Jeeze Louise I’m gonna sneeze, where to begin? I ran the Long Beach Marathon back in early October and to put it both simply and crudely, my left foot is fucked more than your mom when we spent that weekend in Cancun together.
Short story long, a slight pain developed I’d say sometime back in August or so while I was training for this motherfugger. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle with ice, Aleve and sheer masculine brawn.
I did the marathon, or the 26-mile cry for attention as I like to call it, and the pain never really got worse or better. It was just
kind of there. I ran a few times here and there the following week and figured it was just normal post-marathon soreness and nothing more than a nagging kind of nuisance, like when your mom calls me over and over. God that shit’s annoying, why won’t she just leave me alone?
I then decided it’d be best took three weeks completely off from running. For those of you keeping score, that’s the longest I’ve ever gone without running since I began in 1998. To tell a runner not to run is like telling Spencer Pratt not to suck at life. It’s an inseparable part of your being. And if you don’t know who Spencer Pratt is, God how I envy you.
I bought a new pair of shoes back in the middle of November and thought I’m a badass and my cock hangs down to my knees, I’m going to get back to running. Boom! I got out on the road/trails and ran a couple of 4-milers. Over the course of the following weekend, the nagging your-mom-is-cramping-my-style-and-needs-to-pack-her-shit-and-move-out kind of pain blossomed into a I-got-your-mom-pregnant-and-refused-to-pay-for-half-the-abortion-and-she’s-put-a-hit-out-on-me kind of pain.
I paid a visit to the doctor and sure enough, there’s all kinds of shiite wrong with it. Well, just two things: a stress fracture in my heel and a heel spur. A heel spur is a product of plantar fasciitis, or severe overuse of the arch of the foot. It’s a calcium deposit that develops on the bottom of the foot. It’s called a spur because that’s basically what it looks like, or more like a hook. I have a hook of bone sticking out of the bottom of my foot. How fucking awesome is that? I should fight crime with it. It feels about as good as it sounds, too. It’s not quite Daniel Stern stepping onto a nail in Home Alone but it’s close.
Having a foot with temporary Downs ’ Syndrome isn’t all the bad, though. 
I get to wear a fancy boot wherever I go. It’s inflatable too, just like a Reebok Pump. It’s like 1989 for my foot all over again! Additionally, I have to hook up a set of electrodes to my foot and shock myself for thirty minutes a night. Suhhhhweet!
So yeah, if you’re thinking of running a marathon anytime in the near future… eh, maybe you should reconsider. Granted, I’m not a doctor but I am seeing one tomorrow at 8:30. We’re going to do another X-ray and take a look at my MRI results. That’s right, an MRI. Fantastic. I’m also getting some custom shoe insoles made. Yippee!
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I’d like to say that I’m the world’s greatest puppy parent and that my two girls sleep on a bed made of clouds but that’d only be a half truth. Best of all, that bed had been purchased maybe, maybe 36 hours prior to this picture being taken. Freaking sweet.