Tag Archives: das boot

Clogging

1 Apr

Sirskatesalot hit snooze or off on the alarm today.  Our day started with running, screaming and general chaos.  Princelightningbolt had a whopping five minutes to get dressed and out the door..he had forms that had to be signed and gear to be packed, so you can imagine how much adrenaline was surging through our household at 635 a.m.  Starting the day like the start of a race is a hideous way to begin a new day.  In fact, I think it takes a whole day to recover.  I feel like today was in overdrive all day long.

My new clogs kept me going, though.  Did I tell you about my clogs?  When I pleaded with my podiatrist for another type of shoes I can wear besides  These are the most fashionable, sexy clogs you can imagine.  And at $130/pair, they better be.  Ha!  They are hideous and go with absolutely nothing in my closet.  But,  I can wear them without my orthotics and they are not athletic shoes, which is a HUGE improvement from the past few weeks post-das boot.

My daughter is calling me “Clogging Molly” after Sirskatesalot’s friend’s band Flogging Molly.  I find this annoying, but she is quite witty.  She said if she had a blog about me, she’d call it “Clogging Molly.”  Sigh.

Foot Freedom

21 Feb

It is hard to describe the liberating feeling of wearing a small (albeit ugly) sandal instead of Das Boot.  I  feel light and like I can do anything.  Seriously.  With the doc’s OK to be up as much as I can tolerate (thank the holy lands I have a high pain tolerance…), I have been to the gym with my sandal every day, cleaned and cooked, walked one dog, hit TJs and the market, shopped for a friend just for fun…taking my time wandering around the store without checking my watch to make sure I haven’t gone over my allotted minutes.

I can even sleep without the sandal.  Ah, so nice to wiggle my toes in the covers, to roll over without creating an earthquake in my bed (Not that kind!  Get your minds out of the gutter.  I am talking about feet.)

And…drum roll…I showered without a trash bag and tape!  I have to balance on my heel, but wow.  Wow. Wow.  What a difference to be able to stand under the water, to wash my hair without having to duck my head down while sticking my boot out of the spray and washing my locks upside down.  I can shave both legs.  My sandal fits through the hole of underwear, my swim suit and boot leg jeans, so I can change without having to undo velcro, redo velcro, tuck in pants, etc. All these positives are enough to overlook the ungodly sight of the sandal.

The clincher is that I only have two more days with this sexy sandal.  I bought new running shoes today.  I feel like my comfort zone is not too far away.  Is this the light at the end of the tunnel?  I have survived 5 weeks tomorrow.  I have 3 weeks until new orthotics  are casted and 2 weeks after that until they are ready.  So, 5 more weeks of easy, but not sitting on my ass.  I can handle that.

Sexy Sandal

19 Feb

We rushed home today so I could make my appointment at the podiatrist.  I was both apprehensive and excited to see what he had to say.  I was also totally over Das Boot after hiking in Yosemite.  I have raw wounds on my ankles from Das Boot, my leg is sore from hoisting it around and in general, it stinks from wearing it 24/7 for nearly five weeks.  TMI, I know, but this is reality.  It is not pretty.

My podiatrist is nice enough, but he is a surgeon and pretty much all business.  While my foot is most important and consuming to me, I don’t think it is very interesting for him in the scheme of his daily encounters with foot trauma.  He is jovial today though, talkative and says, “Are you ready to be done with that thing?”  I almost jump for joy, although this would not be too joyful to watch because I would be hopping on only one leg.  He is referring to Das Boot!  “Yes, I have been hauling that thing around Yosemite for the past four days.”  He is clearly impressed.

He replaces Das Boot with a black, velcro sandal.  I put on my sock, then he slips on the sexy Jimmy Choo velcro sandal.  He says, “You can keep that on for the X-ray.”  When the tech comes to get me, he asks me to remove the sandal and I reassure him that Doc says I can keep it on.  He frowns, but says, “OK” and goes about the different angles for the X-Ray.  I am beaming.  I am sure these are the prettiest X-rays ever taken because I am in a Jimmy Choo sandal and not Das Boot!

Doc comes into exam room to review the X-rays with me and starts laughing.  It seems he meant I could keep my sock on, not the sandal.  Oops.  He finds this hysterical and the X-ray tech is mortified.  I apologize. I hope he doesn’t lose his job because of Peg Leg and her bossy personality.

Doc pulls up the X-rays on the computer monitor and holy moly, I have a screw in my foot! A big screw.  Wow.  I am dumbfounded and feel idiotic.  I didn’t ever ask how all this bone cutting and maneuvering was secured, but it is clear on the X-ray.  Did he tell me this?  Was I so traumatized by surgery that I blocked it out?  Was I so nervous that I didn’t ask enough questions.

