Day 65- In fact, I DO speak jive.

Man! 65 days. If my math is correct, that means you and I get to spend 300 more days together in these brief, but hopefully satisfying interludes to your day. 

Today, more time was spent watching and correcting my gait--I do believe part of my lower back issues were caused my a lifetime of Herculean efforts to NOT pronate. When, in fact, I should've just let my little feetsies do their own thing. I'm noticing a shift in leg usage, butt usage and feeling some pleasant little release pops in my sacroiliac area--typically a troubled spot that may now have found what it wants to be when it grows up. 

Yay for alignment! 

Okay, here's a real conversation I had yesterday, when I was a "walker" at my son's Boy Scout camp. (Yes, he's a scout. No, our family doesn't believe that any family should be excluded from scouting, and we think the Boy Scouts of America's stance on excluding gays sucks. However, our local pack does not extoll such drivel, so we're sticking with them.)

So, there I am, helping out at Little Boy's camp, and this overweight, middle-age, misaligned ol' fella sidles up to me, points at my Monkey Toe shoes, and sez, "Anybody given you a hard time about those yet?"

Yeah, every time I wear them.

"No," says he. "I mean, here at camp. They don't allow open-toe shoes." He smirked at me like he'd won a bet. 

Well, these aren't open-toed, so I guess I'm good.

He harumphed a bit and said,"What if you stubbed a toe?"

I did my best to lift my foot in front of his pouchy, red face, wiggled my Monkey Toes at him, and said:


See? They've got hard-rubber protected toes. No worries.

That's when he stopped smirking and sputtered, "You're supposed to have foot protection!" 

That's when my inner-*sshole peered out and stated:

I bet I could stomp on your oxfords and hurt your toes just as much as if you had my shoes on. They make me leave because of these shoes, I'll fight them, tooth and nail. 
 
He screwed up his face, which got even redder. The woman who'd been standing next to me quickly pointed to her heavy duty hikers and said, "Hey, I've got us both covered, so she's fine, okay?"

He let me be and stomped off, but for the rest of the hour, whenever I walked by, he'd crane his stiff old neck around and try and throw some disapproving stink-eye my way.  I wish I could cartwheel, because it would've been awesome to do that past his face as I passed by.

Of course, my feet survived, and it was nice padding around on that grassy fairground turf all day.  It was a fun time! I stood for 8 hours and never got foot nor leg fatigue, although I did get surrounded-by-100-little-boys-fatigue. 


I look forward to our remaining 300 days together. 


XOX, 
Dani