photo by d sharon pruitt

Remember when I reveled the diagnosis behind my burning feet, chronic headaches, and achy knees? Remember how I said somehow I have mercury toxicity? Remember we were all like, Huh?

OK, maybe that last part didn’t happen. It might have just been me that was a bit confused.

Not that it matters much how I got such high levels of one of the most toxic metals on earth into my body. The point is, too much mercury can do crazy things to you and maybe—just maybe—that includes turning your feet into torches.

So today I’m getting my mercury fillings removed. I’m not sure if they’re the sole reason I’m slowly being poisoned by the metal, but my doctor says it definitely plays a role. (Plus, I grind my teeth at night, which might release toxic mercury fumes into my mouth.) I’ll answer a few of your questions before I go on:

Yes, I’m old enough to have mercury fillings.

No, they didn’t know how dangerous mercury was when I got them ALL THE WAY BACK IN THE ’80s

Yes, the rest of my fillings are white.

Yes, I realize I have an oddly large number of cavities for someone whose consistently told they have “superb oral hygiene habits” at every visit.

I blame it on tight teeth.

And maybe sugar.

photo by tarale

Anyhow, it’s very important when extracting toxic metal from your mouth that you don’t do it all willy-nilly. Since touching mercury is regarded as a HAZARD, draining it down your throat is generally frowned upon.

Really, it’s better to leave it in place than expose yourself to the hazardous metal and its fumes. Most regular dentists don’t take the right protocols when it comes to removing old fillings. Exhibit A: The Man. A few years ago a dentist wanted to remove his mercury filling because they’re dangerous, so she did it in the office. No precautions. Just drill, yank, remove.

Right about now you’d think he should be the one to have massive health problems from mercury toxicity but you’d be wrong. He’s unstoppable. (And I’m unlucky.)

The right way to do it is the way my biological dentist is probably doing it as we speak communicate electronically. He’ll use a special device to make sure I don’t suck up any mercury vapor or chew on mercury pieces as he removes the fillings. (Read: I’ll be wearing an oxygen mask over my nose so I don’t breathe anything in and some superpowered vacuum will suck up the air coming out of my mouth. Note to self: use mouthwash after lunch.)

And, hopefully, my symptoms will go away. Of course, there’s no telling whether all my symptoms were from mercury or Lyme or drawing the short straw in kindergarten. But I can hope.

Anyone else out there have mercury fillings?

So, in my fantasy life (the one where I own a pet unicorn named Maple and feed her apples and ride her over rainbows—that one) the fact that my feet burn like I’m stepping into a vat of acid would just roll off my shoulder. The Man would be all “Hey, your feet are red, two sizes too big, and hot.” And I’d be all like “Psh. Whatever. So what if my feet feel like a thousand daggers are stabbing them to no particular beat? Let’s sit around and giggle.”

You understand why that’s a fantasy, right? Because it’s more like:

My feet hurt.

I’m sorry.

I hate them.

Don’t hate them.

Why do we even need feet?

To walk.

I want to chop them off!

Don’t do that.

Feel them.

They’re hot.

Look at them.

Yes, they’re red and swollen.

But do you see how red and swollen?

Yes, they look painful.

You wouldn’t understand the pain.

I can see how they hurt you.

You can’t see anything! Don’t look at my feet.

I’m sorry.

*silent weeping*

This week, we’ve been having that conversation a lot. I don’t know if it’s from the Lyme treatment (in which case, bring it on—that means it’s working and that I really do have Lyme) or my body’s own rebellious nature (in which case, someone needs to be grounded—stat), but I’ve been feeling pretty, um, crummy.

Since Saturday, my feet have been flaring with a vengeance. It makes me scream and cry at the same time, so I end up sounding like cookie monster trying to eat Spaghetti Os.

I’ll let you imagine that.

Right, so me = severe suckitude.

(And I’m pretty crabby so if you try to tell me suckitude isn’t a word I might smack you.)

