Stacey! You really need to cut your toenails…

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I had my first moonboot mani pedi this weekend.  I had a wedding, and while I always planned to get my poor feet, left who is swollen due to excessive hopping and body support, and right, dry and shriveled from being secluded in Velcro darkness for too long, scrubbed and trimmed, my plans were cemented when a colleague looked down at poor righty and with a disgusted look on her face, crinkled her nose and told me I was long over due to get a toenail trim.

Well actually she said it much ruder than that, and from the look on her face I thought she was going to vomit at any moment, but ill let that slide. Mind you, she also took the prime opportunity of telling me after I had successfully managed to hobble almost a kilometer down the street with her for lunch and was sweating and uncomfortable. One would think given I have been strapped into a moonboot immobile for two months she would have let my slightly long big toenail slide also, but hey, each to their own phobias.

Ok, so I should back the truck up. It’s been weeks since I have bothered to write. I know what you are all thinking, I should have loads of time on my hands to sit in front of the computer and think of slightly humorous stories about my recovery.

In truth, my days are shorter thanks to sleeping in, my nights longer thanks to not sleeping, and I am tired all the time. The voice in my head that commanded my attention for the better part of this year has been silenced. Both of them. Pitchfork holding and prodding me has taken a holiday to some dark and exotic location, and angelic me just looks at me with wide eyes and sets her mouth in a straight line no matter what I do.

Even when I fail miserably at keeping a paleo lifestyle, and worse, make excuses for why I haven’t been able to.  I try to pretend its only because people sometimes bring me meals that contain potato and defiantly sugar. Or because my non-paleo, now home husband has been doing all of the cooking and hasn’t quite mastered the against all grain mentality. Or because sometimes its too hard when I forget to take lunch to work, and the café upstairs only has a beef salad that will contain soy and most likely gluten, but its that or a burger because walking up the street is too far.

But sometimes its because I really want to eat that Tim Tam.

And the choc peanut M&Ms. And the container of strawberries. And because the Thai restaurant only has rice, not cauliflower rice and a curry isn’t the same without a base. And because, well because I just want to try a piece of that cake.

The paleo flag I was once flying with pride has been somewhat ripped and is a little disheveled due to some rough winds as I continue on the adventure that is my recovery.

I’ve given up trying to exercise. A few days here and there in gym gear and a moonboot, doing my own workouts of sit-ups, push ups, leg lifts and a few other movements did nothing to really excite me so I gave up all together.  I’m not sure if it was the boredom of exercising on my own, or the image of myself looking ridiculous with crutches and weights at once, but I soon got over it.

Just using crutches all day takes my energy away, and hopping from one place to another on my good leg has meant lefty is now well and truly double the size of righty.

Something that was well noted when I got my mani pedi.

Lefty had to be scrubbed silly and massaged with intent before the tension from standing alone for months began to soak away and the layers of dead skin finally broke away to reveal a softer, smoother foot underneath ready to be calloused and abused.

Righty sat in the footspa for 30 minutes, the longest time she had been on the ground and in water, and no sooner after I raised her in the air for a slight exfoliate, did the skin start falling away from my foot. Literally. No scrubbing, no brushing, no blade needed. She was literally wasting away.

Disgusting I know. But the poor old sod has been shielded away from sunlight and air for too long so the skin melted away like the evil green witch in the Wizard of Oz.

She turned a deeper shade of purple. Righty does that sometimes. Since finishing the self-administrating blood clotting preventative injections a few weeks back my circulation doesn’t always match up. And I’m only a week down on my new foot angle. One more purple arch to go in the boot and then I will be set flat again. My heel will touch the ground and ill be good to go.

But lets not get ahead of ourselves. I still have seven months ahead before running will be on the cards, and while the 18th of November is the date penciled in to see my good friend the surgeon again, he might only relieve me of the crutches and not the boot.

I still have a long way to go.

Which is why Righty is purple, and every few hours, despite my toe wiggling I have to massage her myself and watch with fascination as the blood moves to another part of my foot and she turns from beetroot red to casper white.

Two months down and it’s not only the colour of my foot that has changed.

My right calf is no longer there. Seemingly overnight it has been replaced with what I can only describe as an arm like version of a leg. My ankle smaller than my wrist. The calf the size if my arm – and not my bicep or my shoulder – my arm.

Here I was worried about getting tuck shop arms that would flap in the breeze, and instead it’s my leg that now jingles and jangles during my routine bio oil treatment each night.

There is effectively no muscle there. Not ‘there is a muscle I just haven’t used it’ muscle. Not ‘I have really bad calf muscles from not exercising’ muscle. But a ‘there is no muscle in there because there is really no muscle in there’ muscle. My poor old Achilles hasn’t quite stretched far enough to move my foot yet let alone to reach into my calf muscle and join it, let alone define it.

That will be another month at least.

On the bright side, at least my toes look nice.

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The Primal Challenge Day 17

Just over halfway there, and I am well and truly in a mid season slump. Today I ate three pieces of fruit and wanted more. I’m stuffing nuts down my throat like it is my last day on earth and despite having a piece of frittata and a cup of smoothie for breakfast, my mind tells me I am hungry by 11. Which there is no way I should be – I’m not even training and getting up an hour later!!

Now some of you might be rolling your eyes thinking wow, three pieces of fruit… but the recommendation is two per day and I gauged, and I’m not sure if it classifies as a challenge fail, so I’m overly disgusted and upset with myself.

Ok so the pieces were small, watermelon, cantaloupe and honeydew. It was a shared fruit platter, so not like I ate the entire lot, but I did feel guilty.

Ok so I’m leaving out the 10 red grapes I also ate.

See – mid season slump.

I only had my lunch three hours ago and I’m hungry again.

Plus –only a few days ago I was walking around promoting my clean skin thanks to my clean eating and almost throwing away the dry shampoo. As if to prove a point, or perhaps in protest, my chin is riddled with blackheads and teenage acne and my hair on day two is in a high ponytail and heavily sprayed.

I know I was a late bloomer in high school, but this is ridiculous! Are my cravings and withdrawal symptoms coming so much later than first prescribed? Or am I a victim of some other bout of hormone tampering!?

Either way, day 17 is no fun.

Not that I am ready to throw in the clean eating towel, it’s just damp on the rack, hanging loosely and not really smelling the best.

I’ve decided I need a pick me up to get my mind off the fact I have to spend hours making a Christmas pudding full of things I can’t eat for our Christmas in July dinner this Saturday night, by making lots of things that I can.  And because I am still struggling with my sweet tooth, tonight it will be frosty fruit smash (if I can find almond butter) and the holy-moly banana pancakes (again if I can find almond butter).

I also had my meat delivered today to work by Canning’s – including the paleo bacon. Score.  I couldn’t wait for the weekend and their birthday discount celebration and knew I would get more stuff then anyway, so stocked up – and by the weight in the bag (I had to take the lift) I might have again gone a little overboard.

Time to re-calibrate the grocery bill budget.

But I know that bag of goodness holds my lamb shanks and ribs ready for two new primal recipes just in time for Thursday and Friday night and the cold weather we are meant to be expecting.  I’ll even prep the slow cooker tonight ready for the ribs tomorrow.

Tomorrow I can FINALLY go back to some sort of training and exercise (thank the thighs) which should also peck me up a little.

Actually as I am writing this and thinking about all the great things I can make and then eat, my mood is somewhat increasing to almost positive and I think I can feel the first shakings of my slump.

Don’t get too excited, my skin is still saw and red from when I tried to push the puss out of it in front of the work bathroom mirror.

Maybe I’ll even make my own almond butter….

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