They get me where I'm going.

My feet are covered in calluses. Blisters line my toes, and form where friction forms them. I know this because I spent all night peeling blisters and performing a makeshift pedicure. Cutting at calluses, clipping uneven toenails.

My feet are not pretty. Not at all.

They never have been, even before I became a runner. My toes are too long. I call them "gangly." I don't know what that word means, but it accurately describes my piggies. I've got a second toe longer than my big toe, a pinky toe that tucks itself under the others. A third of the length of my feet is a result of my long toes.

I've long been embarrassed of my feet. Nail polish can only do so much. But that's changed.

I'll be the last person in line for a foot fetish, but I'm not embarrassed of my feet anymore. I'm proud.

Dammit, these are runners feet. They're my feet. They're my own medal of honor. Proof that I don't do things the easy way. I run long and I run far. It hurts sometimes, and my feet are my proof.

I've got dainty hands, but they took all that is delicate because my feet are tough. They get dirty, they get raw and they bleed. When my shoes wear out after 300 miles, my feet don't. They get stronger.

Socks get holes and feet get blisters. Toenails bruise, but it does nothing to my ego because these feet get me where I'm going.

I don't have pretty feet. But dammit, my feet can run.