"Wow. That's the biggest blister we've seen all day."
That's what the medical volunteer at the Red Cross first aid tent said to me as I plopped my weary ass in his chair so he could look at the growth that sprang upon my right foot, sort of like a new appendage.
(Please note this is not the Red Cross volunteer we would later T-bone in a downtown San Francisco intersection).
Since I bought my new Brooks back in September, I'd been getting a rather annoying blister on the ball of my right foot every time I headed out for a run longer than seven miles.
I did the best I could before the race, lubing it up with Body Glide, and whatnot, to protect the fragile foot, but by mile 11 a blister was brewing, and I knew it'd be ugly.
But I didn't know it'd be this ugly.
The skin beneath the blister had already been pretty raw, the after effects of the previous blister that had been drained just a week ago. So this was sort of blister-on-blister action, and was about the size of a silver dollar. And fat. And filled. And, well, gross.
They wouldn't drain the blister at the med tent, but advised me to sterilize it when I returned to the hotel and drain it on my own. So I did what any moron would do, grabbed the safety pin from my race bib, popped a hole and watched it spill, and then shoot, projectile-like, directly into my face.
Worst moment ever.
I realize a safety pin was not the safest way to go, but you know what, it worked. I had to drain the blister again yesterday, as is promptly filled itself overnight, but today it's good as new.
And now you know. Don't you feel better