Giving my E-type the Wellie

 For British sports car fans, yes, this post's subject was very much playing on what you think. For everyone else, don't worry about it. Trying to suss it out wouldn't be worth the effort, but hey, keep reading for old timey bike racing remembrances, should you be into that kind of thing.

In 1999, I raced a little bit of downhill. I believe I mentioned my tendency toward bad ideas, and a scrawny cross country racer in a bunch of pads trying to go down a hill fast is pretty comical. In fact, my first memory of JJ Tanguay, one of the top finishers in the women's field, was her recognizing me and bursting out laughing as the chairlift delivered me to the top of Attitash Mountain for my first practice run of my first race. Obviously, we became good friends, having laughing at me in common.

After some rough experiences the prior year, I entered 1999 pretty mentally burned out, so part of letting the skinny XC bloke ride chairlifts and race just down the hill was part of my team's effort to make racing fun for me again, and maybe produce results better in line with my potential. Yes, I owe a perpetual debt of gratitude to Emily, grand poobah of that team. If she hadn't taken on the project I was, and hasn't successfully brought joy back to riding for me, I likely would've stopped not only racing, but riding a bike as well. Yes, huge thank you Emily!

So, ironically, part of saving me to race cross country better was to let me risk myself racing downhill, and as a convenient bonus, the race series promoted by the collection of New England ski areas had added downhill events, so I could practice the downhill course Friday, camp, race downhill Saturday, then watch the real downhillers race dual slalom, camp, then race cross country on Sunday!

Looking at that weekend schedule, you might be surprised of the riskiest activity: camping. No bear attacks or anything like that, but lots of free time, and remember what I said about bad ideas? That first weekend in New Hampshire, I car camped next to my friend Mike Pattrick the first night, and the second night we added some kid named Adam Craig to our dirt parking lot campsite. Alas, Mike died over a decade ago from a brain tumor relapse, but on the other hand, Adam grew up and won a few national championships.

Of course, long before he died, Mike had to tell everyone at the downhill race on Saturday that he couldn't decide which was worse: that the night before I had stripped naked and bathed in the frigid Saco River behind our camp, or that he had stood by and watched that. Personally, I think that Mike's need to tell EVERYONE all of that was truly the worst part, but we all knew Mike, and that was pretty much par with Mike. Yes, as you might imagine on that evidence alone, he was another good friend.

But the second night, with Adam along for the fun, we found the team building ropes course, including the ten foot high wooden wall. Remember, bad ideas? I decided to take a solo run at it, and just as I swung my right leg through with maximum force for the jump, my big toe found the stub of stump that was hidden in wood chips.

Ouch. That really hurt, like kicking a solid object as hard as you can with a running start. I raced the cross country the next day with the insole removed from my shoe to allow more room for my swollen foot, just fending off a mid race charge from Adam, yes, a few years still before he reached national champion speeds.  Four months later, I lost the nail off that toe, and it grew back even uglier than it started.

Mid way through this year, when I'd wake to use the bathroom at night, the toe would feel different, not entirely numb, but less sensitive, and having become a fan of running on uneven surfaces, I figured keeping that toe was a pretty good idea, so I mentioned to my doctor when visiting primarily to attend to the sleep disruption that I, along with apparently half of TBI patients, was experiencing.

My doctor, whom I'm inclined to acknowledge as EXCEPTIONAL, referred me to a podiatrist, saying the nail of that toe might be removed again, which was what I expected as a possibility. Well, I do still have a nail there, although much, much shorter, trimmed by the heavy duty plier type nail clippers which could fit around the thickened toe nail, and yes, I now have my own clippers like that.

But much more interesting to the podiatrist, who is also a big fan of my doctor, was my foot, which he considered a rather extreme version of the type in the extreme lower left corner of his chart of foot types. I'm foot type E21.

Along with the diagnosis, he gave me an article detailing the E type foot, and oh, he'd written the article because he's the guy that teaches other podiatrists, so I feel confident that when that background considers my foot an extreme of an extreme, I must truly have some special feet.

Of course, it's a podiatry article, so it talks about all the problems inherent in this type of foot, but that's where I seem to get it wrong. Aside from the tendency for IT band tightness, extra thick calluses on the outsides of my big toes, and the bunions, I seem to avoid most of the listed problems, and my foot even track very straight in my gait despite extreme toes out being common with this foot type. Oh well, I'll take it, both the new knowledge and the lack of extreme problems.

And yes, a few weeks later, with the nail trimmed deep, sensitivity in that toe does feel better, so I'm happy. And having read this article about my feet, aren't you happy to not be subjected to a picture of them? Even I couldn't be that cruel. Maybe my toes aren't my only part with a degree of sensitivity.