Agony of da Feet

   Recently I’ve been working on being more consciously aware of my feet. I want to be in tune with what they’re doing, how they’re feeling. I want to be kinder to them.
 
   Over the years, I’m embarrassed to say, I’ve done pretty much nothing for my feet, while they’ve done a shit-ton for me. And our relationship finally came to a tipping point.

   My right foot was decidedly down on its luck. It’s got the dreaded toenail fungus on all five toes. The heel was starting to get funky too, like some sort of Stage 1 mummification.

   Things were a little better over on the left side, but just a little. My left big toe, the Left Captain, had turned into a complainer. He was hyper-sensitive and cramping and belly-aching most of the time. It was obviously a cry for help.
 
   I knew it was high time I started acting like I gave a shit about my feet.
 
   Here’s a simple act of kindness I’ve been practicing every day for the last six months or so: When I take a shower, instead of letting my poor feet just catch the soapy runoff from washing the rest of my body and hoping these sloppy seconds will somehow clean my feet, I’ve been picking up each foot individually and giving it the Royal Treatment. I apply fresh, sudsy soap with slow and deliberate hand-to-foot attention, and pour on lots of kind words of affirmation and reverence.
 
   Yes, I talk to my feet.
 
   Here are some things I say to them:

“Thank you for supporting me all these years.”
“I’m so grateful that you help me walk around, help me run, provide me with balance.”
“I hope you like this soap. I hope this feels good.”
“I love you.”

   I’ve also been popping two Fungus Hack Plus pills a day for the last three months. It’s a probiotic that’s supposed to attack foot fungus internally. I figure it can’t hurt. Here’s what I say to my feet when I pop my pills: “There’s fungus among-us, lads! Here comes the cavalry!”  In addition to the sappy stuff, I like to get ‘em fired up.
 
   Oh, there’s plenty of other stuff I’m doing too. I’ll spare you all the nutty details. But I should at least share that some of it is to do with footwear and lack thereof. Basically, if I put shoes on my feet, I’ve decided that they damn well better feel good and let my feet spread out where they want to go, without any shoe-manufacturer-imposed restrictions. It turns out that most shoes are real bastards in this regard, so you really have to do your homework and search out the good ones. My wife’s been on my case about this very topic for a hundred years. She has more smarts about what shoes are supposed to be than anyone I know. She also tells me how important it is to get my bare feet into direct contact with the earth every day. So, I’ve been doing that as well.
 
   Now, I don’t know if feet have a “love language” or not, but I’m here to tell you that my relationship with my feet has never been better. The Left Captain hasn’t been complaining at all lately. In fact, he’s been downright cooperative. And his positive attitude is obviously spreading to all the troops. For instance: I can see that the toenails on my right foot seem to be looking healthier down at the base where the nails are growing in. Too soon to tell for sure just yet, but it’s looking like the fungus may be on the run. Also, there’s less overall funkiness, less mummy business, and an overall spirit of optimism. Hell, I even feel like simple point A-to-B walking is somehow better, more switched on.
 
   It’s a hoot to be in partnership with my feet. We’re working things out.
 
– O.M. Kelsey

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