Ve-toe.

Ve-toe.

Eleven months after the horrific toenail injury I sustained on this famed night hike, the mangled toenail has finally left me. It took it's demise quietly yesterday evening, as I sat down in the desk chair only to feel something different with my toe. Sure enough, part of the toenail was just sitting there on the bamboo floor. Luckily, since it had been eleven months and somehow, by the grace of god, this fidgety, picky, obsessed toenail owner didn't forcefully remove it, I had a little baby toenail growing beneath the dead disgusting mangly mess. I have saved thousands of unsuspecting, law-abiding citizens and residents of this fine land from accidentally glancing at my feet only to see the shiny stump of a toe where a toenail used to live. At least I have something there. From afar, my feet don't look any grosser than your average long distance runner's.

I can't believe it survived the marathon. I can't believe it survived this one cute pair of shoes I got from Moo Shoes that are really about 3/4 of a size too small. I can't believe it survived just being painted over and forgotten.

Technically, it didn't really survive the marathon. It completely blackened after not even the first month of training, and stayed that way. I actually talked to my coach about it because I was afraid I should be doing something to prevent nail loss (which was only slightly less mortifying of a conversation than the time I asked him about poop schedules for marathon day). I'd go into more details, but really, who wants to hear toenail details? Exactly. Nobody. Although if anyone has any similar toenail stories, you know damn well that I'm all about hearing them.