The Calluses On My Toes And Mind Buffer Me For This Journey

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A text went out to my extended family the other day. One of our young teen members broke his hand and won’t be able to play Spring sports. My heart dropped. Anyone who knows this kid knows sports are his thing. Dang, I thought, I know what he’s going through. It’s no fun.

I mentioned it to my son because he knows, too. Two days before baseball season started in his senior year of high school, he and I decided to race each other from the mailboxes down by the road up to our front door, something we did many times. Right before the door, he slipped on the front walkway, fell, and slammed his finger — no baseball until the season's final game, and even then, just a few innings. We were both heartbroken. And one of us, finger-broken.

I, too, had my story of mishap — who doesn’t? At a five-year-old’s trampoline birthday party, I ended my 35-year running career. I was hardly bouncing, but tragedy doesn’t need much. It was a complete shock, yet eventually it steered me to a new and wonderful path — my writing. Each time this happens, you get a sense — a small whiff — of how many invisible paths are radiating from you. As the years tick by, you become grateful for this radiance, though only a handful you’ll ever see.

When we actively choose a path, the new route has an air of logical intention. We get the impression this is how it is supposed to be — how we want it to be. Because, if we choose, isn’t that a good thing? When we fall down a path by accident — pure happenstance — this new route has an air of randomness, of what wasn’t supposed to be. But what is ever supposed to be?

We figure a good life is supposed to be. And why wouldn’t we? It’s not a bad calculation, but it's closer to a wish than anything. Yes, we can increase our chances. They say the harder you work, the luckier you get. I always liked that saying, but it doesn’t negate that we live in the Universe at a size so undetectable that it makes even randomness seem like a giant gift.

Recently, my son showed me the calluses growing on the surface of his body. They’re from the rowing machine he’s using, the running he’s embracing, and the weightlifting he’s going nuts over. I was impressed. Calluses are evidence that you’re working out. They exist for a reason — to pad the areas exposed to friction. I told my son these were his new friends and not to remove them. He needs them. If they get too bulky, he can shave them down a bit, but not too much. They are making his life a lot easier.

I remember one time I decided to clip off all my calluses that had long protected my toes. They were there to make my many running miles feel comfortable, but I didn’t think of this when I clipped them off in preparation for the sandals I’d be wearing for a wedding I was in. We bridesmaids had lovely dresses with fancy, open-toed shoes and were getting pedicures to ramp up our elegance. As the only long-distance runner of the group, my god, my toes were horrific. I’ve never been an expert in girlie or fashionable. I had a lot of catch-up to do.

I walked into the mani-pedi shop, sat down, and took off my shoes. Stunned silence rippled through the shop. There were side-long glances. I might have heard a dry heave in the back. I think it’s fair to say no toes like mine had ever appeared in that shop.

I looked at my toes. Was this not how toes were supposed to be? These toe-tip buffer-growths helped me to run far while banging my toes against the front of my shoes, pain-free. They were a good thing.

But then I remembered my duty as a lovely-toed bridesmaid. I looked down at my pedicurist, who was staring at me, still in shock.

“Off with them!” I declared, my arm sweeping the air. “No more calluses!”

The wedding went beautifully. The married couple moved on to raise kids and build a life together. If my finely pruned and sanded toe tips had anything to do with it, I’m happy to have obliged. However, it put my poor toes into a state of agony their first run back on the trails after the wedding. I learned a huge lesson. Calluses are valuable.

Calluses form to buffer friction from objects, or from life. Those happenstance shocks that hit us broadside — they form a major friction on the psyche. We’re stunned to find ourselves in a new, unchosen place, while the destination we were moving towards is no longer visible on the horizon. The friction of pain, devastation, regret, sadness, and disappointment can floor us.

But as we suffer the pain, we silently grow resilience within. We have no idea a callus in the mind is quietly thickening. Then one day, it’s obvious. A new friction appears, and it’s not as painful as it would have been earlier. We can knock against the end of the shoe — or life — with less pain. We can run far or live wiser because the callus provides a buffer. They also enable us to be strong and thoughtful role models for others. Life is like that.

Ever since I had that trampoline injury, I feel so bad for professional athletes who get injured. I can’t imagine how tough that must be, but if anyone has resilience, it’s them. They know how much life is a blend of work and luck--and unluck. The more deeply they know this, the easier it is to weather it. Or I sure hope this is how it is for them.

Sporting seasons will come and go. Toes can be tough or pedicured. Dreams for the future pan out or don’t. Other options fill in the cracks. Life carries on — until it doesn’t, and at that point, I hope I’m grateful for what just transpired, in all its twists and turns, because it was a journey that was as much chosen as given.

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Have a nice rest of your week, friends.