a visit to the podiatrist (lyn)

Karen knocks at my door at 6:45 this morning.  It is still dark out.  Alexander is asleep, but I am hopeful that he will get himself up and out by 7:37.  I have already awoken twice this morning, in fear that I will oversleep and miss Karen’s knock, but that doesn’t happen.  As soon as we begin walking toward Central Park, we are engaged in conversation about life, kids, work, current events, and anything else that pops up.  By the time we get to the reservoir it’s getting light out.  The City is at its best when it is just getting started.  By 7:45 we are home, our 3.6 mile walk completed, and we feel good.  We promise to do this most mornings.  Exercising with someone else is so much easier. 

Around eleven I venture into the rain and walk to my podiatrist’s. office.  I go about 3 or 4 times a year. I love going.  It’s like getting a high-end pedicure without the polish.  He cuts down my nails, scrubs away calluses, and scrapes off dead skin.  It’s relaxing. 

As I am sitting there with my feet in his face, I start rambling about high heels and how I find them impossibly uncomfortable.  He notices that my toes are slightly curled and the skin on the bottom of my feet, under the balls of my toes, has shifted slightly.  Both of these conditions could be contributing to my high-heel problem, he tells me.  He asks if I do feet exercise. 

Feet exercise?  I have so many other parts of me that need to be toned that I thought at least my feet were safe.  I guess not.