Toe-ing The Line

I promise to write a full- fledged blog here, but I really don’t need to. Oh, I have stuff to talk about to get you through that morning cup of coffee or a part of your train ride or whatever it is that you are doing when you read this.  I had some of my usual trials and tribulations that hopefully will make you laugh for a few minutes.  But to be honest, this entire blog could be written with two words: Toe Socks.

Those who read last week’s blog know that I painfully hobbled through my 20 mile training run, and from it I earned 3 blisters and the inability to walk normally because of a corn on my foot.  This resulted in new running shoes and a trip to a different podiatrist who removed the corn – quite painfully, I might add – but still had me in pain every time I walked.

The podiatrist told me I had to keep my toes from rubbing together when I run.  He recommended toe spacers and powders, most of which I had already used to minimal success.  Toe spacers slip out of place, and powders wear off too quickly.  I limped out of his office still in pain (really, this guy will never earn the nickname “Dr. Gentle”), and pretty dejected.  Nothing was working.  The traditional remedies were no match for me and the world’s stupidest, most ridiculous reason for worrying about not being able to run the NYC Marathon in 4 weeks.

Friday morning I rode my usual 5:15 (yes, 5:15 AM.  I know; I’m tired just writing about it) train into the city to go to the gym and ride on a spin bike for 30 minutes before my boot camp class that was going to suck out  my will to live.  I usually fall asleep on the train (who wouldn’t?  It was 5:15 in the freaking morning), but I couldn’t.  My brain was too active, thinking about how much my foot hurt, and what on earth I could do about it.  And after a very odd train of thought (I won’t go into it, but at one point it included the project I had to get to when I got to work, that I wanted to make meatloaf for dinner on Sunday, and if my son’s favorite color was still green), it hit me.  Toe socks!

Toe socks!  They can’t slip out of place, and they won’t dissolve like powder.  Toe socks!  At that moment I felt a mix of feeling so incredibly smart for coming up with an idea that seemed plausible and nobody else had thought of, and also so incredibly stupid for taking so long to figure out a solution that was so simple.

On my way to the office that morning (after my boot camp instructor was done sucking out my will to live), I stopped at a City Sports around the corner from my office.  They sold toe socks, but only in pink.  I internally apologized to my daughter Olivia  –  whose first favorite color is purple, and whose second favorite color is “anything but pink” – and happily doled out the absurd amount of money for a single pair of socks.

I wore them all day, and it seemed to work.  The pain I still had was much less than it had been without them, and was at a level I thought I could live with. 

Today, though, was the true test.  I was running a half marathon race in Central Park.  This race – my last race before THE race – is a little more than 2 loops around Central Park, and happens to be the very first half marathon I had ever run, back in 2009.

The race was great.  The weather was in the high 40s, perfect weather for running (once you’re moving, but boy was it cold while we waited for it to start!!!).  My running partner Rita and I kept up a pretty good pace the entire time, slowing down only to drink water a couple of times (and at one point during a water stop I came up with my next brilliant idea: cups with lids at water stops so you can drink while you run without splashing it all over you).  I lost track of mile 9, which caused a pleasant and surprised feeling at the mile 10 marker, and at the very end Rita and I sprinted to the finish and passed a few people which is always just fun.

Sorry about the color, Olivia!

As we picked up our bags and headed out of the park, I checked in with my own body.  My leg muscles were killing me from having to climb the Harlem Hills twice, and I was hungry, but that was it.  My feet didn’t hurt AT ALL.  I smiled and then humbly put my head down and silently gave thanks to the inventor of toe socks.

OK, you’ve read this whole blog entry and you think it’s stupid.   You’re thinking, “Did I just waste 5 minutes reading about a chick with sore feet?”  Well, I don’t think you did.  You see, it’s not the toe socks here that are important (well, not to you; to me they are now the one possession I will run back into my house for if it ever burns down).  What’s important is that I didn’t let an obstacle trip me up.  I did a few things by trial and error (mostly error), but when they didn’t work I just kept thinking until I came up with the right answer.  We all get obstacles thrown in front of us.  And some are huge, way more important than training for a marathon on a sore foot.  Some solutions are easy, and some may take a bit.  But they’re almost always there if we keep looking for them.  I found my solution.  It was ridiculous, but it worked.  Now I just need to find a store that sells them in any color but pink.