There is nothing that can make this better—aside from living in an ice castle that keeps my feet at a chilling (and frost bite-inducing) -30 degreees. However, this takes the edge off:

Dear Poor Nighttime Lighting, Take a hike. Sincerely, Wannabe Photographer Tracey

And not because avocados are nature’s firehoses. Just because it makes me feel better eating something so good.

You’ll notice a lack of onions. That’s why I love homemade guacamole (and always hated it at the restaurant): no onions, no garlic. Mine is super citrusy … just the way I like it.

Oh, and simple, too.

Here’s what you do: Smash an avocado to a pulp. Pretend you’re beating in that jerk from accounting’s face. (Do any of you even deal with people from accounting? Me neither.)

Holy giant avocado, Batman!

Feel free to use a giant avocado if it makes you feel better. (The Man thought it was so cool, though we haven’t used it yet.)

Add a whole lime. Yes, that much.

Add chopped tomatoes (if you have them; as you can see, I was out) and salt and pepper.

Stop. Do nothing else. It’s perfect just the way it is.

And now I’m off to scream at my feet. Five bucks says they won’t listen.

photo by jens dahlin

I was going to spend today answering all of your questions but then I remembered I owed you an update on my doctor’s appointment on Friday and I thought, “Hmm, what’s more exciting? Slightly serious, even more goofy answers to reader questions or a story about a doctor’s appointment?”

Interestingly, I went with option B.

As you know, I was off on Friday because the new doctor I am going to is an hour away. (Not to be confused with Dr. Evil who mocked my pain (anyone else think of Princess Bride here when Buttercup tells Wesley—then disguised as the Dread Pirate Roberts—that he mocks her pain? Maybe it’s just me. I’m obsessed enough with that movie to give a reference to it its own double parentheses.) by saying the best way to treat EM was to sit on my butt all day)

Anyhow, it was glorious because I got to sleep in until 9 a.m., which, while early, is three hours later than I normally get to sleep on Friday. And at this point sleep is the highlight of my work week.

So The Man and I drove out to the doctor who reviewed my symptoms and tests. Apparently I’m loaded up with vitamins, except for D, which I was crazy deficient in. (On a scale of 32 to 300, most people are deficient; my level was 16.) Anyhow, vitamin deficiency is not the culprit. (*insert sad face here.*)

However.

photo from patricia lazar
Oh. My. Goodness. It’s adorableness is outrageous.

He believes I have Lyme disease. I KNOW.

I’ll start by saying I don’t remember ever getting a tick bite, but then again I never really looked. Besides, ticks on the back or head are hard to catch. Not only that, but what my doctor didn’t know at the time is this: I grew up in Connecticut, not to far from Lyme, Conn. Which, as you might be able to guess, is where the disease first showed up.

So, yeah, Connecticut and Massachusetts (where I later moved) and Cape Cod (where I vacationed yearly) and basically all of New England are infested. So even though I don’t remember it, it’s not too much of stretch to see how I could possibly have been bitten by a deer tick.

On top of that, my hair analysis (for which I had to chop off way too much hair) says I have high mercury levels. I do have metal fillings. But, still, I’m not really sure how the mercury toxicity happened. Unless The Man is putting something other than stevia in my iced tea. Always a possibility with those men.

So that’s the theory right now. I’m sure I’ll have more for you as we pursue the diagnosis, but for now all I can say is this: It’s good to maybe have an answer to the big, fat WHY??!?! question. It’s scary to think of how severe the treatment can be. But I’m trying not to think that far ahead.

For now, a maybe answer is enough.

And with that, I’m going to eat more celebratory chocolate.

What? It’s a celebration.

Totally Unrelated Question of the Day*: Would you rather have horns in the middle of your forehead or two little legs hanging from your chin?

*My absolute favorite “would you rather…” by the way.

photo from Sole

Hey friends, there is still time to enter my Totally Awesome Beauty Giveaway. All the fun (and rules) can be found here. The contest ends Friday, so head over and enter before IT’S ALL OVER!

