Oh Plantar Fasciitis, I have no love loss for you. Like a spurned lover, you return to accompany me. I think of you in the morning as I step out bed and grimace in pain. I curse you when my foot is too swollen to lace up my sneakers for a run. I despise you; you are guest that overstays their welcome and do not take a hint.
The last time you came to pay me a visit, it was almost a year before I again went for a run. My love handles grew large and my beer belly plump (although that is not entirely your fault). I did stretches on phone books piled high. I wrapped my belt around my fore foot and gave a tug to limber my ligaments. Iced my heel and sprinkled ibuprofen on my Cheerios, a feeble attempt to give you the slip.
But no you are so insistent on staying. You live in my heel, but are a pain in my backside. When you visit I am cautious, always concerned how long you might stay or when you might leave. Plantar Fasciitis you cramp my style.
I will do anything to rid my life of you. Even, gasp, run in the grass, in, gulp, five toed shoes. Oh did I just admit that? I did, and I even put it in print. You humiliate me. But the last time you came around, the five toed shoes put the run on you.
I know it’s my fault this time. My running shoes are worn; they should have been replaced a couple hundred miles ago. But they felt good and no signs of you since I began running in them. I was too cautious, maybe superstitious. OK probably cheap. I pushed my luck and now your back.
Look here Plantar Fasciitis, I have got miles to run and people to pass. I have no time for you to last. So take your pains, strains and your tiny tears and be gone and kiss my you know what!
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