My right foot.
Living with plantar fasciitis is like living with a two-legged dog: walks in the park are never the same. It started two years ago, in Bangkok, when I felt like walking everywhere, every day, until my feet ached with exhaustion. I thought it would go away but months before I had completed a training regimen where I gained 12 pounds of muscle — and that’s when my feet started planning their revenge.
Basically, it’s like this: it feels as if someone has driven a nail into the bottom of my foot. And it’s there all the time, every day. Over the last two years, the left foot has improved greatly, while the right foot has gotten progressively worse. And that kind of pain, it should be known, leads one to consider things only hippies and hipsters would dare consider, things like barefoot running:
And wear shoes old women and small children would consider ridiculous: