When I think of lost toenails, the image is of the hardened ultrarunner or other serious athlete, not a chunky middle-aged dude like me. I’ve never had issues with my feet (apart from some plantar fasciitis) but I’m soon to join the Lost Toenail Club, if there is such a thing and doubtless there is, because people are strange.
It all started a few months ago, when I went Hiking with Howell. An adventure-filled two days of hiking resulted in new experiences and two discolored big toe nails. (Toenails or toe nails? Both look right.) Equally painful, both toes had the feel of something gone seriously awry, but after a week or two, things returned to normal, except the left toenail remained a deep purple and felt different, less alive than the other.
That was the status quo until Outdoor Retailer, when the long days of walking suddenly resulted in a radical worsening of the toenail and a snag on a sock and then serious pain. Since then I’ve kept a band-aid on the toenail to keep it from ripping off, and it’s down to hanging by a literal thread of skin. I keep thinking it’ll come off any day now, but any day comes and goes. Maybe it’ll stay on forever, but nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.
There’ll be no update on this, but if you’re really interested, let me know, I can always give you notice when the momentous occasion occurs.