Smooches, Newtons. And smooches to my really really super nice husband who shows me in innumerable ways how much he wants to spend time with me.

Eric loves me.

He really, really loves me.

I know this because, at least once a week, he massages my feet for 1.5 hours.  Not 15 minutes.  Not 1 hour.  A full 1.5 hours.

My feet aren’t hideous, but they aren’t the prettiest part of me either.  I have two black toenails in a state of perpetual death from running.  All my toes shed layers from their tips each week due to their running shoe captivity in humid Houston.  The cracks in my heels are as deep as the cracks in the dirt around our drought-ravaged and water-rationed yard.  I walk around barefoot more than I should on floors swept and mopped less than ideal, leaving a dark stain on the bottom of my feet with little fuzzies and pebbles clinging to my skin.  Unless I’ve just showered, I’ve probably either recently been immersed in chlorine or had on a pair of running or (worse) biking shoes, so my dogs always have a distinctive aroma.

Eric doesn’t mind.  He rubs them anyway.  He buys special creams and lotions to try on them.  He endures sitting positions that are hell on his contorted vertebrae, the one that he refuses to have fusion on, because he can take the pain.

I love Eric.

I really, really love Eric.

So I let him massage my feet.  I suffer through 1.5 hours of excruciating pain as he digs his thumbs deep into my tight arches, crunchy with scar tissue.  I bite my lip to keep from begging him to stop when he trenches up the sides of my aching achilles tendons.  I manage to hold still even if he works the knots, the knots he finds where none should be, leaving angry blue/green/black bruises behind, because I can take the pain.

He loves me.  He wants me to triathlon with him. And I love him.  I love bicicyling and running and to be with my husband. (I also like walking, which wasn’t a real picnic when the plantars was at its worst, either)

We both hate the plantars fasciitis that kept me from running for 18 months.

So, I stretch and stretch and stretch and stretch and stretch.  I tried a million expensive therapies that didn’t work, and twice that many wraps and shoe inserts.  I wear Strassberg socks on both feet some nights.  I roll my arches on an oh-so-hard golf balls.  I don uber-goofy compression socks for my runs.  I rock VFFs and Newton’s instead of traditional running shoes.

And Eric massages my feet.

Because he loves me.

And I.AM.BACK.  I’m up to 9 miles.  Very, very carefully.  Thanks to my husband.


p.s.  And who knew someone who looked like this would turn out to be both the strong and sensitive type?  (Does that make him bipolar, I wonder?)

Eric in his rock star days 😉

Published by Pamela

edit biographydelete Biography Pamela writes overly long e-mails and the What Doesn't Kill You romantic mysteries from deep in the heart of Nowheresville, TX and way up in the frozen north of Snowheresville, WY. Pamela is passionate about hiking with her hunky husband and pack of rescue dogs (and an occasional goat and donkey), riding her gigantic horses, experimenting with her Keurig, and traveling in the Bookmobile.

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  1. Foot massages are the BEST! Maybe even painful ones! Forget sainthood, foot massages are almost as good as…SEX! LOL….I did say ALMOST!

  2. There you go. Blaise????

    However, when I do a 6 hr (or was it less?) HIM, Eric will probably not rub my feet anymore and declare me obviously cured ha ha.

    I’ve been sick for three weeks. HIM de-railed. Have to recalibrate for spring.

    Congrats on your awesome race!!

  3. 1.5 hours? You lucky lady. That PF is a nightmare. But you’ve been my inspiration that you CAN get through it. I’m up to 4 miles and am so over-cautious that it took forever to get from 3 to 4 because I don’t want to risk going backward! And thanks to you, I got some great orthaheels this summer so I didn’t have to completely give up sandals. They’ve been great.

    1. i think the feet are the best part, most sensitive part of the body for a massage. feet and head.
      i used to love a good foot rub
      now…i see him coming and i’m like NO, NOT THE FOOT RUB 🙂
      someday i will love them again
      when they quit being torture on the rack
      he IS a good man
      a good good good man

  4. Will you check out the hair on that dude?? Wow. How can he see? Love is a wonderful thing. True love – true unconditional stinky-footed love is RARE. LOVED this true love story. Eric and Pamela sitting on a seat – b-i-k-um-i-n-g!! (Sorry, um must me added to make it work.) First came love, then came running, then came Eric with his special creams and lotions and magic fingers. Hey, I tried.

  5. Feet gross me out! Not only do I not want to touch anybody else’s feet, I prefer that my significant other not touch mine. My nail tech though…I pay her, so she has to…lol. Glad to hear you are back to running again. I am still on a do nothing plan until my neck is fully healed :(.

    1. LOL I totally understand.

      I had a law school roommate who couldn’t stand to have anyone touch her hair or touch anyone’s hair. I always wonder how she has done with two daughters!

  6. I enjoying doing it and I am glad that it seems to help. It helps that you have really cute feet! 🙂
    I really do like giving Pamela massages.
    It is amazing how knotted up she gets she is having injury problems and there is a lot of satisfaction in feeling the effects of working on her feet. I hope that she continues to be able to run with less and less pain, its great to see her run when its going well.

  7. If Eric ever gets tired of massaging your feet, go to St. Maarten. I was there for a day last week, and no less than 23 different women tried to give me a foot massage. “Real aloe, Miss. Free sample.”

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