run i can

Well over two years ago, I broke my right ankle in a futile gesture to preserve my disappearing youth.

The ankle healed quickly.  But it has never been quite the same.

I could walk well enough.  Even fast.  However, running seemed to be gone forever.  Whenever I tried, I felt as if my right leg was there as a cane to keep the left leg moving.

Maybe I have been wrong about the much-touted magic that is allegedly in the air of San Miguel de Allende.  Because something nearly miraculous has happened.

When I was in Dolores Hidalgo, I stopped to take some close-up shots of an independence monument whose socialist realism would do Pyongyang proud.  To get there, I needed to mount a series of wide steps.

For some reason, I decided to run up them.  And run I did.  In a well-balanced cadence.  No limp.  No hesitation.

The left side of my brain thinks the ride side is filled with all sort of artistic nonsense.  According to my left brain, there is no magic at all.  The change is the result of the extra exercise I get when I am in San Miguel.

 

• The cobblestone streets give my ankle a thorough rotation workout.
• Babs lives on a hill.  A steep hill.  It is better than any Stairmaster.  Going both up and down.
• Even the stairs in the casita between the living area and the bedroom-bathroom level put my legs and ankles to the test.

Melaque cannot offer a bit of that.  I live in a flat apartment.  The streets are flat.  The surrounding area is flat.  Plus the fact that I drive always everywhere in the summer due to the heat reduces any leg or ankle tension.

By coming to the highlands to avoid the heat, I have chosen wisely to alight in a spot where I can actually get a bit of physical healing.

As is true of everything positive in life, there is a trade-off.

Wearing sandals here would be the act of a masochist.  So out came my Eccos.  One of the world's most comfortable shoes.

Unfortunately, cobblestones and leather seem to be the Liz and Dick of the sartorial world.  They simply do not go together.  At last, not without a good deal of scuffing.  In one week, the toes of my shoes looked as if I had been shining them with sand paper.

But this is Mexico.  There is always someone close at hand to help solve almost any problem.  A shoe shine man in the jardin, in this case.
 

I have not had by shoes shined by a stranger for years.  I always considered it one of those tasks best accomplished by myself.

But this guy was an expert.

First, he washed my shoes.  I almost felt like Peter at the last supper.

He then untied my laces, readjusted the tongues, and tied knots that would have pleased any vampire.  Next he wiped off the soapy water with a gentle massage that penetrated the shoe leather.

And then the hard work.  A brown wash to restore the color in the scuff areas.  And a layer of neutral wax to make my Eccos shine like Yul Brenner's pate.

To prove he had been doing this for some time, he buffed the shoes with a cloth in a syncopated snap.  It was quite a performance.  All for $20 (Mx) -- about $1.50 (US).

I walked away with a shine on my shoes -- and a smile on my face.

My legs and feet are feeling right fine these days.