On Sunday I ran 26.2 miles through the streets of New York City. I giggled deliriously as I crossed the finish line. And then I held my medal aloft and beamed for the cameras. But long-distance running isn’t all glamour and glory. There’s a price to be paid, and I’m not talking about the entrance fee. Marathoners pay this toll in toenails. I lost the little nail on my right foot weeks ago, and two of the remaining nine seem to be coming unmoored too.
I am not alone. Most long-distance runners have lost toenails. Marathons require months of training, and all that running can be hard on the feet. Rubbing begets blisters, which turn into calluses. But the toenails bear the brunt of the abuse. They bang against shoes and turn red or purple or black. Sometimes a blister forms underneath the nail, heaving the horny plate up off the nail bed. And just when you think that perhaps the nail has recovered, you roll over in bed, catch it on a blanket, and the whole thing goes flying off. Continue reading
This is the game my older son and I played this weekend. He would bolt into a four-lane thoroughfare, and I would shout and jump around: “Get out of the street! It’s not safe! GetoutgetoutGETOUT!” Then I would dash into the street after him and we would laugh and laugh. And then he would pretend he was the grownup, and I was the kid, and he would yell at me. And we then laughed some more. 
