I have never spent a lot of time thinking about what is under the skin of my feet. Except now that I’ve written that sentence I’m going to contradict myself because I distinctly remember drawing my foot as an undergrad art student, extrapolating from a nearby skeleton and my own study where the bones might be, and drawing them in. Hmm. I wonder if I still have that drawing in the closet where I keep such things?
Anyway, despite that bit of ancient history, I have not paid too much attention to how the muscles in my calves connect to the bones in my feet, nor just how many working parts there are exactly in the human foot in general. It makes sense to me now that a long muscle running up the outside of my lower leg connects directly to a tendon that passes around the stick-outy bone (a complex medical term I picked up from a doctor-friend — I am forever in her debt) at my ankle like a lock of girl’s hair tucked behind her ear, and then attaches to the bottom of my foot. However, before my physical therapist firmly (very) rolled the physical therapy equivalent of a rolling pin up my leg along the path of that muscle, I had no idea just how connected those tissues are.
Ponder the foot. One cannot without also noticing the leg to which it is attached, of course, but concentrate your attention on those many bones, some so small, and all that connective tissue and all that they conspire to do together. They carry us through life, those of us who are fortunate enough to have a complete, well-working pair. They are marvelous machines. I look forward to the day when I can take mine for granted again!