Well, it is neither here nor there now.  My bone incision has healed perfectly, the screw is in place and I no longer have Das Boot.  More surprising than any of this is that I can wear my running shoes starting this weekend!  I can even “lightly jog” starting this weekend.  Can you believe this? I was smiling so hard my face hurt.  I have to be careful because my bones are not strong in that foot after so much time in a boot, but did you get it?  I can jog!

I asked if I could throw Das Boot away, but Doc said not yet.  I will invite you all to the burning or drowning of Das Boot when I am authorized.  Until then, start training.  I will be dragging you all out to the trails soon enough…or the elliptical at the gym in the meantime.  Watch out, I’m coming for you.

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Mountains

19 Feb

We escaped from behind the Orange Curtain this weekend for some fresh mountain air.  Das Boot made this an interesting escapade, but my flabby ass was happy to get off the couch and out into the world.  Our travel squadron includes our family and Mrfireman’s brood (my brother’s family).  The sum total includes three teenagers, four dogs, three quasi-adults (combined, Mrfireman and I probably only equal one adult), one huge truck, one minivan, a ton of food, coolers and cameras, and one Balalaika…Have you heard of this instrument?  It is a Russian stringed instrument our nephew plays…and takes with him on vacation.  Did you catch the part about four dogs?  I don’t even need to extrapolate because you get the idea.

Yosemite is breathtaking any time if year.  In the winter it can be serene, quiet and cold.  This winter it is warm and there is hardly any snow.  While we packed enough chains, snow gear, boots, mittens and long underwear for our squadron and then some, we needed none of it over the four days in the mountains.  Weird, right?

Add to this, Das Boot and Mrfireman’s knee brace.  I guess injury is running in the family because he has a torn meniscus.  What a ridiculous twosome for hiking in one of the most beautiful places in the world.  Luckily, he is a photographer and had some distraction with his gear.  Including leaving his tripod behind twice…in two different spots.  Mrfireman’s sweet wife had to hike back to fetch it because he was in no shape to repeat the hike and no one was going to ask Peg Leg.  Sirskatesalot tried to follow the tripod retrieval hike, but was too late after lacing up his hiking boots and we all ended up missing each other.  Remember, we have four dogs between our families?  Fun stuff.

In the name of moutain people, I wore jeans, a flannel and a beanie yesterday.  I was cozy and comfortable at Yosemite Falls and El Capitan.  Mrfireman took tons of pictures.  Then, while bowling last night with real mountain people, Mrfireman said I was taking the mountain thing too far with my lumberjack look.  Mrfireman’s sweet wife thinks this is the most funny thing she has ever heard and is pointing and laughing at me…not for my terrible bowling skills, but because I look like a lumberjack.  Mrfireman’s wife is not so sweet after all.

Ahem.  Holy cow.  Add Das Boot to the flannel, jeans and beanie…and my crazy, curly hair…and you have Peg Leg Lumberjack.  Needless to say, Peg Leg Lumberjack lost the bowling game, Mrfireman and his sweet wife tied.  Balalaikanephew tried to hurl himself down the bowling lane with his ball, Sirskatesalot slipped with his sick bowling style and fell flat on his back.  The real mountain people at the 10 lane bowling alley thought we were hysterical and I must admit we are a motley crew.  I hope we have this much fun over spring break without Das Boot.

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Das Boot and Barf

11 Feb

I have found another benefit of having Das Boot.  Sirbarksalot was barfing last night.  Twice.  Sooo gross.  If you have experienced a large dog barfing in the middle of the night, you know this includes disgusting noises, shouts, a leap from the bed, lights flicked on, slider to outside open, dog bed changed, barf cleaned up (gross, gross, gross).  So, when this all transpired last night, I was exempt from any jumping, leaps from the bed, opening the slider, changing dog bed and cleaning up barf.  Remember, I am a Peg Leg.

When all the chaos started, Sirskatesalot took the lead and I rolled over to face the opposite direction with Das Boot.  Das boot and I got cozy and settled while Sirbarksalot heaved, Sirskatesalot leapt from the bed, ripped the crate door open and threw Sirbarksalot outside.  I offered a  feeble, “Can I help you?”  But Sirskatesalot knows I am a Peg Leg and cut me some slack.  He took the bed outside, cleaned the crate, re-bedded the crate and put the pup back to bed.  I cuddled with my pillows.   Ah, so nice to be a Peg Leg at times like this. People expect so little of me.

