a pretty regular basis, which turned out to be just as barely comfortable and narrow as my Sidi cycling shoes. All was well.

Then, this spring, after lacing up in my Sambas to play for a few minutes here and a few minutes there, I realized that it hurt to walk. Again. I had my doctor check it out when I went in for my physical, and then he had one more piece of bad news for me. It was ingrown, and it would need to be dealt with.

So, yesterday, I went back in to my doctor’s office for the fire, followed by numbness, followed by having a ridiculous amount of bandage put on my toe.

And now I get to spend the next 2-4 days off my feet again. Running is probably not the best idea, and soccer is definitely out of the picture until things grow back in correctly (at best, I’m risking a little pain if I kick in the wrong spot. At worst, I risk it growing back in the wrong way and having to go through this all over again in 6 months). In the last six months, I’ve played approximately 15 minutes of soccer, and I’ve missed twice as many games as I’ve attended. It’s beginning to make me think that it’s time to find a new hobby, which I’ll consider doing, once I can wear shoes again.