Sidelined

First of all, you're welcome. 

See, more than anything, I want to document in large-format digital photos the horrible wounds I have on my feet.  But I'm not going to, so you're welcome.

...I didn't say I wasn't going to talk about them though, so feel free to click away now.  If you leave, here's a random Classic Jamie political post instead.

Scott and I visited Typhoon Lagoon on Monday, and I took a wave in the wave pool... I guess you could say poorly.  Somehow I got pushed a fair distance, dragging the tops of my feet along the concrete bottom.  I got scrapes on the side of my left foot, and the outside of my right big toe.  Since they were only scrapes, and since I was in a big old vat of chlorine, I ignored the stinging and kept on diving under the waves.

Tuesday morning, I bandaged up my wounds and headed off to run two miles at the gym (14.44 minute mile, my new PB).  Wednesday, I skipped the gym because I had to work early, but then walked 2.5 miles outside with Scott at the Walking League.  And then I came home and cried.  It turns out I'd gotten very good at ignoring the scrapes on my feet and hadn't paid attention to the pain or the oozing.

The scrape on my big toe is long and ugly, but a bandage is keeping it covered and it doesn't look that bad.  The one on my left foot, on the other hand, is about the size of a pencil eraser, and is currently a crater 1/2 full of green.  It reminds me of every skinned knee or elbow I had in my entire childhood.  The appearance icked Scott out enough that he actually smelled it tonight.  Good news: my feet aren't too stinky, and my wound doesn't smell like the garbage can.  That side of the foot feels badly bruised though, which is what worries me.  I realized this afternoon that my normal work shoes have an edge right about where this non-scab is, which is probably why I was weepy all morning.  Tomorrow I'm wearing my old shoes with a different shape.

Scott, upon having to baby me last night, suggested I skip the gym today.  And I did, though I hated (not) doing it.  He thinks my feet don't need to be squeezed in the shoes, and that my skin needs a few days off to actually scab over.  I'm following orders, but I'm already feeling sluggish.  I'm sidelining myself until Monday at the latest, unless this morphs into a doctor-worthy injury.