Dear left foot,
We've been together for as long as I can remember, and I hope you know that I love you and your brother more than any other appendage. I know you've been abused with all this training, and I know I could probably stand to lose some weight, and make things easier on you. We can talk about that later.
I often think of the wonderful times we've had together.
Remember the time we ran through that stream in upstate NY? It was so cold I thought I was going to pee my pants!
Remember when we tried that robo-massager at the Sharper Image? Good times.
But I'm not just hoping to pull your heartstrings so things can get back to how they were. I see now that the old pattern of our relationship wasn't fulfilling for you, and I'm willing to work on myself to change. If you like it, we can do some stretches or something, or maybe we could add a small amount of barefoot walking and running so that you become stronger. And we'll definitely buy new shoes at 400 miles instead of 500 miles, and we'll get the Nikes you like, and I won't insist on trying different shoes every time, even if they are beautiful and exciting and promise to do things the Nikes won't do. I know now how much it hurts when you and I are at odds like this.
So, I'm willing to do my part, and you seem to be coming around, not hurting so much, and I appreciate your effort too. On the other hand, foot, just so we're clear on this, if you make me drop out of this marathon, I'll cut you off, and I'll throw you in the East River.
P.S. Sorry about the toenail.