I realized today that my toenail journey as not been documented as well as it could or should have been. I haven’t shared the daily developments of the slow and sad demise of my big toenail as it deserved. That toenail has been good to me and in its time of need, I simply turned blind eye. OK….for real…..I didn’t want to gross you out. If you’re reading this and you are a runner – I know that nothing can gross you out. But the general population is NOT equipped to handle this kind of stomach-churning info. So non-runners proceed with caution.
It all started at Wildflower
My last blog about six weeks ago recapped my epic race weekend at Wildflower 50k & 13.1. I mentioned briefly then that the trails BEAT my toes up. Actually, my toes were more likely beat up because my shoes were a bit too small. I’m still in the denial state of grieving regarding those trail shoes. I LOVE them and I keep trying to justify continuing to wear them. It’s time for acceptance, but that simply isn’t going to happen anytime soon.
After the race, my two big toenails were completely purple, terribly sore and the worst was how they felt when I walked. I honestly thought they might pop off at any moment. (Talk about being FREAKED OUT.) I had some other toes with issues, as well, but the big toes were the main concern.
The Stage of Denial
As with any trauma, regardless of whether it is a large or small trauma, the first stage of grief, loss or just dealing with the situation is denial. I kept thinking that my toes would be fine by the time I finally pulled into my driveway and got out of my car, but NOPE. Denial is a lovely place – I’ve lived there a lot during my times of injury – so I tried to keep the visit there fairly short. I went straight to…..
The Stage of Bargaining
I knew that the only way I had a chance of saving my toenails was to get holes in them and get the blood drained off. (OK…deep down I KNEW that I couldn’t save the nails, but damn, they hurt and I had to do something!) I had dealt with blood under my toe once before, YEARS ago, when I dropped a 16 oz can of tomatoes on my big toe. At the time, I had taken the tiniest drill bit and drilled a hole in my nail but it had taken me an entire afternoon to complete the task because I was so freaked out! In the end, I lost my toenail but not until the new one grew in underneath. I had hope that the same would happen here, but I wasn’t a runner then and I wasn’t pounding that foot on the ground several thousand times per week.
So when I got home from the race, I asked the hubs to get me the tiniest drill bit and I went right to work. I drained the right toe because it was the worst. (And it only took me 3 minutes this time!) It still hurt, but it felt soooo much better!! I drained the left toe the next morning. Don’t even ask me why I waited. I have no clue. Sometimes I don’t have the most sense.
The Stage of Anger
I immediately found myself in this stage when I was trying to walk the next morning. I wore my Altras, because…they soft and have a big toe box!! I could NOT let the pads of my toes touch the ground. That would cause pressure on my nail which would cause me to cringe and start hyperventilating and have a little panic attack. I moved really slowly the next couple of days. I may not have been *angry* but I was definitely experiencing high emotions regarding my toenails. The biggest question was WHY DID I LET THIS HAPPEN?!?!?
The Stage of Denial…..again
As my toes started getting better (by the end of the week), I found myself in the stage of denial again, except this time I moved in and made myself comfortable there. My big toenails looked pretty decent!! I was convinced that I had saved them. It was a miracle!!! I spent a few days in ignorant bliss before transitioning to the next stage….
The Stage of Depression
My feeling of victory was short-lived. A few days later, I trimmed my toenails then noticed that the right big toe was beginning to lift away from the nail bed. NOOOOOOOOO!!!!! I was crushed. 
I knew saving the nails was a long shot, but all signs seemed to signal that my heroic efforts were going to pay off. I kept looking at it and thinking that maybe it wasn’t actually lifting. Some days I went back into Denial, believing that the nail had actually reattached. (I told you, I have a really nice house in Denial!!) But every day the nail seemed to lift a little more and I soon arrived at Acceptance.
The Stage of Acceptance
Currently, I am waffling between the Stage of Acceptance and the Stage of Anger. I have accepted that I am going to lose the nail. I am patiently waiting to see how long the 3 on my left foot hang in there. But I am at the point that I want this toenail to give up the ghost and go toward the light. I may have sung “Let It Go”, in hopes that the toenail would LET GO. I am sick of it being on there and me getting freaked out if I forget to cover with a bandaid and catch it on something. That FREAKS ME OUT.
Today, I soaked it in Epsom salt water. I tried to pry it loose. No luck there, so I cut it wayyyyy down. My current strategy is to treat it like a loose tooth and wiggle it every chance I get. I know. GROSS!!!
I’m stuck in this holding pattern until the stupid toenail decides to give up or Jenn decides to come to Texas to yank it out!
Losing toenails isn’t that bad, y’all.
Dirt LeJENd 