Trigger warning: I’m going to be talking about toes.
During Covid, while I worked on my yoga practice via Zoom and did my best to master chaturanga, I posted a video showing my progress. A friend, after watching me roll my toes as I transitioned to upward dog from low plank, commented “Krakatoa!” and I’ve not been able to disassociate my toes from the Indonesian volcano ever since.
Because of Jeter’s advancing years, I decided to not travel this summer for more than 7 consecutive days. He’s doing great, but I know the only way I’ll ever get over (eventually) losing my yellow lab, will be with the consolation that there has never been a better loved dog than Jeter Greenwood Lilly.
I won’t be visiting Indonesia this summer – Krakatoa or elsewhere.
I’ll be just kicking around Albany, MA, NYC and Chicago.
“Kicking around” was a poor choice of words, because my toes became a topic when I, twice in the last three weeks, had deeply bruised/perhaps broken one of my toes, with the most basic of stubbings. Once in Dansko clogs, once with rubbery Birks.
It seems my toes are delicate.
The first incident was a most random banging of my right pinkie toe into the trash bin when I rolled it back to its usual location after it was emptied. My pain was sharp and immediate to an extreme that made me wonder if I would see blood upon taking off my clog. No blood externally visible, but the bruising was apparent in minutes.
After consulting with my family doctor, aka my retired Emergency Department physician brother, I limped about for a few days and treaded most gingerly for nearly two additional weeks before becoming convinced that I was on the road to recovery. There’s still an awareness of the injury, particularly during standing balance poses during yoga, but I’d say I’m about 75% recovered.
Earlier this week, we took Jeter to a favorite swimming hole (Bozenkill Preserve) for a dip on a hot afternoon. Knowing that I’d be, at a minimum, wading, I wore my beach Birks to protect my feet from sharp stones in the water. My plan was flawless and Jeter and I both enjoyed paddling around in the refreshing water.
Returning to the car along the wooded path, things took a negative turn when I stubbed a toe on my left foot. Again, the initial pain made me gasp. Son of a bitch. Did I really just smash another toe?
As I adjust to having a temporarily “bad” toe on both feet, and delaying a much needed pedicure, I keep hearing my friend’s Krakatoa comment in my head. It just might be a good time for me to hobble down to dp’s for a bowl of bakmi (with sambal on the side) and call it a vacation. Or, at the least, an escape from stepping on my own toes.
DelSo 