The time has finally come for me to go to a podiatrist. How I’ve lasted this long without seeking treatment will remain a mystery to me. For as long as I can remember they’ve caused me trouble. I know what you’re thinking—I should be grateful to have feet. I could have stumps; I could have nubs for toes or bunions the size of small planets. In retrospect, yes, I feel extremely fortunate and blessed to have functioning limbs. However, when you’ve taken as many tumbles as I have, when you’ve dealt with as many bloody knees, shoe issues, and foot pain, you too would be sick of it and the tiniest bit ungrateful.
Just to give you a little background, I have weird feet; always have. When I was young I really didn’t notice it that much. My friends would always ask me, “Why do your feet look weird?” or “Why do you walk funny?” These comments would hurt my feelings but I always let it roll of my back because to me, nothing seemed wrong. They must be the weird ones because all I saw was a foot and some toes! What’s weird about that?
My teenage years came and I found it increasingly hard to find shoes that worked for my wide feet and exceptionally high arch. This was always a painful issue for me because I was very interested in fashion and wanted to wear a lot of shoes that I couldn’t. Still, I made it work. I was lucky because the thicker “wedge” heels were in style and I could manage to squeeze my foot in and walk semi-normally.
As college came around it got harder and harder to walk in even a thick heel. I found myself eating shit … a lot. Besides being incredibly embarrassing (I would often take tumbles in large crowds or at fraternity houses) it started to get a little dangerous. I would always insist on wearing at least a three inch heel out to the bars at night which, if you went to Chico, know can be quite precarious on the walk home with about six to seven drinks under your belt. I would often wake up the next morning with scraped palms and gashed shins.
Now, as an adult, I’ve experienced the most problems. Forget about wearing a heel, I can’t do it. People don’t believe me when I tell them that but it’s true—I can’t walk a lick in heels, even small ones. Some people will make me prove it to them and I’ll say, “FINE!” Put on a pair of their stilettos, stand up and crumple to the floor with my first step. “Oh yeah, NOW you believe me, Bitch,” as I look up at them and massage my bruised knee. It’s annoying, frustrating and beyond inconvenient. I can spend hours trying on shoes and have not one pair work for me.
Well, I officially came to a cross roads last week. I’m working on being a healthier me and have decided that part of a healthier me will involve improvements for my feet. I’m going in for my very first feet consult in one week! The mere thought of it makes me light headed with glee. Could I potentially wear heels after all this time? They (my Dr.) claim that, yes! There is a good possibility I will be strutting my stuff in heels with little trouble after they’re done with me.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve obviously gotten by up until this point and my feet aren’t mutinous or horribly disfigured. They look fine in the shoes that do work for them and my toes are always groomed and painted. The way I see it now is that they’re a work in progress and I refuse to sit idly by while every other woman in the world gets to rock fierce heels. I want the fierceness too, damnit. I want the opportunity to wear dainty shoes and strappy stilettos. Who knows, maybe it’s a lost cause but at least I’ll be able to walk away, perhaps not gracefully, but with my head held high knowing that I tried my best.
