I have been learning to walk. To clarify: I have been learning to walk properly.
All my life I’ve been walking wrongly. Those of you who keep these columns in a special drawer may remember that, recently, I made my first visit to the podiatrist.
She said: “What’s wrong with you, like?”
I said: “It’s my feet.”
She said: “Really? At a podiatrist’s? Not a hip replacement or toothache?”
Me: “No, it’s my feet, ken?”
Her: “Glad we cleared that one up. What’s wrong with them?”
Me: “I don’t know where to start.”
Her: “Try putting one in front of the other.”
Me: “I mean to say: everything’s wrong with them.”
Her: “Pray continue.”
Me: “I have every foot illness going. Except ingrowing toenails.”
So, completely unnecessarily in my view, she made me take off my socks, and announced: “You’re right. And you’ve also got a verruca.” This was ridiculous: bunions, plantar fasciitis, athlete’s foot, gout and now a verruca. Blasted pegs were a war zone.
She gave me a note listing a battery of lotions to buy and, in case of last resort, a bottle of whisky and a pistol.
It got worse
No sooner had the various conditions cleared up than I woke in the middle of the night with new agony in my left foot: searing pain down the side. I could hardly walk but could drive so managed to reach the supermarket, where I used the trolley as a Zimmer frame. At my age!
Then I visited the chemist for stronger painkillers. After considering knocking me on the heid with a mallet, she telt me to get to A&E, just a minute’s drive away. Following a 15-minute wait – island life has its advantages – they took X-rays but found no fractures. Doc’s best guess was some kind of offshoot of plantar fasciitis (which usually affects the soles).
As the condition eased, eventually I’d a wee eureka moment when I think I diagnosed the problem. I was reading about shoe inserts – pretty rubbish novel – when I realised my shoe heels always wore down on the outside.
This meant I was walking on the outsides of my feet. Well spotted, Sherlock! And not just walking. I noticed that, when I lay down in the village sauna (usually have it to myself!) and put my feet up the wooden wall, I was resting them completely on the outer edges.
Then I noticed I was doing it in the car when resting my left foot away from the pedals. Worse still, when playing guitar (which I always do sitting doon), I noticed my left foot was not only flipped onto its outside edge, but my right foot sat on top of it to give more height. I was using my foot as a footrest!
Learning to walk
This was ridiculous. Consulting Dr YouTube, I learned I needed to re-learn walking, with my big toes actually making contact with the ground. Trying this out, I felt ridiculous, kind of pigeon-toed, but presumably that was just because it was unnatural to me.
The test will come when I next visit the city. Unlike the country, it’s a rude place and, on practising my new walking style, I shall watch for passers-by tittering.
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