The other morning I woke up to my typical 4:15, 4:20, 4:25 and 4:30am alarms. I begrudgingly shuffled myself out from under my covers and into the bathroom to wash my face/brush my teeth. But not before turning on my coffee pot. See the first thing I do every morning is turn that bad boy on. The noise of it brewing is something of an association for me to say 'your day has begun'. Back in the bathroom, wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I took a moment and looked down at my hands. Callused. Not even just my hands, my fingers too. Yikes. Dare I even look at my feet?
Anyone who knows me well enough knows I hate feet. Especially my own. I don't like to look at them and I sure as hell don't let people come anywhere near them. So why is this? No they're not deformed, I don't have a sixth toe, and one is not longer than the other. But much like my hands, they are extremely callused. It makes me insecure and somewhat embarrassed, even though I knew each one of those calluses took a lot of hard work, sweat, and effort to make. The one time I had them removed when I got my first-ever pedicure it hurt like none other for them to come back!
I can hear my Kuerig pot dispensing my coffee and I am brought back into the moment. I still haven't been able to come to a consensus on whether or not my callused skin is a help or a hinder. When I lift, it helps. When I shake someone's hand, I drown in my insecurities of whether or not the person is judging me for having rougher skin than them (especially is the person is a male!). Race season is about at it's end for me. And as much as it might make my insecurities go away, taking off the calluses might not be as painful on my ego as my feet when I get back into the long runs in January!
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