My weight is up again, up about as high as I let it go before I totally freak out, but over the years it's easier and easier to get heavy and harder and harder to let it go. So how did I do it, how did I rush one more time past a comfortable weight, past a weight where my clothes fit, past a weight where I feel even slightly attractive.
This time I can say it's not really my fault. Sort of.
Four months ago I fell. Fell about 12 feet. I was on top of a ladder painting the top of my wall and the ladder slid, it just slid down the wall and I landed 12 feet or more down on my feet. I didn't break anything, or so I thought, I hurt but I went on with everything as if nothing had happened. I kept painting my house so I could move in, I kept working, I kept doing everything and a couple of weeks passed and the pain in my right foot didn't end. So I got an x-ray, the woman in the emergency room said it was nothing and told me to take Ibuprofen Another 2 months passed and the pain got worse. I wasn't walking, I was moving as little as possible, although I wasn't limping the way I had for the week or so after the accident my foot burned and ached and hurt. Hurt enough to keep me from moving, hurt me enough that when someone wanted to know where to go I'd point rather than show them, hurt enough that the regular walking I would do around my office was reduced to rolling my chair from one area to the next. I just wasn't moving. I went to get another x-ray, now they saw the new bone, a heel spur they called it. A piece of bone that my body had grown because I'd had a hairline fracture that they had never seen on the original x-ray. Now it made sense, it was like having a rock in your shoe all the time except that you couldn't remove it.