The dilemma: You’re forced to use custom orthotics or else risk ruining your body mechanics by walking around on flat feet—yet you’d rather not wear closed shoes in 100-degree heat. Do you:

A. Suck it up and throw on a pair of socks and sneakers.

B. Forget the orthotics and slip on flip flops.

C. Duct tape your orthotics to the bottom of your sandals?

I vote for none of the above. Not that there’s technically anything wrong with duct-taped sandals, but it’s just not my thing.

Here’s a brief lesson for anyone who’s never had to wear orthotics (lucky you). They’re shoe inserts that help make up for a too-high arch or flat feet. Because you slip them in your shoes, you’re required to wear a pair that at least have a back and sides. So sandals are out.

For the first two years I wore orthotics I stuck to sneakers, even in summer. Which means that not only was I wearing socks and closed-toe shoes but I also could not wear skirts. (I think the skirt-sneaker look only works with fanny packs and Disney World T-shirts. Unless, of course, you have those cute sneakers which, incidentally, DO NOT FIT CUSTOM ORTHOTICS. Not that I’m bitter.)

Anyhow, then I discovered Sole flip flops, which have arch support and are designed by podiatrists. They’re not the cutest shoes, trust me, but they work well enough. And did I mention they don’t require socks? In summer. No socks. Amazing.

I’m writing about this because I was shopping for my second pair and I thought, Hm, maybe some of my flat-footed readers would be interested in these. And then I thought, Hm, maybe even people who have normal feet would want a pair because they’re really comfortable and so much better for your feet than regular flat flip-flops. (Well, as good for your feet as flip flops can be.)

But don’t think Sole is paying me to say this. Or giving me anything for free. They’re not. Sigh.

Anyhow: Bad feet + Sole flip flops = Happiness.

Anyone ever use Sole? If not, do you wear flip flops or do you heed every single podiatrists’ warning and stay far, far away from those dangerous shoes? (Me neither.)

I know you’re probably sick of my vacation talk, but I have something else to say and I’m going to say it gosh dern it. I concerns my nemeses, my knees.

(If you’re a new reader here’s a quick recap: My knees suck and have for years. If you want the gritty details, click here.)

I think the best way to get my point across is to compare this trip to Charlottesville with the last one The Man and I took—back in July 2008.

Then: The Man dropped me off outside a restaurant, and I waited on a bench as he parked the car.
Now: The Man and I parked the car and walked to a restaurant together.

Then: I viewed the Charlottesville mall (think National Mall, not shopping mall) from the comfort of a bench.
Now: The Man and I walked from one end of the mall to the other. And back. Without pain or swelling.

Then: We could only manage one winery trip.
Now: We hit up three.

Then: My chauffeur The Man dropped me off on the winery’s front step.
Now: I walked from the parked car into the winery with The Man.

Then: Dinner was at a restaurant with a parking lot.
Now: I mounted a steep set of stairs to get to a restaurant. And then I went down it. Pain free.

Then: Lots of pain. Too much. Lots of swelling. Ditto.
Now: Aside from foot pain (thanks, body) I felt good.

There was even a moment in there during our walk down the mall when The Man turned to me and said, “This is weird.” As in the fact that we were taking a leisurely walk together was freaky. And it was. It’s been a while since I walked with him anywhere.

Even freakier? Walking to one end and back without redness or swelling. (And you can bet I checked the first chance I got.) It was a surreal moment, and I had to double check just to be sure. As if I would ever miss my swollen knees.

I’m not sure if I have PRP to thank, the workouts I’ve been doing, or both. Or neither. Really, with my knees, you just never know. But I’m hopeful. And as soon as I get back from a work conference at the end of this month, I’m going under the needle again. Shooting thick blood into my knee is like a crazy hobby.

photo by d sharon pruitt

I was just about to start a post like this: I hate my knees. I hate my life. Wah.

OK, maybe it wasn’t going to be exactly like that, but you get the idea. Sometimes having a chronic injury sucks. And when the weather gets warmer it especially sucks. In winter, I was OK staying at home and doing nothing. The weather was too cold to leave the house anyway. Come spring? I want to get outside. I want to go for a walk in the park or window shop downtown. So, yeah, the whole knee-pain thing really gets to me and I start feeling bad for myself. But just as I was about to pour out virtual tears, I started thinking about June 2008.

