that one river in egypt

When I was about 12 years old and we lived in Des Plaines (a house in which planes from O'Hare flew so close that it was like a scene straight out of Mary Poppins), there was this guy who would walk by our house every evening. Sometimes he had candy to give us kids. Sometimes he just walked.

But the most curious thing about him were his feet. And his shoes. His feet and his shoes. His one particular foot was way off. The sole of the shoe was all out on the outside of his foot and when he walked, it was actually the inside wall of his shoe that touched the ground. Not the sole.

We always thought it looked weird. Like he was walking on his ankles and not his feet. And I thanked God that my feet weren't like his.

Fast forward to present day.

The gym in which I work out has a million mirrors. On nearly every wall. This is nice when you want to spy on someone. It is not nice when you happen to look upon your own sweaty reflection.

It was because of these mirrors that I realized wowzers! That left foot of mine is really smashed down. In fact it's so smashed down that it's like that one guy in Des Plaines! That guy with the creepy feet!

I tried to ignore this issue. And when my new running shoes gave me shin aches and a sort lower back, I blamed it on my stride. Or the terrain. Or the fact that I had tried a new treadmill.

This is what is referred to as denial, people. And for months I've pushed through the pain and the aches and the swelling. JUST SO I COULD SAY MY FEET WERE NORMAL.

Well, after a particularly disturbing Facebook conversation in which I found out that my tendons could rupture!, I went and did the fancy thing where you run on a treadmill and an expert video tapes you and analyzes your feet.

I came out of that meeting with this:

My name is Amanda. And I overpronate. It is especially prominent in my left foot.


God? I take back what I said about thanking You for not making my feet like his.