Foot

　I. Lovely feet, beautiful dreams

　　My mother gave birth to me and gave me a pair of sound and lovely feet. When I opened the old photo album, a warm stream of happiness came to my heart. I was not yet a full-year-old, barefoot, holding the railing of the bed, wobbly standing, occasionally taking a few steps, legs bent into the shape of a frog, the outer edge of the feet first landed, but the heart of the feet failed to kiss the soft quilt, mother looked at my lovely feet, happy smile for a long time.

　　I often heard my mother mention that when I was under a year old, my neighbor's aunt saw my feet keep moving around in bed, so she persuaded my mother to put me on the floor to see if I could walk like a grown-up child. My mother was a little worried, but with a lot of hope, looking forward to the miracle moment.

　　As soon as my feet hit the ground, I was like a bird in a cage, suddenly encountering the blessing of freedom, fluttering my wings a few times and flying into the vast blue sky. The earth was the blue sky, my feet were the tender wings, and in the distance was the warm embrace of my mother. I farted and swayed around on the ground running small steps, I think, at that moment, just at the moment I took the first step in life, the mood was so joyful, free, and comfortable, I looked at my mother who squatted down to greet me, my heart was even excited while trotting while emitting silver bell-like laughter when walking to my mother's arms, my mother's bright smile seemed to infect me, I was like that high flying fledgling, looking at my mother happy smile, screaming with excitement and laughter.

　　Whenever I recalled my long feet and long toes, my mother would proudly say, "I knew that my daughter was a piece of athlete material". The years blew like the wind in my athletic career. In the school playground, when the teacher's whistle sounded, I was like an arrow leaving the string, and the moment my toes touched the ground, there was a force that was born to push my long, lean body to the finish line.

　　On the runway, the 100-meter sprint, the crowd cheered; on the long jump pool, leaping into the air, a shout; in the pool, the frog turned, with no effort. A golden medal, a rousing national anthem, a piece of cheering. This is my glory, this is an unattainable but hopeful dream.

　　The waves of the years rushed toward the sea, the sound of the waves remained, but could not escape the clutches of fate.

　　Second, the evil luck of the feet, the bottom of life

　　I do not know what the reason is, suddenly walking on the road, I feel that my right foot is difficult to control. It can run, but let me fall many times on the way to work; it can walk, but let my right foot sore and tired; it can go up and down the stairs, but let me walk with difficulty.

　　I searched everywhere for medical help, but doctors shook their heads and waved their hands. I used all kinds of prescriptions but in vain. Active exercise, subject to the strange eyes of the world.

　　My father found peach leaves for me, picked the leaves, threw away the branches, put them in the sun and dried them, turned them from time to time, put them in the medicine, boiled them for half an hour, drank them warmly, and it seemed that my feet had improved.

　　My father found mugwort for me, washed it, boiled it for ten minutes or so, after bathing, took a large basin, poured the seventy-odd degrees of mugwort into the basin, took a stool to sit on, pressed my whole thigh and foot against the side of the basin, let the steam of that medicine slowly penetrate my skin and nerves, and finally put the whole foot into the medicine, hoping that the potency of the mugwort would bring the unlucky foot back to life.

　　My father searched for me, broke it up, ground it into powder, poured vinegar on it, kneaded it into a dough shape, wrapped it in gauze, tied it in knots, divided it into two or three packets, put it in an iron pot and steamed it for most of an hour, when the time came, opened the lid, a smell of field cress and vinegar came pungently, while it was hot, scalded it back and forth on my right foot, scalding it red and red.

　　My father took me to Dongguan and had that well-known private doctor massage my toes. Each point, is very hard, rubbed some of the doctor's potion, the pain I screamed, from time to time, the foot shrunk and stretched, a flight from the doctor's point.

　　A year, two years, three years, so drink the medicine, powder, points, but no significant improvement. My father still did not give up hope, let me wear flat rubber shoes at home to practice normal walking, told me to lose weight, urged me to go to the campus to ride a bike for a clock, coordinate the whole body, and exercised foot strength.

　　I lost my job, my right to walk and run, and my chance to play in the mountains because of these damn feet.

　　My heart kept hurting, kept bleeding, and kept crying! Gradually, already numb, without any hope, just lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, tears in my eyes, emotionally depressed, the heart breeds a dark whirlpool, engulfing their souls.

　　Third, regain confidence, oblique step forward

　　A single-minded escape trapped me in a prison of sadness. I rode my bike to the grass in the Central District and sat next to a tree. The autumn breeze caressed my face and evoked my confused thoughts.

　　I couldn't figure out how to get rid of my irritable sorrow. How could this quiet campus accommodate such a sad face? I tried to find, to find an unknown answer.

　　I watched, watched, as a mother was waiting for her toddler son to fall into her generous arms in the square across the street. The toddler swayed and stretched out his tender little hands with the expression of a little old man who had suffered a great injustice, his eyebrows furrowed and his cries of "mmm, mmm", just like that, trying to hold on to something, but unable to do anything about it.

　　The woman clapped her hands, her mouth murmuring, her eyes full of scintillating expectation. The toddler stomped his feet anxiously, his expression getting harder and harder, and I guessed that he must not be able to throw himself into his mother's arms, and for some reason, he was sweating for him.

　　The woman remained unchanged and took out a small ball from her backpack, red and elastic, which would bounce back up when dropped to the ground.

　　Perhaps it was this ball that caught the youngster's eye and plucked him away from his weak and dependent nature. He took two clumsy steps, his hands still outstretched in the direction of his mother, his eyes wandering between her and the red ball.

　　The woman suddenly threw the red ball into the distance, and I guessed where the young child would run where. The woman smiled her best smile, clapped her hands, and said, "Go, baby! The red-colored ball bounced and bounced and landed at the edge of the square.

　　Eventually, with the woman's encouragement, the toddler made it to his mother's side and fell into her arms. Suddenly, the toddler struggled to get out of the woman's arms again, looking around, and finally towards the direction of the red ball, standing, trying to take steps, but with difficulty.

　　At this point, some emotions in the heart. When I was a child, it was my mother's love that gave my feet the ability to run, and when I grew up, when my feet could not walk properly, it was my father's insistence that I ride my bicycle to the verdant land of the campus to feel the presence of hope. Eventually understood that because of my parents' love, I was able to run on the vast expanse of land, feel the glory that running brings, and see a scene in the square in despair.

　　Now that I have grown up, I cannot always rely on my mother, that red ball, that is my new goal, my new hope, in the sorrow of the desperate sewing, in the suffering to find a new trust, in the confusion to find a new goal, whether my feet can get better, the change of heart, the hope of the unchanging and persistent, is the pursuit of my life.

　　At this moment, I am running, with my crippled feet.