For one thing, I flew back to San Francisco three weeks ago, and the upheaval always gets me thinking about my connection to the land in one way or another.
There's another thing that, in the past year or so, has also made me think about that connection. In the same way that I muse about my voice and my use of language to express myself when my jaw dislocates, I think about my relationship with the ground I walk on when something goes wrong with my ankles or my feet.
As a child, I was always barefoot. As an adult, I maintain that my emotional wellbeing starts with connecting back with my environment, rooting back into the world on a very physical level. The root chakra has always been an important symbol for me, and I went as far as getting a very elaborate tattoo on my ankle that represents my vision of nature and beauty. Connection with Earth runs pretty deep for me.
There's another thing that, in the past year or so, has also made me think about that connection. In the same way that I muse about my voice and my use of language to express myself when my jaw dislocates, I think about my relationship with the ground I walk on when something goes wrong with my ankles or my feet.
Let me elaborate.
In 2013 I took part in a gruelling 70 mile trek through the Jordanian desert mountains. It was an expression of movement, and a challenge I made to my body and its abilities. If I could rise to that challenge, I could do anything. It's the story I've told myself ever since my body started playing up when I was 12.
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| Me, standing at the highest point on the Jordan trek |
After that trek, my ankles started to regularly lock up, my toes develop excruciating pains almost every day, and I can't feel the tips of my big toes at all. On the face of it, my desire for a connection to the Earth, my challenge to myself, backfired. I have the best memories of that trek, but it left an indelible mark on my body. Another scar, another war wound.
Thinking about those things underlines for me the importance of my ankles in my expression of movement. I could very easily have taken my body's reaction to that Jordan trek as a cautionary tale - don't spend five days hiking up enormous mountains lest you never feel your big toes again. The flip side of that thought is that I shouldn't engage in those activities, I shouldn't express myself through movement. For some, that's not possible or desirable, but for me, it's incredibly important. Denying myself that expression is a denial of part of myself.
So on to ankle health.
To ensure that I can live the way the my heart and mind desire, maintaining healthy feet and ankles are of paramount importance. I can keep moving with a dislocated shoulder, but dislocated ankles are a deal breaker. I've learned to seriously respect my ankles since that Jordan trek. They're both total divas, playing up at the first sign of trouble. While on holiday last week, for absolute no discernible reason, my right ankle developed flexor hallucis longus (FHL) tendonitis.
At the time, I had no idea what the FHL tendon even was, and had no idea why suddenly I couldn't move my right ankle without a sharp, breathtaking pain emanating from my ankle. All I knew was that I had to nip it in the bud ASAP. It was a reminder that my body can pull the rug from underneath me whenever the whim takes it, and that we EDSers have to respect that, in the same way we must respect Mother Nature's ability to give and destroy.
As my fellow EDSers know, if there's something that the internet doesn't know, it's probably not worth knowing. When I got back from holiday, my research for the cause of my ankle pain began. Within 15 minutes, I tracked down the cause and the current medical guidance on resolving FHL tendonitis. Turns out my instincts to rest and ice had been right, but it was good to know for sure I was doing the right thing to heal my body.
A week later, and I could once again move my ankle without the acute pain. And my first thought? To go for a walk. Up the side of Mt Sutro. Of course.
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| My neighbourhood to the lower right, with Sutro Tower sitting atop Mt. Sutro in the centre. |
You might think that unwise (and you're probably right), but for me, it was asserting my freedom to move, my desire to express myself through motion. I have a killer pair of walking boots that support my ankles and I took breaks and stretched where I needed to, and made sure to listen to my body along the way.
I also have a new weapon in my arsenal in protecting my ankles, particularly my oversensitive sinus tarsi and my extremely slack tendons and ligaments.
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| Ultimate Performance Neoprene Ankle Support with straps |
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| My legs up on the couch, before and after |
