Oh, stop gagging. You've all seen feet before. Some of you have had feet in far worse shape than this. This pic was taken almost a month to the day after the 2010 Boston 3-Day for the Cure. Back in 2007, I was pretty puzzled when my feet started to peel a couple of weeks after The Big Event. Now I kind of plan on it. I've heard from several other people who experience the shedding of skin from the feet anywhere from a week to a month after they return from the 60-mile walk. There are enough of us that we've actually coined a quasi-technical term for it - The Foot Molt.
According to the Webster's New World Dictionary that sits on my computer table, it's an appropriate, if non-traditional, use of the word "molt." Except by "New" World Dictionary in this case, I think we mean "Old" since it is the circa 1980 dictionary my husband threw into a hatchback and took off for college with. The back cover is gone and the front cover is ripped but it retains the still-legible gold sticker that says, "#1 Bestseller!" It's an interesting snapshot of times gone by if you take a few minutes to flip through.
It doesn't have "exfoliant" in it, or "longneck" or "mosh pit" or some other words I would consider 80's classics, like "mullet." So it certainly wouldn't include the likes of "avatar," or "metadata," or "locavore," much less "de-friend" or the other latest additions. But it gets the job done for the basics, like "molt," which has apparently been around since the 14th century. It comes from the Latin word "mutare" which means "to change" but its specific meaning is, "to shed (skin, horns, etc.) in preparation for replacement by new growth."
As I consider the word, I think about how much I have "matured" and "changed." I was reminded of it yesterday, at the beach of all places. We staked out our usual tract of territory near Lifeguard Chair #5. It's a pretty homogeneous spot. Everybody has practically the exact same stuff - chair, blanket, umbrella, rolling cart full of sand toys, cooler. I actually sat in a chair that wasn't mine; it was just identical to mine and it belonged to a woman who was about my height and age and who had a daughter the age of my son. That's right; it's not just our stuff that looks the same - The parents all look just alike too - Every mom is either in a cover-up, long board shorts or a swim suit with skirt attached to conceal a spreading derriere. And we all have a wide-brimmed hat to protect an aging face from the sun. We all sit comfortably and chat, confident that the minute any middle-school aged kid paddles a foot too far on their boogie board, the lifeguards will be blowing their whistles.
After the kids got settled in yesterday with their cousins, I took a walk down the beach. South of Chair 4, things start to look a little different. It's a younger crowd. And leaner. And the suits are skimpy. Everyone is tan and tattooed and while they all have on big sunglasses, no one has on a hat. There are fewer children and lots more surfers. Sure there are three lifeguards posted on Chair #2, but it's much more of a free-for-all. Back when I was a newlywed, in my mid-20's and smokin' hot, having just moved to Rhode Island, this was where I spent every summer weekend. Chair #2 at Narragansett Town Beach. Back then, you could park on the street and walk down. I would just bring a book and a towel and I'd be set for the day. If you wanted to be seen, this was where you came. Everyone driving by and everyone walking on the sea wall could look down toward Chair #2 and there you would be. Without a care in the world. We ate French Fries and didn't re-apply sunscreen. The only thing we had to keep up with was the car keys as opposed to the best bucket for making sand castles, and someone's favorite swim goggles and that little baggie of Teddy Grahams for snack time.
Meanwhile, back at Chair 5, our staked out swathe of beach is hidden behind the pavilion beyond the parking lot, very close to the rest rooms and the frozen lemonade stand and there is no surfing allowed. We have a whole bag just for sunscreen, labeled by the body part it should be applied to and once every hour, we drag somebody out of the water and slather them with it. Yeah, it's different up here.
As I walked back to our spot, I thought about how those lifeguard chairs seem to mark the stages of our lives - moving up the beach; up through the years, arriving at a comfortable spot where we can sit and chat and see our children close and safe and watch the waves come up and go back out. I can see how much I have changed and matured. And I know that I have grown, too. Yes, in the spreading derriere, but also in the very best sense of the word. And if my feet or any other part of me has to molt to accommodate that, then it's OK by me.