And then, another disgusting round of barf noises from the crate.  “Sirskatesalot, Sirskatesalooooottttt! ” I scream while he is out in the kitchen cleaning up.  Damn.  Am I really going to have to get Das Boot and I out of bed?  Aha, I spot my phone on the nightstand.  I text, “Bring paper towels!”  I hear Sirskatesalot immediately running down the hall.  Ah, now I can go back to sleep.  He bursts through the bedroom door,”Is he throwing up again?”  I just roll over and groan.  I’m tired.  Das Boot has had to roll over, pull on the covers and resettle already three or four times.

But I am grateful to Das Boot that Sirskatesalot never even asked me to get out of bed.  I am going to keep the hated Das Boot by my bed at all times so that when a kid or dog is barfing at night, I can velcro it on and skip all barf clean up duties.  Das Boot sucks, but barf clean up is so much worse.

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Swimming is Not Running

9 Feb

Swimming may be just what the doctor ordered, but this land-lubbing Peg Leg sure wishes the doctor had ordered some muddy, mountainous trails.  Swimming is not the torture I thought it would be, but I am not efficient enough to get an amazing workout and my Peg Leg feels really strange flapping around free of das boot for an hour.

Swimming is clean (you can’t even feel that you are sweating), safe (no coyotes, mountain lions, big rocks, snakes or cliffs)…and oh, so, repetitive.  I am definitely a dirty girl.  This Peg Leg likes a dripping sweat, dirt crusted up my shins, an empty water bottle, a gut-wrenching grind up a big hill, a coyote spotting, a few deer or even a big snake.  I’ll take the swimming if that’s all I get, but my heart and soul are not in it.

Worse yet, swimming is a solitary endeavor.  I don’t have little ducky friends who want to swim with me and I doubt there would be much socializing between laps.  I miss my 2-5 hour runs with buddies.  You learn a lot about a friend when you are tromping along together, undistracted for hours at a time.  You become very close and you count on those hours together.  My running buddies are some of my closest confidants.  I share more with them, and know more about them, than some of my friends I see on a daily basis.  The motion, the exertion, the commitment loosens the legs and frees the mind and heart, and we share.  I miss these times.  When we have hours upon hours together, undistracted, we have time to come full-circle…to finish conversations, to follow-up on the unfinished ones, to just listen.

I am now three weeks post-op and I am feeling so far removed from my daily hours on the trails that when I think about running it feels almost dream like. I used to feel like I never saw anyone running around town, and certainly not on the trails.  Now, I feel like everywhere das boot and I go, there are people running.  Is this just a bad dream or is the lack of endorphins getting to me?  I will come full circle, I will get out of the pool and I will hit the trails.  Until then,

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin’ until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we’re together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.
Happy trails to you, ’till we meet again.

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Swim Little Fishy

6 Feb

Peg Leg got wet.  No, I am not a bragging rebel patient again.  I was given clearance to swim!  This little ducky is free to dip my head and wet my feathers. I cannot touch anything with my foot, but I can swim.  Taking off das boot and getting it back on on the side of the pool is not a pretty sight, but the humiliation of das boot removal and my neon swim suit (which, no joke, is called Dolfin Uglies) could not damper my excitement to get my heart rate up for the first time in nearly three weeks.

I am not an efficient nor beautiful swimmer, but it felt surprisingly good to swim.  My sore and pathetic Peg Leg did alright propelling me through the water.  I made it about 45 minutes and had been so relieved no other swimmers or bystanders were around for my maiden voyage.  But, as Peg Leg luck would have it, a few arrived just in time for my exit from the pool.  Grace is not my first, nor middle name.  I thought I had das boot’s removal and reattachment planned well with a towel laid out for drying and das boot right at the end of my lane.  But, when it came time to get out, I realized the ladder was at the other side of the pool.  No chance I can scoot in my Uglies, with Peg Leg in the air from one side of the pool deck to the other.  Imagine a crab with an extra claw stuck in the air…So I had to brave a full-body hoist up, with an audience.

You know when you try to hoist up like rising from a dip and you don’t quite make it?  Embarrassing.  I had the added worry of banging my Peg Leg on the wall.  A definite NO-NO.  I feigned stretching, had a drink of my water, played with my watch (actually my son’s old Shark watch from Jr. High when he was all about Rasta colors…adds to the look of my Uglies suit).  These bystanders and swimmers are still lurking and I need to go.  I muscled some muscle and some courage, and popped this ducky right out of the pool.  Quack.  I attempted drying off while sitting on towel, reattached das boot, did not look up and scurried out of there.  But, I went back again today.  Duckies can’t stay out of the water too long.  Even the Uglies.

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