June 2008 was my low point. My knees were in such pain, The Man would carry me from the couch to the kitchen in our 600-square-foot apartment. When The Man wasn’t home, I’d inch my way to the bathroom on the floor. Because making the 8-foot trip was too painful. I couldn’t brush my teeth standing up (thank goodness for long countertops). I’d get dressed sitting down. As soon as I got home from work, I’d pile four pillows under my feet and ice for an hour. I had to buy bigger jeans because my regular ones were too tight around my swollen knees.

Back in June 2008, The Man picked me up outside our apartment and dropped me off before parking the car—even though the parking space was a few feet away. (Good news: I became a pro at turning just about anything into a seat. Including but not limited to curbs, fire hydrants, a newspaper bin, and the floor. No shame, people.)

Looking back just two years, I see how far my knees have come. (You can read my entire, really long story here.)

1. I’m less swollen. I still wear those bigger pants and I can grab an inch around my knees. To think that they once filled the pants entirely! My knees still get inflamed and I still have Baker’s cysts behind them, but they’re not puffy and big like they were at the height of my injury.

2. I’m more independent. I can walk with The Man to and from our parking space. Sure, I still get dropped off if The Man is parking far away, but at home I can walk the 15 feet with him. I also brush my teeth standing up, a major life goal I was dying to check off my list.

3. I’m stronger. Back in ’08, I couldn’t bike for 5 minutes without pain, never mind 30 minutes with resistance. I think back to the physical therapy I did to build the muscles that had wasted away, and I know I’m stronger. Then, I’d lift my straight leg in the air and lower it for a count of 30. Now I do single-leg presses with 30-pound weights.

Full disclosure: I’m still not at my goal. I still can’t walk for longer than a few minutes without feeling pain in my knees. They still get hot and red when I’m standing for too long. I still hate them. (Sorry, had to slip that in. You know, let them know where we stand and all.) I’m still working toward goals—be able to do the grocery shopping instead of sending The Man, walk as far as I’d like without pain, and so on with the fantasies.

But at least I can look back and know I’m making progress, as painfully slow as it may be. And that’s a good thing.

The point of all of this rambling? To make me feel better. Remember, it’s all about me. Just kidding. The point is to remind you that sometimes putting a problem in perspective—even if it’s as significant a problem as the inability to walk without pain—can make you realize things aren’t as bad as you’re imagining.

Any problems you need perspective on? Can you think of a time you dealt with them and came out alive?

P.S. Check out my guest post at The Process of Healing.

photo by joe thorn
That’s not our new bookcase. I wish. Ours is a sliver of an Ikea one.

Welcome back to the workweek, all.

I had one of those weekends where I simultaneously felt like I got a lot done and did nothing at all. (With a little failure and guilt thrown in for a good measure.) Don’t ask me how that works.

We got a lot done…
While I plugged away at some editing for work, The Man put together a bookcase and two nightstands from Ikea. He’s pretty awesome at deciphering those instructions, which is a talent seeing as they’re drawn by 5-year-old Swedes.

Of course, buying new furniture never stops at construction. So I took a break from work to rearrange our bedroom. Sounds easy, right? Well, it would have been except one of our walls is slanted. (Someone must have thought, “Wouldn’t it be fancy and special if the far wall was tilted?” They were wrong. It’s just annoying.) Since I like symmetry and parallel walls, it took about forever to find a setup where I didn’t feel like all my furniture was askew.

photo from ooh_food
Obviously these aren’t mine.

We did nothing at all…
All that rearranging got me in the mood to tackle the big To Do that’s been lurking on my list: buy a coffee table and chair. I would show you our perfect coffee table, but I struck out big-time. Somehow I can’t reconcile my big-budget style with my actual bank account. So the search goes on.

I would also like to show you our amazing new armchair. But that would mean I bought one. And if I had bought one, that would mean I had won the comfort vs. style fight with The Man. (Yes, the same Man who insists a Redskins recliner would fit with our style.) Since I don’t believe in sports team recliners, we’re at an impasse. Or, rather, I’m still working on convincing The Man he’s past his bachelor pad and recliner days.

