HEALTH Don’t look RICHARD BERCUSON The birthplace of Paul Bunyan is claimed
by Bangor, Maine, and it has a gigantic statue of the fellow in Bass Park to sort of prove it. Now let’s first be clear on something. The
statue of an alleged giant isn’t so much a statue as a likeness, since the guy was reputed to be quite large anyway. The statue is 31 feet high, which may or may not have been fairly close to the fellow’s actual height. Consider, too, this was before the advent of human growth hormones (HGH) or steroids. The point is that various other places also
claim him as theirs, which is also okay, given he’s an American folklore character. Interestingly, he’s not claimed by
Quebecers even though his name may have been derived from the French word “bugne” that roughly translates into something like a rolled pastry. There’s also a root connection to the
English word for bunion. In old French, “bugne” meant swelling. So now you can plainly see how pastry (swelled dough, or just swell dough!) and the deformity on your foot are closely linked to an American lumberjack who allegedly traipsed through forests with a blue ox in tow. (He called the ox Babe and, really, who was going to argue with him?) All of which is to say our bunions have an
interesting history, if not a tad exaggerated. I don’t often think of Paul Bunyan when I
look at my feet. But frankly, I avoid looking at my feet much or with any admiration. My daughter says they’re ugly because of my bunions, and so I’m pretty self-conscious about them. This is why I never go barefoot. It looks like while my body is heading forward, my feet indicate they want to go sideways somewhere, big toes pointing the way. Left wants left, right wants right. My daughter has perfect feet. My son, too. Their toes have it together. They work
8 BOUNDER MAGAZINE
as a team. No big toe considers itself more important than the others and needs to go off on its own. Theirs are socialist feet. All for one.
What will happen to their little tootsies 20
years hence is anyone’s guess. Mine is I’m the last in the line for hereditary bunions. My Dad had such feet. His big toes were in outright rebellion against the others. It made walking for him in his later years really awkward and contributed to balance issues. My own balance issues have nothing to
do with my feet. I can still run, skate, walk briskly, fetch multiple beers or lie on the couch. This is not to say I’m not wary of my metatarsophalangeal joint problem. (It’s the official medical name for an issue that actually affects women more than men. Something about wearing pointed shoes which are better suited to killing cockroaches in corners than what’s good for the feet.) Then again, the condition is often
hereditary. I likely got it from my Dad, since I continued on page 19
www.bounder.ca at my feet
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