Okay. Let’s talk about feet. Why do we have to talk about feet? Gross. Yet. C’mon. Um. Feet.

My feet hurt. My feet feel like they’re in a pinball machine being struck repeatedly by a metal ball the size of a quarter every night. My feet are looking like the face of that old witch one finds in a Brothers Grimm tale. My feet aren’t your new born baby anymore. They are just feet.

And yet they survive. And yet they continue! My feet are dying each day. They seem to flake skin as if Kraft made their Parmesan shakey-cheese out of it. I know. It’s gross. BUT! I have zero blisters almost 200 miles in. Thanks to the Danner boots I have, and those Darn Tough socks I wear. Remarkable.

My feet have feelings. Feelings as if they don’t know what’s happening currently and can’t figure it out. As if the feet in my shoes after twelve to fifteen miles say, “Cool dude! That was a great day!” and then after setting up camp, making dinner, finding my friends for the day, and laying down in my little tent, just to have them throb and wheeze as if they have no idea what just happened…. C’mon feet. That’s not cool.

I’ve lost skin. I’ve dunked them into the cold cold streams and brooks of mountains and have lost feeling to numbness. I have stretched them. Yet they hurt. I was told by a Northbound hiker, “Hey bud, they ain’t never feelin’ right. That’s just the way it is.” I believe it. Rolling over rocks and roots isn’t always easy. Let’s see how far these weird appendages last. Here’s looking forward to another two-thousand miles on these crazy walking pegs. Almost to the 200 mile mark! One tenth there.