Friday, August 3, 2012

Wonder Woman Walking Sticks

I woke knowing that I wouldn't train my boots, instead I wear the Skeletoes cross-trainers I bought weeks before on the recommendation of my yoga teacher, Christie, who won't wear anything else. She told me about the evening she would wear them to dinner at an upscale Paris restaurant, after adding some bling to them. She and her Skeletoes caused quite a stir among the women seated around her. They asked her questions about the strange foot wear and admiring her for wearing them. I imagine a new trend was set that evening and we'll be seeing them on a catwalk in the future.

I applied the Body Glide generously after bandaging both my feet. I even applied it to the duct tape—after all it served as a second skin. Next the socks; and after learning that wicking means moisture-drawing, which helps to reduce the chance of blisters, I decided wicking socks were now the only socks for me. However putting toed socks on is an adventure in itself, especially when my feet are coated with the glide. Surely men are better with these than women, because it's like putting five little, yet connected, cloth condoms on my toes. Next the shoes, which aren't a shoe I can just slip on and off I go--not yet anyway. I wished I looked for a how-to YouTube video on these puppies. One must line the foot up perfectly so the five tiny blind penises can penetrate the appropriate compartments. I'm rarely successful the first try. When they don't go in right I can almost hear my toes arguing as they push and shove each other for space. If my pinky toe could speak, I'm sure it would prefer to go to market. But once they're on, my feet are at home in the strange looking hot pink and black toed-shoes.

I leave Green Beauty home and load up my daypack with a full bladder, phone, keys, and of course my pink nano for my listening pleasure. Gloves, sticks--not necessary but I'm partial to them and they serve as a deterrent to stray and off-lease dogs that might come too close. Many of the dogs on the mountain were unsure about these sticks at first, so I'd let them sniff them until one dog took hold of it as if I was offering up a chew toy. I used one as a back-scratcher on Tara, an eight plus pound Presa Canario, in that special spot near her tail that sends most dogs to happy-land.

One warm evening I was walking along Brockton and passed a family enjoying the big porch wrapped around their bungalow. I approached the house without knowing the family included three Chihuahuas, but the moment I crossed the invisible property-line they flew off the porch, touching down for traction and running towards me at full speed. I stopped and placed my sticks about a foot in front of me. All three dogs came seem to bounce off an invisible force field which protected me from the canine ankle-biters, which whimpered back to the porch while the family continued laughing long after I was out of view. Me, I smiled like the victor and thanked my trusty staves for protecting me in this mock trial.

I made it up and down the mountain in record time even with my usual stops to speak to my fellow mountaineers--today we discussed the strange Florida-like weather that we wish would return as fast as it arrived. Other than an occasional tenderness of the wound on my heel. Relieved to be out of the humidity, I cut myself out of the bandages and took a long look at the triage in the center of the table. I began to laugh the kind of laugh that come after realizing you're the butt of a really good practical joke, because in that moment I saw that I created the opportunity for pain and suffering. I studied blisters and the pain and suffering that accompany them. I talked about pain and suffering, I wrote about it in this blog, I thought about it, and expected it to be a natural part of this journey. I laughed while I lovingly gave birth to the breakthrough coming forth as I dismantling the triage. I set an intention that my experience will be that of strong, durable, healthy and resilient feet. I had a talk with the girls--again, referring to my feet for they deserve a term of endearment. After all my boobs are simply coming along for the ride and will only play a supporting role in this particular adventure. Yet maybe...I'll write a scene for them to play a lead role in another adventure, similar to the one they played in the blackness of a late night bus going from New Delhi to Chandigarh, when I sat next to my travel companion, a twenty-nine years old Sheik, in a deep blue turban.

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