According to the Webster's New World Dictionary that sits on my computer table, it's an appropriate, if non-traditional, use of the word "molt." Except by "New" World Dictionary in this case, I think we mean "Old" since it is the circa 1980 dictionary my husband threw into a hatchback and took off for college with. The back cover is gone and the front cover is ripped but it retains the still-legible gold sticker that says, "#1 Bestseller!" It's an interesting snapshot of times gone by if you take a few minutes to flip through.
It doesn't have "exfoliant" in it, or "longneck" or "mosh pit" or some other words I would consider 80's classics, like "mullet." So it certainly wouldn't include the likes of "avatar," or "metadata," or "locavore," much less "de-friend" or the other latest additions. But it gets the job done for the basics, like "molt," which has apparently been around since the 14th century. It comes from the Latin word "mutare" which means "to change" but its specific meaning is, "to shed (skin, horns, etc.) in preparation for replacement by new growth."
As I consider the word, I think about how much I have "matured" and "changed." I was reminded of it yesterday, at the beach of all places. We staked out our usual tract of territory near Lifeguard Chair #5. It's a pretty homogeneous spot. Everybody has practically the exact same stuff - chair, blanket, umbrella, rolling cart full of sand toys, cooler. I actually sat in a chair that wasn't mine; it was just identical to mine and it belonged to a woman who was about my height and age and who had a daughter the age of my son. That's right; it's not just our stuff that looks the same - The parents all look just alike too - Every mom is either in a cover-up, long board shorts or a swim suit with skirt attached to conceal a spreading derriere. And we all have a wide-brimmed hat to protect an aging face from the sun. We all sit comfortably and chat, confident that the minute any middle-school aged kid paddles a foot too far on their boogie board, the lifeguards will be blowing their whistles.
After the kids got settled in yesterday with their cousins, I took a walk down the beach. South of Chair 4, things start to look a little different. It's a younger crowd. And leaner. And the suits are skimpy. Everyone is tan and tattooed and while they all have on big sunglasses, no one has on a hat. There are fewer children and lots more surfers. Sure there are three lifeguards posted on Chair #2, but it's much more of a free-for-all. Back when I was a newlywed, in my mid-20's and smokin' hot, having just moved to Rhode Island, this was where I spent every summer weekend. Chair #2 at Narragansett Town Beach. Back then, you could park on the street and walk down. I would just bring a book and a towel and I'd be set for the day. If you wanted to be seen, this was where you came. Everyone driving by and everyone walking on the sea wall could look down toward Chair #2 and there you would be. Without a care in the world. We ate French Fries and didn't re-apply sunscreen. The only thing we had to keep up with was the car keys as opposed to the best bucket for making sand castles, and someone's favorite swim goggles and that little baggie of Teddy Grahams for snack time.
Meanwhile, back at Chair 5, our staked out swathe of beach is hidden behind the pavilion beyond the parking lot, very close to the rest rooms and the frozen lemonade stand and there is no surfing allowed. We have a whole bag just for sunscreen, labeled by the body part it should be applied to and once every hour, we drag somebody out of the water and slather them with it. Yeah, it's different up here.
As I walked back to our spot, I thought about how those lifeguard chairs seem to mark the stages of our lives - moving up the beach; up through the years, arriving at a comfortable spot where we can sit and chat and see our children close and safe and watch the waves come up and go back out. I can see how much I have changed and matured. And I know that I have grown, too. Yes, in the spreading derriere, but also in the very best sense of the word. And if my feet or any other part of me has to molt to accommodate that, then it's OK by me.
Totally experiencing the post-Boston foot molt right now!
ReplyDelete~ Kristen
I ABSOLUTELY love this post Lisa! I have found that my training walks (when I manage to fit them in) provide me with time much needed to...(fill in the blank here)reflect, plan, remember, etc. I think it's great when we can all take the time to remember how wonderful our complicated, kid-filled, sunscreen slathed, wide-brimmed hatted (and derriered) lives REALLY are.
ReplyDelete