Agony of the Feet

I have funky feet.

They don't smell bad - they're just kind of wonky.

I blister easily.  Once, a long time ago, I ran a 10K.  Actually, I did this same 10K three times, but I'll talk about the first time I did it.

The Peachtree Road Race is a huge 10K that takes place down Peachtree Street in Atlanta.  On the 4th of July.  It's a big, big race.  About 40,000 people run it - the prize for the madness is a t-shirt. A highly coveted t-shirt.  Once you get the shirt, you wear it to whatever your other 4th of July activity is for that day.

So, the first time I ran the Peachtree Road Race... well, I didn't run it so much as speed walk it.  But.

I did it.  And it wasn't pretty, but I finished.  But within the first 10 minutes, I had blisters on the balls of my feet.  By the time I hit the finish line, the soles of my feet were squishy.

And that's where things got weird.   I met up with my mother after I was done.  She worked the medical tents there.  She suggested I wait for her to finish up, and then we could walk to the MARTA train together.  I was ready to go, so I said I would head out on my own. 

The problem is, I wasn't entirely sure I of where I was going, and I ended up getting turned around.  So instead of walking maybe a quarter mile to a nearby station, I walked three miles to a station that was clearly not near the finish line.  I was overheated, dehydrated, exhausted and in pain.  When I got to my station, I couldn't find my car.  I hobbled around for a bit and found it, then got in my car and drove to my apartment. 

I spent much of the next few days attempting to rehydrate.  I ended up getting a massage because I was in a lot of pain. I went on to do the race two more times and managed to not get so messed up, but the bottom line is that the bottom of my feet will blister at the slightest provocation.

Which is what happened last night.

I had to get quickly from Concourse B, Gate 24 to Concourse F, Gate 7 at Chicago O'Hare.  That doesn't really mean much - but basically, it was a good 15 minute mile. With a backpack, and crowds, and... anyway.  I hustled to my new gate and my sandals turned my feet into hash.

So, now I'm walking gingerly.  But I'm home for the next 72 hours, and I am going to love my dog, cook some fresh vegetables, and do some laundry.

Living the dream.



Aw, girlfriend, I'm with you here. Blisters are the worst. If you're feeling awkward and weird, just remember that right now I'm sporting multiple bruises and contusions from fighting (and losing to) my local Taco Bueno parking lot. There is always someone less winning at life than you, and it's usually going to be me. :)
Two words: proper footwear. Even bare feet are better than bad shoes.