The Tale a Toenail Tells

After yesterday's post, I think I need to address something less psychologically icky and a more physically icky.

So here's the thing.  I'm in grad school.  I'm a dad.  Put those things together and voila, I'm usually broke and don't have any time for recreation.  Case in point (on time):
Length of the family's summer vacation (excluding me): Three weeks
Length of my summer vacation:                             (I have to leave a blank, because you can't measure nothing)

I get really cranky without exercise and/or adventure.  Adventure is generally right out the window.  I haven't climbed a mountain in a couple of years.  I also haven't gone caving, cliff jumping, paintballing, backcountry hiking, etc.   I shouldn't complain.  I get to have an incredible family life.  And I am very, very grateful for that.  On the other hand, having an awesome family doesn't change who I am by nature.  So I get my release where and when I can.  And at this point I'm not that picky.  Which leads me to . . .

Some friends of mine invited me to join their indoor soccer team in January.  I've never played soccer and  I have zero skills.  But they were nice enough to offer anyway.  The games are all after the kids go to bed.  So the only thing I miss out on is my own sleep.  (Usual game time: 11pm)

After 7-1/2 months, I've come to really enjoy playing.  I get to compete.  I get exercise.  I sometimes get to knock sissy soccer players down and laugh at them for being whiners.  Unfortunately, in terms of actual skill, I stink.  There's just no two ways about it.  I don't have the time to develop good ball handling skills.  So I only play defense and get in people's way as best I can.  My teammates are very encouraging, bless their hearts.

Since I've found something that gets my blood going, that's relatively cheap, and can be done during sleep time, it's like winning the lottery for me.  So when I jammed/sprained/busted(?) my right big toe for the first time in April, I was very sad that I physically could not play the remaining few games of that season.  No doubt I should have gone to a doctor, but you can refer yourself back to the part of this post that uses the word "broke".  And forget the VA.  They would have scheduled me to see a specialist a month after I saw my general practitioner a month after I requested an appointment.  They are a beyond worthless organization for sports medicine care. 

So I healed up for a few weeks and started the beginning of the next season; each season's about a month-and-a-half.  I played a few games before I re-injured the toe.  No more soccer for a few weeks.  But I came back for the last few games.  And then I hurt my toe.  To avoid getting really repetitive, I keep injuring my toe.  I've become quite good at taping, and icing, and elevating, and all that stuff.  I'm so good that I'm no longer missing games when it hurts.  That's good, because when it hurts is always.

Am I being stupid?  Yes.  Will I change?  No.  So what's another chronic injury.  Along with my back, my knee, my shoulder, it's too much to bother babying myself.  As I tell Sarah, If I didn't do things just because they hurt, I'd never get out of bed in the morning.  She hates that line.

So I thought I'd leave you with my own little bit of abstract art.  It might be striations in Jupiter's clouds, superimposed on a map of Oregon.  Or it might just be my right big toenail.  Geologists use stratified layers to tell the tale of the earth's development.  I use stratified layers to remind myself that everything in life has a price.  And this is one I'm willing to pay. 

P.S.  Yeah, I need a pedicure.  Not in this life or the one to come.