Sunday, 7 September 2014
Anyone who’s seen me recently knows that I’ve been struggling with my flat feet.
They hurt. A lot. Constantly. Even in my sleep.
I’ve had to modify all of my expectations of being able to cross the road, scale a flight of stairs or catch the bus because I was only capable of two speeds: stationary and snail’s-pace. And as one of those stubborn types who refuses to accept defeat, I’ve had to eat a tremendous amount of humble pie.
Recently I had some custom arches fitted for my severely mutated feet. Short of surgery, I thought this was going to be the answer – but I was still getting pain and swelling in my right foot. I resigned myself to the idea that I’ll have to manage the pain for the rest of my life; that I’d be one of those fathers who have to just sit it out any time the kids want to go play in the park.
On Father’s Day, my kids wrote me a card that listed all the nice things I do for them that they wanted to thank me for. It said “thanks for letting us watch your TV.”
I nearly died from shame at that moment, realising that’s all I’m capable of for them.
Today, I got my custom arches back from my podiatrist, who decided to make some changes to them after a routine check-up. And for the first time in more than 15 months, I am now walking around pain-free.
I’d almost forgotten what this feels like.
I’ve been smiling like an idiot non-stop for the past two hours.