Not buying a chair or coffee table took up a good amount of time. And the rest of the weekend was taken up by more work. I can see you’re all jealous.

I kinda failed…
Did you notice what wasn’t on my weekend list? I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t set foot in the gym. I don’t feel guilt because of weight loss or maintenance, but instead I feel like I’m letting my knees down each time I don’t work out. Each time I skip is a missed opportunity to strengthen the muscles around my knees. Bottom line: I failed this weekend.

All that said, I’m kind of impressed with my knees. I was pretty active with the bedroom rearranging (though The Man did all of the actual lifting and moving). But I did all of my own walking when we visited three furniture stores. And most of the time I walked with him to the car. (Hint: That’s a big deal.) Sure, I was tired by Sunday afternoon. But I was also a lot less tired than I would have been a year ago. Or even six months ago.

So, despite the fact that I’m glum about my lack of gym time I’m excited that all my shopping hasn’t left me limping. Sure, my knees got tired walking through the stores, but I seemed to rebound fairly fast. That has to be a good sign. Right? Right?

Speaking of the gym, I’ve been very clear about what motivates me to lace up my sneakers and get moving. But I’m curious what keeps you going. Is it how you feel during or after exercise? Did an illness or injury spur you on? Is it for weight loss?

photo by ulterior epicure
The box o’ chocolates is from Kee’s

I have a thing for chocolate. Let’s just say if you gave me a choice between never having dinner again and never having chocolate, I wouldn’t bat an eye before I grabbed a brownie and said, “I’ll never leave you.” It’s borderline sick.

I’ve dined at the chain restaurant Chili’s before and passed on a main course so I could fit more molten chocolate cake in my belly. (To be honest, it wasn’t a hard decision. If you’ve ever eaten at Chili’s you know their meals are usually too rubbery, too salty, too processed, or too stale—or all of the above.) But that microwaved mound of chocolatey sponge? The gooey chocolate insides? The giant scoop of vanilla ice cream to cool the warm cake? Heaven.

It reminds me of a Hallmark card I once read. The front had an illustration of a Cheesecake Factory-sized hunk of chocolate cake, and it said, “I ate a dessert called Death by Chocolate.” Flip to the inside, where the card continued: “But it didn’t kill me. It only made me stronger.”

That, friends, is how I feel.

Here’s where I insert news of a recent study that found an association between eating dark chocolate and having a lower risk of stroke and death after stroke. This is also the point where I tell you that the researchers only analyzed three studies, so the findings aren’t conclusive. Right here is the point where I wonder whether the researchers did this small study just so it would be published in time for Valentine’s Day?. No matter! Chocolate won’t kill you—I’ll make you stronger. And stroke-resistant. Just keep telling yourself that. I do.

Speaking of V-Day, I should let you know … I don’t particularly enjoy it even though it usually means The Man gets me chocolate. I like that part. And I like the whole going to a special dinner part. What I don’t like is that there’s nothing on the level of flowers or chocolates that I can get The Man. (Much to his disappointment, a new MacBook Pro does not a great Valentines Day gift make.)

Still, in the spirit of this phony, Hallmark-created holiday, and with chocolate (healthy or not) on my mind, I give you a chocolate craving. Enjoy.

My kinda chocolate bar: Vosges Mini Exotic Candy Bar Library—nine small bars in a pretty purple box.

Endangered Species Chocolate makes an espresso dark chocolate with 72 percent cacao. The bar even features an adorable tiger. And when I say adorable, I mean completely menacing and ready to bite your finger off.

Poco Dolce’s chocolate tiles—cracker-thin squares of chocolate in left- and righthand photos—are for those of us without self-control I suppose. Check out the Burnt Caramel Toffee variety.

Dagoba’s organic dark chocolate bar is made with 59 percent cacao.

Bon Bon Bar makes a Scotch Candy Bar that’s made with single malt scotch, ganache, and caramel, covered in dark chocolate, and sprinkled with sea salt.  This looks a-maz-ing.

Green & Black’s adds mint to its organic dark chocolate bar.

