Dear Feet,
I know I've put you through hell for most of my life, and I really must apologize. I know carrying around 455 pounds wasn't easy, yet you guys hung in there like troopers. I am trying to repay you for your loyalty by losing weight. I've taken 105 pounds of burden off of you, so I hope that helps. I also buy you expensive workout shoes that are supposed to fix your pronation problem. To go with the snazzy shoes, I also buy you expensive socks that are supposed to be good for you and reduce blisters. We all know how important a clear complexion is.
Feet, I know that making you do a half marathon is asking a lot of you. But we're in this together. We're raising money and accomplishing things we never thought possible when we were lounging in the la-z-boy.
This week, you're really been fighting me. The insides of my arches and inside my ankles feel like they're screaming. To help, I've stretched my calves extensively, wrapped your arches in sports tape (as instructed by YouTube), rolled you on tennis balls, and wore sneakers when it would have been cuter to wear ballerina flats with no support. Every morning I wake up begging you to feel better so that we can continue our half-marathon training together. We're slated for 11 miles this weekend, yet I couldn't walk through the grocery without you yelling at me.
You survived 10 miles last week like a champ. I might have complained about you, but really, compared to how you feel right now, I will take it.
As an incentive for you to make it through the 11 miles, I promise you we will go see a special doctor for you on Monday. Yes, a podiatrist. Maybe he can give you more fancy things to help you work better. I'm really trying, feet. Really. We're a team.
Love,
Emmie
