Plantar fasciitis is the answer

“Inflammation of the thick tissue on the bottom of the foot that creates the arch is plantar this and just….ouch.” This was a recent “Jeopardy!” answer in the category “Here Comes Boo Boo, Honey.”

I know. The category name was horrible and I couldn’t help thinking of that awful show whenever the players chose from this particular list. The last thing I want to be reminded of is someone else’s spoiled kid when I have a couple of my own to deal with.

The question was “What is fasciitis?” which I correctly shouted at the television with glee in my heart. I do fairly well with the show because I adore trivia, but this particular response was so incredibly relevant that I was caught up in a moment of magical synchronicity.

Back on the 13^th of December, my whole family participated in the Jingle Bell Run in Avon Park. I don’t want to be one of those people who do 5Ks and then talk about every single 5K I accomplish, but Avon Park is my old stomping ground and even my little girl did this one with us. It was special.

My son was in front, like always, and my daughter was with Daddy and me. I figured she’d be conservative with her energy.

I was so very wrong.

The race began and she took off with me in tow. I was holding her hand in a crowd of people and I couldn’t let go because that would be incredibly irresponsible parenting. As she pulled me at a fast clip to the mall (that’s the Avon Park mall, aka cruising strip) a painful stitch stabbed me in my right side. It felt like my gall bladder may have tried to exit through my kidney.

I begged her to stop. “Please! Slow down, honey! The race is long and you have to pace yourself!”

Lucky for me, Daddy came along and took over while I slowed way down so I could rearrange my internal organs.

The thing about the Avon Park 5K is that we had three opportunities to loop past each other and wave. This allowed me to visualize the large gap forming between my family and me.

Needless to say, my son came in first with my husband second followed by my daughter with me bringing up the rear.

Here’s an interesting tidbit: my son somehow failed to cross the finish line. I suppose, in a way, he is still racking up minutes in the Jingle Bell Run. By the printing of this article, he’ll have a time of around 366 hours and counting. That makes my 47 minutes seem pretty awesome.

Once it was over, my sweetheart and I were on our way to Winn Dixie to pick up some necessities. She was in deep thought for a few moments.

“Mommy, fat people can run. I’ve seen them. They can run fast. They just practice. You can run too. All you need to do is practice. I’ll help you exercise.” Sensitive is her middle name.
With my spirits lifted, we went into the store when pain shot through my right foot. “What in the world?” I wondered to myself. I limped all weekend and hobbled into work the following Monday eager to find out from the ER doctor what was wrong with me.

Plantar fasciitis was the diagnosis.

Fat people can run, but they need to learn how to walk and jog first. Good thing I’ve got “Jeopardy!” to make me feel better about myself.