Flat Foot, Acquired

The six miles in Rock Creek Park on Saturday went well enough, although the aftermath didn't. Sunday I had to go up the stairs one at a time like an arthritic old man. After 12 weeks of "recovery" to no avail, it was time to get serious about my sore ankle.

Only it's not my ankle, it's my foot. According to the podiatrist, it's Posterior tibial tendon dysfunction (Posterior Tibial Tendonitis), caused by tibialis tendonitis flat foot, acquired.

Actually, I was born with flat feet, I'm pretty sure.

I had a nice visit with the specialist. After two visits to GPs who poked around on my foot and kept asking, "Does that hurt?" to which I'd say, "Sort of," I got referred to a specialist (another, higher, co-pay).

The podiatrist listened to my tale of woe while I stood barefoot, looked down at my flat feet and had me rise up on my left five toes while standing only on my injured foot. Then he announced what I had.

That was it.

While I sat, he traced on my lower leg the calf muscle to where it attached to my foot via the tibialis tendon, below the ankle, and said, "That's inflamed due to chronic overuse. Fortunately it's not ruptured, or else you couldn't have stood on your toes." Around my ankle bone, the light yet pointed passage of his index finger traced the center of my pain exactly.

Prognosis: Ankle brace, contrast therapy, custom orthotics and ibuprofen for ten days for the swelling. The doctor parroted back to me sua sponte the "ten percent rule" which I often cite to trainees (never increase your weekly distance by more than 10% any week).

He said, "That six miles on Saturday, after hardly running for three months, way overdid it."

I hung my head in shame, secretly smiling inside.

Hey, I have a diagnosis, a treatment plan (I'll be transitioning to start-up running in two weeks, hopefully) and I'm back!

Don't try this at home.

As I ran along the Mall during the noon hour on Wednesday, my left arm felt heavy. It also felt full, like it was under pressure. The skin was taut, and that I had Popeye forearms was undeniable. They were fiery red, and unbearably itchy.

I had a bad case of poison ivy. That'll teach me to clear out the underbrush behind the garage, which I did on Sunday.

My left arm was definitely swollen. The rash had started crawling up my forearms on Monday, and I was barely able to sleep on Tuesday night. The itching woke up at 2 a.m., 4 a.m., and 6 a.m., at which time I decided to get up.

I located some itch-relief medication under the sink, which told me that my last bad case of poison ivy was in August of 2002. The Ivy-Dry bottle was notated in my handwriting, "Works well, Eckerds, 8/02." On the Bio-Sentry Anti-Itch spray bottle I had noted, "Doesn't work any better than calamine lotion, 8/02."

The bottles of topical analgesics had expired half a decade ago so I figured it was time to use them up. I started with the Bio-Sentry, to finish it off and keep the good stuff in reserve. It didn't help my maddening discomfort much that night.

Wednesday I ran with my workgroup and, given the swollen nature of my left arm, I decided to go to the doctor. For poison ivy. Wimpy me. My arm was weeping big drops of amber fluid out of a blister at my elbow. (Does poison ivy make my arms look fat?)

At the doctor's office I received a steroid injection in the deep muscles of my buttock (the last time I was shot in the butt was 51 years ago!) and a 12 day prescription of prednisone tablets. I was getting juiced!

By yesterday the swelling was down and the itching was tolerable. Except for running with my workgroup (I lead the group), I didn't run at all during the entire workweek due to the frustrating condition. Wimpy me.

I think my arms are totally grossing people out.

I'm Invisible.

I paid $113.11 as my co-pay for three prescriptions at Kaiser today. I saw that the future had arrived for me. I am old now, because I am going to be regularly taking pills by the handful each day.

Whenever someone takes my pulse, they comment, You must be a runner. It's usually in the 40s. Whenever they take my bloodpressure, they get up to look for the doctor. It has been hammering away lately at over 100 on the low end and over 170 at the high end. Someone who regularly runs 25 miles a week and races once a weekend shouldn't have b/p that high.

I have no doubt that the four years of nuclear domestic-law litigation I recently emerged from, and my estrangement from my three sons who sued me during it ("their" suit was tossed out by the Court as "harassment" and their Mother was sanctioned for it), has a lot to do with my sky-high b/p. I would have died, literally, if I didn't have running during those awful years.

So now I'm on multiple prescriptions. Fistfuls of pills. Welcome to AARP.

As I wrote out my first check over $100 for a necessary set of prescriptions for me, I wryly commented to the pharmacist, I guess I'm old now. $113 for pills!

She ignored me, blankly looking away as she waited for me to finish writing the check and hand it over. I am old because I am invisible to most younger people.

A friend who is single tells me that now that she is past 40, she's invisible to everyone. I don't know why, because I think she is beautiful. She's trim and fit in addition to being tall and good looking. And sometimes when I'm with her, I will see a man scrutinize her with that look animating his face.

It's my belief that women don't look at unfamiliar men in order to avoid getting locked into that look. Maybe that's why my friend doesn't notice it when men look appraisingly at her.

In any case, I'm invisible now and feeling it.