I'll think about that tomorrow, said Scarlet

I was so happy not to waste time at the triage station attending to the slowest healing blister ever. Yesterday, I stopped by the sporting good store and bought a pair of trekking sandals. After all my feet were swelling from being imprisoned inside of boots in this heat. I was pretty proud of myself for making such a wise decision, and the whole two-birds-one-stone considering the hot temps that are a part of every Fall season in Northern Spain.

I put on my shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, instead of a tank-top, which provide no protection between my shoulders and the straps of my pack—another lesson learned while becoming a pilgrim. I applied anti-shafing glide anywhere the straps of the new sandals touched my skin. I even put it on the inside of my thumbs and index fingers where my weightlifting gloves and walking poles sometimes rub. I dawned the rest of my gear and was out the door in record time.

It wasn't until I was coming down the mountain when I felt the insoles of my new sandals buckling ever so slightly. My puffed up chest feathers shrank out of sight when I realized I'd forgotten to apply the glide to the bottoms of my feet. I have more than a couple miles to go before I reach home. Again I could hear my drill instructor say, in an unnaturally deep-voice, "suck it up Marine!" So I did, but only after looking for any one of my mountain buddies going to their car and whom might give this wounded warrior a lift. But they'd all gone--for theirs is a quick up and down workout.

I limped into the house in pain from the new blister that grew in size with every step. I had all but forget about the one on my left heel as it was bandage-free and healing in the fresh air. I released my pack as if freeing myself from a treed parachute, the only difference is that it dropped to the ground instead of me. I limped over to the kitchen table still serving as a triage station and sat down to remove my sandals. I could sense the old blister smiling in gratitude for the breathing room, but the new blister on the bottom of my right foot has a white puffy eye surrounded by angry red tissue. I sat and thought for a bit and abandoned the idea that a blister on the heel was the worse kind of blister, deciding that one that will painfully remind me of my stupidity with every step--is far worse.

I showered, dried my feet and bandaged the right foot for the walking I'd have to do throughout the day. I examined the sandals and saw that both insoles were shifting. I put them back in the box, located the receipt, and returned them to the store on the way to my first appointment.

I wondered how I would overcome my blister dilemma before leaving for the Camino. I choose to be like Scarlet O'Hara, and think about it tomorrow.