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Ever since I started distance running back in the fall of 2008, I’ve come to the harsh realization that my feet are a bit of a mess. How big of a mess you may ask? Well, enough that I feel the need to break it down into chapters. Fortunately, they’re fairly tame… no rampaging fungi stories or pics, I promise.

So now that you know you won’t have to suppress the gag reflex, let’s talk about my feet.


Toe cartoon

Piggies unite!

(Yes, there will be two parts on this… kinda KILL BILL-like)

Toes. We’ve pretty much all got ‘em. Typically ten of ‘em. They aid us in traction, balance and help keep pedicurists gainfully employed. They feel like the less useful and less attractive cousins to our fingers. And other than stubbing your toe, which painfully reminds us they’re present, toes typically stay hidden in your shoes and fly under the radar.

For the most part, my toes are pretty typical. Five on each foot. My second toe is a hair longer than my big toe, which is not uncommon. There are stories that people with a slightly longer second toe have Celtic origins or descend from royalty. I’m cool with that. If Arthur can be hailed as King of Camelot by pulling a sword from a stone, why can’t my long toe at least earn me a knighthood?

But all is not well in the kingdom of Scott’s toes.

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