das boot

It's been about six weeks now. Six weeks since I strapped on this effing boot for the first time and hobbled out into pedestrian traffic. At the time, it seemed like an inconvenience, but one well worth the while, because it would surely erase the breaks and tears and stabilize my tattered foot and leg.

It became its own mini-phenomenon. The boot had suddenly legitimized me as a totally hardcore athlete among total strangers. I wouldn't have to wear a huge, plastic, strappy boot if I hadn't been base jumping or playing extreme hacky sack or something outrageous that mere mortals would never dare attempt.

I accepted the boot into my world and have worn it for most all of my waking hours for upwards of 56 days now and this is how I'm repaid for my diligence in following my treatment regimen; my entire right leg is like a fucking columbo log. That's right, swollen like it's been the victim of a tourniquet tie-off.

As I sit now, I can deal, because it's 2:41 am and I have already been lying in somewhat restful slumber for a while, and my leg is elevated. During the daylight hours however, I am sitting up, my leg slowly filling up with....whatever stuff fills it up right now, the pressure threatening to tear open my poor little ankle and let the stuff run all over the carpet. To boot (no pun intended), the actual slow hobble to the bathroom, pantry or printer, now involves a significant amount of discomfort and /or pain. This is awesome.

The boot supposedly only has a couple of weeks left in it's foot-supporting tenure, but I'm not entirely sure that the healing has been done. In fact, I'm starting to be of the opinion that after that it will be more hobbling around on running shoes I cannot run in, and wiping the copious amounts of coupling gel from my ultra-sounded foot every night for many moons to come.

The novelty of the boot has seemingly worn off as well, for no more strapping men are holding doors for me or ushering me to safety, no more relinquishing of the subway seats and no more well-wishes are coming my way. Then again, maybe the expanding size of my ass has turned the focus to pity for that region instead.

If all the "fun" is going out of the process, I'd really just like to get this damn thing off and go for a run already.