Callous and Sore Part 1

In the dorms at college we had a centrally located window sill we called the "Altar." The "offerings" were eclectic in style, quality and variety, and I found many a treasure through the years. My favorite pair of lounge pants, held closed at the waist with a safety pin, can trace its origins to a routine stop next to the elevator.

My first pair of trail runners came to me in the spirit of "share and share alike" that penny-pinching undergrads cultivate amongst themselves. They were brand new and water tight, made with leather and highlighted with cheerful orange canvas, and I felt like Cinderella as my unusually shaped feet conformed perfectly to their luxurious contours.

For the first few years, my runners saw limited action. The only trails for miles were made of pavement, and I rarely ventured farther than the walking path along Lake Michigan. It was delightful to have dry, sturdy shoes when it snowed, and my runners put me in good stead on a summer trip to Europe. They were by no means my constant companions, but they came out of the closet frequently enough to keep them broken in. Or so I thought.

It can be a beautiful, sunny day, your pack can lay just right on your shoulders, and the food in your hip pouch just the satisfaction for your cravings. But if your feet ain't happy, ain't none of you happy! Suddenly, twenty pounds heavier on my back side and bent over forwards from the redistribution of weight, my perfectly agreeable shoes were in contention with the back of my heels. This being my first backpacking trip, I was determined to muscle through with as much enthusiasm as the rest of them. So, I ignored the hot spots forming on my heels and toes.