We meet again. You thought you’d never be back, that my holiday from hotness meant you’d have to find someone else’s toe to pester. I admit I had everyone wondering what exactly had happened and when exactly it would occur to me to do something about it. Ah, all in good time.
You had me wondering, too, when I didn’t see you on about the fourth week of near-daily walks of at least 5 miles. But here you are. You wily thing, you.
I could probably avoid you all together by buying sneakers more often. What do they say, 250 miles or six months, whichever’s first? I’ve had this pair for 18 months. Oops. But I wear my moisture-wicking socks without fail – I’m not completely foolhardy. My favorite designer labels: Hermes. Tod’s. Manolo. CoolMax.
You don’t hurt much at this point. You’re not quite squishy enough to be popped yet. In the past you’ve rubbed open on your own, skin a-flapping. Then I soak you in epsom salts.
I kind of like having you around. Even more than my tight hamstrings, you let me know that I’m doing is working. You’re the pain to my gain. Pedicurists always notice and wince as they ask me about you. Oh that? I earned that.
You’re about as much of a sports injury as I’ll ever sustain. I doubt I’ll ever tear an ACL walking, and I’ll never lose an ear to Everest’s necrotizing temperatures. A blister’s as bad-ass as I get.
You, my fluid-filled friend, are a tiny price to pay for the ability to put my iPod on and enjoy the feeling of movement. And the sunshine! I used to tell myself that if I ever lived in SC I’d take best advantage of the weather. Better now than never, right?
The question is now, moleskin or a Hello Kitty Band Aid? Guess which of those I have in amply supply.
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