Adult-Onset Cankles

I always considered myself lucky for inheriting my father's legs.  56 years strong and they're still pretty damn nice...I know this because well into the 90s my father still sported Tom Selleck shorts.  And he just switched to board shorts in the mid 2000s.   I've seen some Ed Legs in my day.  That's  no offense to my mother - She is quite the bombshell as well.  Her old clothes from when she was in her 20s haven't fit me since I was 13.

Regardless - I was a ballet dancer for years and I have always thought my legs were kind of my thing.  Until now.  I've noticed a terrifying condition growing between my knees and (what used to be) my ankles - my calf muscles are gradually getting larger and with nowhere else to go, they're inching closer and closer to my achilles - expanding their territory slowly, but surely, like the United States in the 20th century - just when you think you've gone as far west as possible, my calves actually get so big that they are no longer contiguous at all.  I'll name the right one 'Alaska' and the left one 'Hawaii.'  Don't even get me started on the territories - I can't entertain the idea that they could get that large.... This metaphor is getting out of hand.

These are my legs.

(Not really, but go with it.)

These are my legs on cankles.

This leads me to wonder whether cankles are like diabetes* - you can be born with it, or the other type: late onset**

My Adult-Onset Cankles are plaguing my brain, my reflection and my everyday life.  Attempting to order new boots online, I was forced to measure the tumors on the back of my shins.  They're 16 inches at their widest point.   Measure your own calves - even you men out there - they're a fraction the size of mine.  I promise.  Are my calves telling me I have a shopping problem?  Don't answer that.  I needed those boots - and they were like 80 percent off!  With only a 14 inch width on the boots in question, I had the shocking realization - my calves are the weird 50 pound baby that used to be featured on the covers of the National Enquirer and shows like Ricki Lake.

Lately I've even noticed that when trying on skinny jeans or jeggings, what is much too loose around my waist cuts off my circulation from the knee down.

Also - In accordance with my pre new year's resolution, I'm actually losing weight.  So while my top half shrinks, my calves are growing.  Very awkward.  Could they have their own brain and their own stomach and they're just feeding off my top half while they gluttonously expand closer and closer to my heels?

I'm freaking out.  I'm clearly going to be the topic of some weird Discovery Channel special and then if the corrective surgery goes awry, the subject of a Lifetime Movie.  Wait...this could be how I get famous.  Do I want to be famous for my calves eating my feet? No - too weird.  Definitely not.

Vanity aside - is my life calling to start a foundation for finding the cure to Type 2 Cankles?  I'm not so sure.   I don't even have time to organize that type of thing right now.  But if I don't start now, I may not be able to walk soon.

 I started my 10k training program (via nikeplus.com) yesterday - and the running only makes my calves more sore, leading me to believe that they've not yet reached their peak in size - that they're growing every day and once they eat my ankles they'll move up the back of my knees until my legs are literally the same width from ass to foot.  Tree trunks.  Ugh.

It's real cute when it's just a baby plant.

Feed me, Seymour.  Feed me.

Until it's bigger than you and can eat you.

Pray for me...or send me advice.  I'm afraid that if I don't stop them, it will be too late. And while I'm feeling wide leg pants this season, I don't want to be limited to them for the rest of my days.  And if my calves happen to call you begging for sustenance like Seymour from that Rick Moranis movie I don't remember the name of...ignore the call.  They have the whole top half of my body to consume before we move onto Guam or Puerto Rico.

*Diabetes is no laughing matter.
**But neither are cankles.