Eclat Chocolate sells Shiraz truffles. ’Nuff said.

Terra Nostra’s dark chocolate bar has 73 percent cacao, goji berries, and pink Himalayan mineral salt. How’s that for original? (And, yeah, that’s a pretty tall bar.)

Salazon Chocolate Co. makes an organic dark chocolate bar with natural sea salt.

What’s your favorite chocolate bar or brand? (I’m still in love with the Cadburys Buttons I ate like crazy when I studied in New Zealand.)

photo by 802

The first time I heard about barefoot running, I wondered what type of crazy person would trade running shoes for roughed-up heels. It wasn’t just vanity talking (though, OK, my desire for soft, smooth heels did play a role in my skepticism). It was my concern for the general well-being of these runners—especially the city folk.

Bare feet + concrete + shards of glass + a hypodermic needle here and there does not = safe running. Still, over the past year or so I’ve read a lot of firsthand stories saying barefoot running is to exercise what eating locally is to nutrition. Or something like that.

Well, today a study was published that says, “Not so fast. Running sans shoes may be better after all.” In today’s issue of the journal Nature, Harvard researchers who studied runners’ gaits report that 75 percent of people who run in shoes land on their heels first. People who run barefoot strike the ground with the balls of their feet first, which generates less force on impact. According to the researchers, all of this is important because more than 30 percent of runners are injured every year—and those injuries arise thanks to problems in the foot or lower leg.

Why Shoes?
Running shoes are a relatively new phenomenon. In early B.N. (that’s Before Nike to you), people ran barefoot, in sandals, or—more recently—in thin sneakers with little support or cushioning. It wasn’t until the ’70s that manufacturers started making shoes specifically for running—bells, whistles, and doodads (hello, iPod sensor) included. Today’s running shoes have wide heels that are cushioned to absorb some of the force created by smacking a hard surface while running. A lot of shoes come with arch support to prevent overpronation, the rolling in of the foot due to to low arches. Because running shoes are designed with such a high heel, they make it easier to strike the ground heel first, also called heel-to-toe. The study’s authors say people who run in shoes (and strike with the heel first) often switch to a forefoot-first running style when jogging barefoot in a lab.

photo by matthetube
You, too, could have feet this ladylike.

A Case for Bare Feet
I’ve always known that running is a high-impact activity. But this study shows that running with shoes creates more impact than running barefoot does. Doesn’t make sense, right? Here’s how it works: The amount of force generated by your foot striking the ground differs based on gate. When you strike the ground heel first, you generate an impact that’s 1.5 to three times your body weight. Yikes. The researchers say that’s like having someone hammer your heel with 1.5 to three times your body weight. Oh, and don’t forget: That’s for one step. You hit the ground thousands of times during a run. Even with cushioned running shoes, the impact is only reduced by 10 percent.

Striking the ground with your forefoot first results in forces that are about seven times lower than forces created by heel strikers.

A Case for Shoes
Um, the pebbles, glass, gum, and who knows what else litters the streets. Even if you live in a rural area and can run through an open field footloose and fancy free, you’ll still have to watch your steps. Oh, and it doesn’t sound so fun in the winter. With snow. Or ice. I should probably mention again: calluses. And rough feet that aren’t adorable in summery sandals. Just a warning.

Aside from all that, it can be hard to change the way you run overnight. The researchers say doing so may put you at increased risk for Achilles tendinitis, an injury you really don’t want. (Trust me. Been there, done that.)

What’s it All Mean?
I duno, I’m just the reporter. All right, all right. The scientists say more research is needed to figure out whether barefoot runners really do have fewer injuries than their well-shod friends. From their mouth Web site to you: “We emphasize though, that no study has shown that heel striking contributes more to injury than forefoot striking.”

The Not Superhuman Take
Eh. I might—a big fat might—get all interested in this if I weren’t nursing two bad knees, but going barefoot right now doesn’t seem smart. Plus, the idea that barefoot running allows for natural overpronation makes me nervous. That’s exactly what I don’t want to happen, because when my feet roll inward, my knees follow. (Other really bad things, like cartilage being scratched off the back of my kneecap, happen too.) Plus, the study didn’t look at knee pain. Which makes me say, “Heck no!” I do think it’s an interesting concept and I hope more studies are done to figure out the possible benefits of barefoot running and its relation to running injuries.

