As the weather turns from winter to spring, so a young man’s fancy turns to more stimulating pursuits. Running, that is. It’s beautiful out, the sun is shining, the air is as clear as it’s going to get in LA, new buds are everywhere — I want to run and see the world.
But I can’t. About two years ago I gave up running. I was tired of the shin splints and particularly tired of the plantar fasciitis — it was so bad that my fascia would tear with the slightest vigorous movement, and every morning I awoke with the arches of my feet swollen, my feet inflexible, and staying in bed the best way to avoid the pain.
So, with hours of physical therapy and $400 orthotics no longer helping, I stopped running. And it stopped hurting. And I got fat, but that’s another entry.
Then, last week, I drove along a road I used to run down. And this evening, I did the same. And the sun’s out, and the birds sing, and it’s every reason that people live in LA outside. And I wish I could run. Damn intelligently-designed feet, why couldn’t someone put a springy, shock-absorbing arch in mine?