Boy, howdy! Did I ever need a short day today!
My feet feel like the shanks’ ponies of the apocalypse. I never get blisters. Not since I started wandering three and a half decades ago. But I’ve got ’em all, now.
They’re on the balls of my feet, and on the sides where my Teva straps chafed. They’re in between my toes, and on the tips of the piggy that should have stayed home. And no, I’m not posting pictures. Use your imagination. Pretend I’ve got about a dozen water balloons tucked under my skin.
I broke camp at 6 am, picked the slugs off my gear, and started the day in hiking shoes. No question they were making most of the blisters worse, but it was a cool morning, and I thought they’d offer better protection till my feet heated up.
I limped with every step. I felt every pebble in the road. It was 13 miles into Winchester, and I hoped to do five or six before taking my first break. I did four. Then three. Then one and a half.
Finally, I stopped and changed into Tevas. The soles of my feet immediately felt better, but I could not find a way to adjust the sandal straps that would eliminate the rubbing. So I slapped a very large generic band-aid over the blister and gutted it out.
I could have used that band-aid as a tarp. That’s how big the blister was. Three different times, I had to stop kids from jumping up and down on my blister. They thought it was a bouncy castle. I could have rescued people from burning buildings if only I could have gotten them to land on my blister.
Two and a half miles outside Winchester, it popped. Water flooded the inside of my Teva and spilled out into the road. The highway department thought a water main had broken. But the pain of the chafing stopped. The last two miles were practically easy.
Now I’m holed up in a lovely room in a beautiful old restored inn that dates back to 1810. The Arlington Inn and Tavern has a great lawn and porch that I’d be taking full advantage of if I weren’t hobbled. Looking forward to a quiet night, another short day tomorrow, then a blissful day off.
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