I have always had blisters.
Sometimes they were great big’uns on the sides of los bunions and sometimes little tiny ones on the tip of each toe. But always. They’ve been there. I wore them like little badges of courage and looked to them as testimony to all of my hard work.
But something occurred to me this week during a really bad zombie movie (Autumn. Seriously, don’t waste your time. I haven’t seen a worse zombie movie since Return of the Living Dead 5: Rave to the Grave).
In my boredom, my fingers naturally drifted down to my feet, where I would normally find some dead skin to play with until the next kill scene. BUT THERE WAS NONE TO BE FOUND.
I don’t know why I didn’t realize it sooner. Usually after a long run, I carefully ease my feet out of my shoes so as not to burst the bubble. So to speak. But also literally.
I’m running 20+ miles a week and I’m not getting blisters? Not losing toenails? Not waking up stiff as a board, tender and creaky? (Okay, that last one was a lie but I was on a roll there.)
To quote the infinitely wise David After Dentist: “Is this real life?”
I don’t think I described to you the vision I had as I was finishing up my first 12-miler of the current cycle. (FYI: cycle = train, race, injury, repeat.) I felt so good, I was afraid I’d wake up and realize I didn’t just run 12 miles and actually I’d been passed out on the couch the entire time.
How do I know what I’ve accomplished without the blisters to remind me?!
Oh yes, el Garmin…
Last night was my best three miler in years.
What’s your blister situation?