I think it’s safe to say that we all have something about ourselves that we’re unhappy with, dissatisfied with; something (or some things) that we’d like to change, or alter.
These could be physical deformities, like natty cuticles, or behavioral deformities, like acute narcissism, selfishness or the inability to show compassion.
Lord knows I’m not immune to either physical or behavioral, although I like to think that I acknowledge my shortcomings (being short is not one of my things) and if possible, seek to change that which is in my power. If, however, this thing is out of my control, then I try to make friends with it, accept it and embrace the glory that is I.
I have worked and therapized much to be less judgmental, to respond rather than react and to listen instead of incessantly flapping my lips for flapping sake alone. However, there is one thing that I have been unable to get a handle on, and unable to shake… until last night.
Of course I’m talking about my dry and cracked heels; fissures in my once delicate skin. Thank you for the oohs and ahs but it doesn’t hurt, really.
In all fairness to my heels, there’s been a huge improvement in the past few months. But then, just last week, they got worse. I changed up my fitness routine, and started to do Insanity Max-30, which includes quite a bit of plyometrics (jumping). If you’re pressed for time and you want your ass kicked to the curb, try it. “It may lead to heel fissures.” You’ve been warned.
I’m no P.I. but I’ve deduced that pounding my full bodyweight on my feet is the culprit, and not unfortunate genes as I had previously believed. I’m sorry that I cursed you out mom and dad.
I’m not a doctor either but I read that if my heels aren’t stretching as they should, it’s probably because my skin is dry and inflexible. Mom and dad are going down for that one, however. Super great. The only part of my body that’s inflexible are my heels. It’s so sexy I can hardly stand it.
Enter Amope Pedi Perfect Electronic Foot File. Yes, that thing that’s advertised on television. I was always intrigued but I was also too lazy to drag my cracked heels the two blocks to my local CVS to check it out… until yesterday.
Why do we wait, and put off what we know might help us; perhaps make our lives better, happier, or in my case, softer? Why do we accept what is that which we do not like?
Alcoholics say that hitting bottom was the moment they decided to get help. My bottom was when I tried to roll over in bed and as I turned, my rough and peeling heels kept scratching the sheets, preventing me from completing my rollover.
I will not continue on like this, I thought. I’m better than this. I deserve to have my heels feel like a baby’s ass.
I had my doubts about the Amope. I thought it was a gimmick. My mom told me about it months ago, singing it’s praises after she used it. I listened but thought, Who wants to use something that your 70-year old mother uses? I showed her didn’t I?
While some women spent Saturday night submerged in a bath of essential oils, surrounded by Tubereuse and Freesia Diptyque candles set up along the edges of their tub, munching on bars of dark chocolate, and imbibing a bottle of Chianti while watching Girlfriends’ Guide to Divorce, yours truly sanded down her heels while watching Terror In Mumbai on CNN. Same, no?
As I sat on the toilet lid, with my foot hovering over the garbage pail, I marveled at how eerily similar this was to sanding the two by fours in high school shop class, that eventually became a bird house at the end of the semester. The Amope also sounded like a a vibrator… Hm, I wondered. It was a Saturday night after all.
As I filed, it was like a Christmas miracle. Poof, my dry skin turned to smoke, leaving my heels as smooth as a sheet of ice.
I won’t go into the details (oops, too late) but suffice to say that I’ve got Happy Feet! Next Saturday night I think I’ll try Amope’s Electronic Nail Care System. I never did solve the natty cuticle problem; I just learned to live with it.