Blisters: A gift with purchase?

Shortly after choosing to walk the 500 miles of the Camino Frances I joined a Facebook group called American Pilgrims. At first, I visited a couple time a day for wisdom and advice from those embarked and embarking on the Camino, and for karma-sake—to contribute to the community in anyway I could. I clicked on links taking me to amazing pictures of the countryside in my future. I read excepts of blogs from Camino veterans, one that walked it 9 times! Yet no matter how many times I visited and scrolled through the posts, the message that stood out was that of preventing blisters, getting blisters, walking with blisters, mending blisters and still more about blisters. In a calm panic I navigated to YouTube to consult the 'professionals' who posted video after video on blisters--what I've come to realize is a trekkers' gift with purchase.

I took a deep breath and started making a list of everything I'd need to prevent blisters. Wicking socks, check—Vaseline, check—Moleskin, check—Medical tape, check—safety pin and lighter to sanitize needle, check, check—alcohol wipes, check—antibiotic cream, check—duck tape, check. I'm in pain just making the list. I put the 'triage bowl' in the center of the table and nodded in satisfaction, knowing I was ready for the inevitable.

Accepting that blisters would be part of my journey on the Camino I decided it was time to get my body accustom to the backpack. The tags are still on the green 45 liter High Sierra, should I need something more. I packed clothes, shoes, toiletries and various other items I've purchased over the last three month into it. Mind you I'v also watched videos on how to pack it for maximum efficiency in both weight and balance. I pulled, cinched, fastened and snapped the many clips and straps closed--questioning the usefulness of many of them. I put a clean pair of wicking socks on, laced my boots and strapped on the backpack that I've nicknamed, Green Beauty, in hopes that she'll be kind to me.

I was a mile or more away from the house when, "Crap, I forgot to coat my feet with vaseline!" I spoke a few affirming hopes that my feet would forgive my forgetfulness. As I walked another few miles, I pulled and released straps adjusting the weight of the pack. I wagged my body to shift the contents for better distribution, and after several more blocks of waddling, I did an about-face accepting that I'm not as ready as I hoped. I unlocked the door, took a step and wham, I was pulled back. My sleep-pad which is wider than than both me and the pack, got caught on the doorframe. Yet another thing to get use to—being the size of a 500 lb person in both depth and girth. I was frustrated, hot and pissed off. I sat on the bed and freed myself from pack. I removed my boots and socks and wah-lah, a blister on the back of my left heel. I began the process—pop, squeeze, wipe, medicate and bandage, almost entirely in contortions. I'm right-handed and it's on the outside of my left heel. 'Oh why haven't I been doing yoga?' I was out of breath, but finished.

I woke and used up the 30-minutes it usually takes me to get ready, on doctoring the small but painful culprit. I finished it off by wrapping my heel in duck tape. I lather my feet with vaseline and took my bandage for a test drive around the house. "This'll work." I said, and grabbed my poles and step through the door frame like a modern-day Quasimodo.