My foray into old lady-dom

A few weeks back I felt a hard spot on the bottom of my foot, just in between the balls (…of my foot), and I immediately knew I had stepped on a shard of glass. Someone is always breaking something around here. Or it was a grain of kitty litter that had embedded itself into my foot and my skin had calloused over it. I’m going with the shard of glass because it makes me sound like more of a badass.

The “shard” was likely the size of a grain of rice, maybe smaller, and I knew I was just going to have to wait until my foot was ready to spit it out. It could take weeks. It didn’t help that a friend told me about someone whose body spit glass for like 4 months after a car accident. I figured since mine was more of a “who handed Leigh Ann something fragile” accident, it may only take a fraction of that time.

So I waited. I grabbed the tweezers when I felt something hard breaking through. I’ve extracted an unbeknownst to me piece of glass from my foot before, so I totally knew what I was doing.

But expert one time glass extraction aside, I started to doubt myself. The wound was round and hard, and started to take on a yellowish tint, reminiscent of the warm sunshine, or maybe a raging infection. And then a thought popped into my head.

It’s totally a corn.

A corn? I know. So totally not sexy. But you aren’t here because you expect me to bring the sexy. (Or if you are, forget what I said about the whole corn thing. How you doin?)

I have never had a corn, never seen a corn…I don’t even really like corn. But the fact that I automatically knew this was a corn has to say something about my intelligence level, right? Like I know things that I don’t even know.

According to the google, I can do several things to get rid of my corn friend, who I have named Cecil. (See above about not being responsible for bringing the sexy.)

foot corn
Internet, meet Cecil. Cecil, internet. Also, I feel you should know I had very pretty feet before I started running.

1) I can see a licensed podiatrist to have is “assessed.” I don’t need it assessed. I need it removed. But thank you. And I don’t need your condescending stares, sir.


2) Soak my skin in hot water and take a ย belt sander to the corn. #nothanks My feet are wicked ticklish, and anyone who goes near them will get kicked in the face. Yes, even myself. I’m flexible.

3) Find and cease the source of the friction. That’s really helpful. I shall now cease all things walking and vow to only wear my beloved Nike flop flops.

4) Burn it off with some over the counter acid. Apparently most OTC corn removal meds contain salicylic acid. Mmmmm…who doesn’t love the smell of burning skin?

Apparently corns as a sign of a bigger problem, kind of like roaches or mice. You think it’s just the one, but apparently there’s something else going on under the surface, likely ill-fitting shoes that cause too much friction. 99% of the time I am wearing one of 2 pairs of shoes: my beloved Nike flip flops, or my beloved Asics DS Trainers, which cost me a good $100. Shoes that cost $100 – that you got fitted for no less – should not cause problems. So we’re going to go with “unfortunate side effect or running, and we can’t believe it happened to you, because your shoes are perfect in every way.”

Now. Who has a hand held sander and doesn’t mind getting kicked in the face?



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  1. I acquired a bunion at some point in the last year. His name is Paul. I have wondered if the demise of my feet is just the tip of the iceberg.

    I have revised my daughter’s favorite corn joke for you to use: What did you say when you discovered your corn? Aw shucks. I’ll leave now.

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