Now, no one of a learned medical mind disagrees that there's something not quite right about me—something my family has known for years—but yet, there's nothing quite wrong enough about me for it to be a bothersome thing for them to address. The neurologist doesn't seem to think I need Spina Bifida testing, because even if I have it, my symptoms are mild enough that, well, so what? It would explain the mismatched eye and the flat feet...but, hey: they're a conversational piece and something for me to gripe about both, so everybody's happy. They've already determined that the teeny tiny gene of mine that went wonky is the one that decides what to put where and how many of them to put there so who knows how many backup lungs I've got. Hiding behind my kidneys.

So it was with great luck that I was born with a built-in exemption from fitness in my younger, more unhealthy days: my bod just wasn't cut out for exercise. Nonetheless, I forced the matter at one of life's turns. For those of you who have arches in your feet, rejoice! When your arches are collapsed, it affects every joint starting at the ankle on up. At home, we had a swimming pool during most of my childhood, and I still remember my family's gentle teasing that you could tell my wet footprints by their triangular, duck-like appearance. So, take a moment to pat the bottoms of your feet and coo softly to them as you express gratitude for support they provide.

My Mom noticed first, as she did with my eyes (she obviously paid attention to me, or was it only my deformities?), that I walked a little odd. First to the pediatrician ("Oh! I see the problem! These feet are flat!") then the podiatrist who looked like a hunkier, beefier Keanu Reeves, an actor I was deeply in love with at the time as Speed was the hot movie in those days. Dr. "W" was so much more yummy. Mmm. Too bad he only had eyes for my feet. He did his best to teach me to walk properly, and I'm mostly reformed, but on a sleepy day I do revert. My feet turn in, dragging dejectedly as I force them forward by direction of my hips. Poor, rotten, good-for-nothing feet.

My ankles know too much freedom—who knows if that's related though— and I can lie flat on my back and still have my soles flush against the ground. I am also perfectly comfortable standing upright on the outer edges of my feet, soles touching...but then, I'm bendy all over...probably my maker's condolence prize: "Look, you're a little faulty, but you're gonna kick all the boys' butts at Mercy." I'm not quite as double jointed as Mom, who could bend all of her finger tips ONLY at the topmost joint...but my thumbs can still touch my forearm and my fingers can all make acute angles to the backs of my hands. It's a perk, I must admit.

I forced myself into running some years ago, and I had forgotten the struggles early—on but am reminded now as I am trying to get back into the swing of things after nearly six months of illness and recuperation. Pound, pound, pound on the treadmill and the impact seems to have squared by the time in reaches my hips...but my feet are giving me problems again as I look to my deliverance and beg for mercy. Now that I no longer have to throw away money on tailbone cushions, I might as well look into something to save those two toenails from going black this year and more importantly, something to treat that swollen bursal sac that has grown over my mesophalangeal joints. (Yes, I have a problem with the word "bunion".)

Someone told me the other day that maybe my body is trying to tell me something. Of course it is, Silly. It's saying, "I'm going to punish you because you've ignored me for six months. Huzzah!" Cheeky, isn't she? But no, really, if fitness came naturally we wouldn't be concerned about making sure we have a vehicle to drive us two miles or an elevator to take us up four floors. It is an empowerment to which anyone who works out regularly can attest: exercise is a high. It's better than chocolate, better than perfect-shaped cookie-scoop cookies, even better than coffee. It's winding up your energy and then watching it go. If we did all the things we are capable of, we would literally astound ourselves. Perhaps one day my feet will stop being such prissy divas, but for now I'm prepared to fight them every step of every mile along the way. Mind over matter...mind over matter...