Mal au pied

At the end of last August, I dropped a box on my foot as I was moving out of St. Olaf summer housing. As a result, an ugly bruise appeared underneath my big toenail. As the months passed by, my toenail has grown and I have watched the bruise slowly creep up my toe. This evening, five months later, I finally have touched the top of the bruise when clipping my nails. For some reason, this sliver of my toenail fascinated me. It was something pleasant about my feet, which have not been too happy with me lately.

Since I've been in France, I've been walking a lot more than I have done back home. And it's not just walking on sidewalks and smooth pavement, but also on older streets and plazas of cobblestone. I was everywhere in Paris, visiting the 50 some odd monuments for credit in our interim course. Now in Rennes, I have a 10 minute walk to and from the metro stop everyday in addition to my various promenades around the centre ville and the campus. On my feet, I've been more concerned about what shoes they look like as opposed to how practical they really are. I have not been foolish enough to wear heels everyday. (Although I did make the mistake of wearing some one night in Paris when we got lost finding the Rue Mouffetard...which is nearly right behind our hotel.) But I've been wearing shoes with little support. And boots.

Boots are a requirement in France. Everyone wears boots. They don't let you even get you through customs if you don't own a pair of boots. Okay, that's a bit hyperbolic. But in order to really fit in the crowd, you must have a pair of boots on your feet. Black, of course. I waited until I got to Rennes to buy a pair of boots. I had an ideal pair in mind, no heels, not too tall, and not too expensive. Because of the soldes, I got lucky and found a pair of simple black ones for 17 euros. I even traveled through the crowds of demonstraters during a state-wide strike (which is practically a national sport here) in order to enter the boutique. I was excited, and wore the boots with pride for the next few days. But to my dismay, immediately after wearing the boots, a sharp pain developed in my right foot. Looking at my boots, I discovered had really done a good job finding a pair of flat ones. So flat that there are no arches at all. None.

Quickly returning back to shoes I already had with me, the last few days were spent limping from store to store in search for something to make my boots bearable. I've checked pharmacies and department stores for something that would resemble a Dr. Scholl's arch support pad that you insert into your shoe. Nothing. Convinced they don't exist in France, I shed a tear when I look at my new boots sitting in my closet instead of sitting on my feet. I even have to admit that I even asked my dad to send me arch support from the US...so that I can wear those boots.


In the meantime, to convince my feet that I still indeed do love them, I gave myself a pedicure my clipping and filing my nails. This brings me back to my toenail and the joyful clipping of the top of the bruise. Considering that the bruise takes up about 40% of my toe, I'm guessing it will be another 4 months before it completely grows out. When it does, it will be time for me to leave France and go back home where I will see people and places I have not seen in a long time. Of course, it will be summer again...and at that time I will not want to wear those boots.