4/29/14. The post where I exercise good judgment for a change, but I don't know if it does any good.

4/29/14: I know I said I wasn't going to post today, but a couple of things happened that I wanted to share before I forget.  This morning was a continuation of the recent theme - woke up in in the 5.5-6 range and did my PT.  As I stood in my closet deciding what to wear to work, I remembered one of the dresses I rediscovered after the lost dry cleaning episode. Great idea!  A pretty black sheath dress with a black and ecru embroidery overlay.  I had to dig around to find the belt, and it looked a little different than I remembered, but I haven't worn the dress in almost a year, so that is not surprising.

Then I remembered the shoes that go with it.  Some of my favorites!  Black sandals with embroidery, a peep toe, and a wedge macrame heel.  A high heel.  But it's a wedge and the shoes go perfectly with the dress.  I put them on and admired them.  And then I took them back off and wore my sensible prescription shoes instead.  Some day I will wear them again, but not today.  I hoped that this exercise of good judgment would result in a few more days without pain level spikes.

I went to work a little sad about the shoes, but happy to be wearing my "new" dress.  As I sat in my office chair, I looked down and realized something was amiss.  You know that belt that looked different than I remembered?  It looked different because it was the wrong belt.  And by wrong, I mean that it was, in fact, navy blue and not black.  Rats.  So much for my great fashion day.  Frankly, I don't think anyone else noticed.  But I knew.

Today was yoga day.  It has been going pretty well and I knew I would miss on Thursday so I decided to go.  All was going well until the reverse plank pose.  For those of you who are not familiar, imagine you are doing a push-up, but your back is facing the ground and your stomach and feet are facing the ceiling (hence the word "reverse").  One of the goals of the pose is to have your feet as close to flat on the floor as possible for maximum stretch.  My well-meaning yoga instructor, who was not aware of my issue, came by and "helped" me by grabbing my feet and pushing them toward the floor.  Before I could stop myself, I squealed, "Please don't touch my feet!", startling her.  And everyone else in the gym.  And probably a few people passing by the gym.  Yep.  I officially just became "that weird girl."  I explained myself to the instructor after class, but I suspect I may be banned for life.

So anyone meeting me for the first time today at work would refer to me as the girl whose belt and shoes don't match her dress and who doesn't want her feet touched.  And my foot has felt worse ever since the yoga incident. Maybe I should have just worn the good shoes after all.