Youthful Foot Folly

My left foot is getting old. I know that seems a bit odd since, presumably, my left foot is the same age as the rest of my body. Knit in my mother's womb and all that. But for whatever reason, my left foot seems to be getting old faster than any other part of my body. It troubles me with a variety of aches and pains which, no doubt, can be traced back to when I was in my 20s. 

In those days I didn't think about middle-aged pain. My fashion awareness dictated that my wardrobe  include several pair of cute and colorful high-heeled pumps. No sensible one-inch heels for me, thank you.  Put the emphasis on 'high.'

Turns out all that stuff they tell you about the perils of pitching your body forward and standing on your toes all day is right.  Your feet develop a slow but seething hatred. Of shoes. Of walking. And most particularly...of you.

I started noticing this pedial rebellion a couple of years ago when, in the morning, my left foot would ache through my first waking steps. Over time my daily walks started to induce numb toes and throbbing arches. Next, I acknowledged that wearing heels was causing pain far more intense than the younger me had grown accustomed to. When I started looking at footwear with a wary eye toward the level of pain it would cause, and opted for flats instead, I knew I was in trouble. 

After attempting a variety of home remedies for my ever increasing pain, I eventually decided to consult a physician.  I generally don't find much point in going to a doctor for the simple stuff.  I figure I'm just as capable of guessing what is wrong as they are, but when things get more complicated, I acquiesce. Medical professionals have fancy machines that see below the surface and, since I possess neither x-ray vision nor the equipment for such a sophisticated view, I opted to make an appointment. 

Turns out my left foot has a number of issues. Whatever can cause pain, my foot pretty much has. Bunions.  A pesky Morton's neuroma. Some run of the mill arthritis. And a little plantar fasciitis for good measure.

Okay, so that explains the pain. I asked about a remedy. The doctor recommended I change my footwear to no heels, a wide toe box, and sturdy soles.

Geepers, that sounds attractive. What's the point in having feet if you can't wear cute shoes? 

Eventually though, I had to get realistic. It's not like hobbling around on cranky old feet is all that fetching. I went on the Internet and started researching shoes to match the criteria. There wasn't much. It seems few shoe manufacturers are concerned about healthy feet. And those who are have very underdeveloped stylistic sensibilities.  

Goodbye fashion.

Hello Grandma.

I ordered these in every color.

Hot, sexy mama shoes

There's a moral to this story, of course. Don't be foolish. Be practical and follow the advice of wise old crones who tell you to consider the future. Your feet will thank you.

Nevertheless, would the 50-something me advise the 20-something me to forgo fashionable footwear in deference to later consequences? Probably not.

Would the 20-something me listen to the 50-something me? Assuredly not.

Because there is also an Epicurean moral. Wear heels when you're young...because you can.

I don't regret my youthful choice of colorful stilettos. Granted, in retrospect it wasn't very smart. But smart can be over-rated. There is something to be said for choosing whimsy over practical. Cute over boring. Fuchsia over brown. Was choosing fashion over pragmatism the brightest decision I could have made?  Of course not. But it sure was fun. Besides, some of my foot complications might have happened anyway. Plenty of men who never wore high heels have similar issues. I wouldn't change a thing.

Eat, drink, and wear cute shoes for tomorrow we get bunions.