The Joy of Socks

"I know, I know...Ow!...I'm a catastrophic numpty sometimes..."
"Yes dear..." said d. I stepped into the bath, and felt the heat and herbalism soothe the crap out of me. 

See, I set myself a goal for this month - to walk ten miles, half a Night Hike, just to see how it feels after all this time.
I now have some findings to report:
1. On no account, when doing something like this, choose one proper walking sock, and one that'll 'probably do'. It won't. Came home with something that, while not exactly being a blister, at least speaks blisterese...
2. Take food. Got half way back from the five-mile marker, and felt faint. Started having food fantasies, which is incredibly sick, really. So - good to know that food is necessary these days, way before the halfway point of the Night Hike.

But I did my ten miles. Feel good about that - felt like if I hadn't say down, I could have carried on - as I unlocked the front door to come home, I reminded myself that come September, I'd have to do the whole thing all over again.

Oddly enough, I probably could have done that today...blister-impersonator notwithstanding - if I'd been able to change at least one sock.

It's impossible to underestimate the power and wonder of good socks. Good socks can keep you safe, and pain-free, and walking. Bad socks - or even socks that in any other circumstances are perfectly good - can make every step burn, and stick corkscrews through your feet, and turn your world into a tunnel of excruciating awareness of just exactly how many more steps you have to take before being able to sit down, and not be doing this any more.

But today, if I'd been able to change the one not-so-good sock, I could probably have gone on for at least another five miles before sitting down...at which point, it would have bothered me to have gone so far and not completed the goal, so I'd have done the 20 miles no matter what. At the moment, the power of stubborn bastardy - allied with the joy of socks - feels like it could power me on to do whatever is necessary.

So I'm feeling positive about all that. Feels like the right kind of mindset to return to the job of Disappearing.

Not, of course, feeling positive about the results of the weigh-in tomorrow. That's in all likelihood going to be a freakin' disaster in Disappearing terms - but that's to be expected in the wake of my Rumspringa. The walking still feels good, and will still, eventually, tone up my metabolism ready to react to my getting back on the Good Eating train. For the first time in a while, saying all the usual stuff about 'getting back on track' feels like more than bullshit. Feels like a ten-mile plan - might not get there tomorrow, but will get there eventually, if I just keep treading in the right direction.

Blood was 6.3 this morning - higher than I'd like, but likewise it'll get there. I need to go to the doctors tomorrow to renew a prescription for my one remaining diabetic medication. There's a perverse playful voice in my ear saying "Y'knoooooow...you could try a new experiment of a non-Aristotelian kind. You could go entirely med-free for a week or two, increase the blood sugar monitoring, and see what happens..."

Probably not a good idea, that. But teasingly alluring. Maybe - just maybe - I could jump overboard on the HMS Diabetes and see whether I begin to flounder in the sea of sugar. And of course if so, I can always climb back onboard. Hmm...