Life is kind of like a blister. But the one that developed on my foot today was all thanks to my new running shoes. At first I thought I was just feeling a hole in my sock. But after coming inside, I peeled off my sock, and the aluminum screen door slammed behind me. Sure enough, a dime-sized blister had formed on the right side of my heel, and it was stinging like no other. Perfect.
When I get blisters, I’m like an addict, and Neosoporin is my drug of choice. After I drain all I can from the blister itself with the help of a safety pin that I will generally unclip from an old race-bib-number, I lather that shit on like frosting on a cake. I want to get as much antibiotic assistance possible. When it comes to blisters, my biggest fear is that the blister will keep re-filling with liquid, and that I’ll never be able to keep it completely drained. Although, I can’t lie. I have a secret fetish (that’s no longer a secret, I suppose) with draining blisters. A strange satisfaction is evoked within me when I squeeze out the liquid and watch as the tissue held up to the blister soaks up the evidence. Weird, I know.
The worst blisters hurt when nothing is even touching them. Tonight I was sitting on the couch with my calves resting on the ottoman, one leg crossed over the other, minding my own business, while my blister felt as though it was being pinched and poked at. Sounds pleasant, right?
Hopefully tomorrow’s run won’t be as painful as I imagine it. Then again, if life is like a blister, then it probably will be a little painful. Only at times. At least I know that the run will turn out how it’s meant to, regardless of how much of a nuisance the blister is. What goes around comes around. Except for Neosoporin. That stuff’s like ten bucks a pop.