Wanna Try?
So you want to run barefoot? The researchers gave some awesome tips for getting started if you’re used to running in shoes. Tip No. 1: Go slow. Overdoing it is going to cause you mucho pain. Here are some other things to keep in mind.

1. Start with modified shoes. Pick a running shoe that doesn’t have a high heel, which forces you to strike heel first. And look for a pair that have a flexible sole and no arch support. You should be able to bend ’em like Gumby. A shoe like this will allow the muscles of your feet to function the way they’re supposed to, say the researchers.
2. First run on a smooth surface, like a tennis court or track. It’ll help you get acclimated without hurting your still-sensitive feet too much.
3. Give yourself time to get use to it. At first, your foot muscles may be tired. That’s to be expected.
4. Wear protection. If you’ll be running around a city or another road that’s not perfectly smooth, try wearing thin shoes called Five Fingers. You’ll look absurd and silly, but you won’t puncture your heel with a broken Bud Lite.

The researchers also gave some great tips on barefoot running form. Check them out at their comprehensive barefoot running site. (This site is also a great resource.) The researchers’ site also has some pretty cool videos that show how African children who have never worn shoes naturally run.

Have you ever tried barefoot running? Will you ever?

photo by hckyso

What a day. As you can tell—hello 9:30 p.m. post—it’s been a crazy day. Since I’m running on empty (and ready a clinical study right now sounds about as fun as poking my eye with toothpicks) I’ve decided to give you the speed reader version of my day. I promise I’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming tomorrow, so in the mean time I hope you enjoy. And when I say that, I mean I hope you’re not wildly disappointed with me.

Without further ado, here are seven things you should know about me:

1. I still have a case of the Mondays. And it’s Tuesday. It all started yesterday when the fluctuating temperatures set off a massive headache. I felt it in my eyes some time around lunchtime and didn’t get rid of it until I fell asleep.

2. A week ago, I was the only blogger in all of the Internet that had never tried almond butter. I’m sure of it. But thanks to a giant jar from Costco I’ve not only tried it but I’ve also become addicted. I’ve yet to try it in every single meal (what do you expect, it’s only been a week!) but I’m working my way up. Your recipe suggestions are welcome. Hint. Hint.

3. I’m a biking machine. I’ve been ridiculously focused while biking lately. No TV. No distractions. I just slide in my earplugs, focus on my legs’ motion, and try to keep the pace as high as I can. What do you all do on the bike, treadmill, or elliptical—read, watch TV, or focus on your movement?

4. I’m a huge Taylor Swift fan. This was news to me, but Taylor has gotten me through many a workout lately. And, by the way, she’s my hair role model. If only I could be blonde. Oh, and gain about 80 percent more hair. Yup, then I’d be set.

5. I’m pretty obsessed with my teeth. Ever since I attended a scientific presentation on gingivitis, I’ve been fanatical about flossing daily. Well, yesterday I added a new step to my teeth-cleaning routine. I tried Crest Weekly Clean Intensive Cleaning Paste. The paste is similar to the stuff your dentist uses, and let me tell you: The granules really polish teeth. You use it once a week (duh) to keep teeth clean and white. I’m not sure whether it whitens, but I did feel like my teeth were fresh-from-the-dentist clean.

6. I spent the weekend with super tight muscles—who knows why—but after this evening’s workout I was limber like a ballerina. Or yogi. Or a child. (They’re bendy in all sorts of ways.) After a tough hamstring exercise a long head-to-knees stretch felt awe-some.

7. And the knees… Yeah, there’s still there, which is a good thing. They’ve been getting hot and red more often. Not so good. But I’m pushing them harder on the bike so my leg muscles are growing. Good. Keep those fingers crossed, folks.

Whew, breathe. So, how’s your day going? Am I the only one feeling like this week’s a bit crazy?