*Disclaimer: I apologize if you hate feet and anything feet related. Feel free to skip this post. I won't be offended. Just keeping it real around here.
I remember the moment it dawned on me that my toe injury meant I would not be able to run. It gave me immediate crushing anxiety and that took me by surprise. I remember saying to myself, "Calm down, it's only a toenail, you'll be running in two weeks." Yeah, that may have been just a wee bit too optimistic on my part. I tried pretty early on to run but it was just too painful. It's been over a month since the initial injury and almost two weeks since I pulled out my own toenail with needle nose pliers and yet I'm still not where I was with my running. Four days after the accident I was suppose to remove my bandages and the nail that the doctor had replaced was just suppose to "come off" with the bandages. Remember it was only serving as a place holder. Well someone forgot to send that memo to my toenail. That sucker was IN there, and it had no intention of just "coming off." Even with the slightest touch it was tender, actually that's a lie, it hurt like capital H-E- double hockey sticks. So I repeatedly declined when Craig offered to "just pull it out." Fast forward two weeks. That dummy nail was still hanging in there and I knew that the longer that it stayed there the longer my recovery would take. So I started to open myself up to the idea of pulling the toenail out. After I'd put the kids to bed I would soak it for an hour in Epsom Salts. I have no idea what I thought this would really do but pulling out your toenail invokes a weird mental block. I can't even explain it but it simply goes against your human nature. I couldn't let someone else do it because the thought of not being in control of the removal was even more horrifying. That first night it wouldn't budge, not even the slightest wiggle. That nail was holding on tight. I still had a considerable amount of swelling so I'm sure that was holding it in. Night after night I'd soak and then yank and nothing happened. I thought surely as the new nail grew out it would simply push out this 'place keeper' and keeping it in place meant it would be more esthetically pleasing. I resigned to just let the nail rent out this space until my body naturally evicted it. Then one day it started to really hurt again, this time it was a pinching pain rather than a nervy pain. After close examination I realized that the nail had started to curl into itself (because it was indeed dead) and was cutting into the 'meat' causing discomfort. Oh dear, I knew I had no option but to get that nail out. So I bit the bullet and then a dish towel and pulled it out with needle nose pliers. I am woman hear me whimper roar! It hurt but immediately my toe felt better. If I would have known I would have pulled it out weeks earlier. So often what we fear the most is for the best. Anyway, back to my running, if I remember correctly I pulled the nail out on a Friday. That Saturday I woke up at 6am. I was so excited to get out and attempt a run, my stress had been mounting and I needed a good lung burning, sweat inducing, exhilarating run. It went OK, my endurance had taken a hit but the pain was minimal and certainly something I could run through. So that's kinda where I'm at, I'm running my normal Saturday and Sunday mileage. I'm struggling with the runs more than I would like but I'll push on. So now the only thing I'm missing terribly is nail polish. Anyone ever painted their naked nail bed? I'm seriously considering it.
P.S. I can't believe I just wrote this much about a toenail.
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