A cautionary tale involving what I thought was a sensible plan
Last night, Brian and I joined several friends for a pub crawl. Since Taylor was gracious enough to babysit, I decided to wear something that did not need to be breastfeeding-friendly. Naturally, this outfit would also require comfortable, but not quite sensible shoes. No worries, though. Weeks before I found these neat new foldable flats that I could bring along should all the walking prove uncomfortable in the high heels.
We were meeting up with the group close to home, so decided to just walk to the ale house. Within a few feet, I realized that it would be best to just slip into the fast flats immediately. We got to a bus stop and changed shoes at the stop's bench. AH, relief. The fast flats provided no arch support nor much in the way of cushioning, but as a life-long fan of being barefoot, they were just fine and rather comfortable.
But only for a while.
I do not know if it's because my walking routine has been significantly cut thanks to having a newborn. Or if it was due to the fast flats. Or even if the comfy, but definitely high, high heels. But before we even got to the pub, the balls of my feet felt as though they were blistering.
While at the first pub, I put the heels back on in the hopes that my feet would feel better. They did, up until we needed to walk to the next location. About a block en route, I changed again to the flats. I'd stay in these shoes for the rest of the night. I just couldn't bear the thought of heels with my now potentially blistered tootsies.
After the second (for me) pub stop, the group walked the few blocks to Roscoe's Chicken-n-Waffles for food. My feet were in agony at this point. How on earth was I going to walk the five blocks home after our late night dinner?
As we left the restaurant, me hobbling along as best as I could manage, I spied a cab. Brian must have seen it, too, and noting my suffering, kindly hailed it for us. A few short minutes later, I was home and able to finally rest my sore feet for the night. Sure enough, I managed to work up two HUGE blisters just below the base of my toes--one blister for each foot. Joy.
Were I smart, I would have then begged off a trip to LA's fabric district this morning. But, no. My idiot brain wouldn't let me. And I hobbled my way through the streets of LA to gather a few supplies for an upcoming hat class that I am taking. I managed to get those supplies, but also gained some nice new swelling in each blister. Ick.
Thankfully, I am home now and my blistered, wrecked feet are resting. But I will have to be on them again in a few hours and am so very much dreading the thought. Hmm, I wonder if it's possible to strap pillows to my feet?
We were meeting up with the group close to home, so decided to just walk to the ale house. Within a few feet, I realized that it would be best to just slip into the fast flats immediately. We got to a bus stop and changed shoes at the stop's bench. AH, relief. The fast flats provided no arch support nor much in the way of cushioning, but as a life-long fan of being barefoot, they were just fine and rather comfortable.
But only for a while.
I do not know if it's because my walking routine has been significantly cut thanks to having a newborn. Or if it was due to the fast flats. Or even if the comfy, but definitely high, high heels. But before we even got to the pub, the balls of my feet felt as though they were blistering.
While at the first pub, I put the heels back on in the hopes that my feet would feel better. They did, up until we needed to walk to the next location. About a block en route, I changed again to the flats. I'd stay in these shoes for the rest of the night. I just couldn't bear the thought of heels with my now potentially blistered tootsies.
After the second (for me) pub stop, the group walked the few blocks to Roscoe's Chicken-n-Waffles for food. My feet were in agony at this point. How on earth was I going to walk the five blocks home after our late night dinner?
As we left the restaurant, me hobbling along as best as I could manage, I spied a cab. Brian must have seen it, too, and noting my suffering, kindly hailed it for us. A few short minutes later, I was home and able to finally rest my sore feet for the night. Sure enough, I managed to work up two HUGE blisters just below the base of my toes--one blister for each foot. Joy.
Were I smart, I would have then begged off a trip to LA's fabric district this morning. But, no. My idiot brain wouldn't let me. And I hobbled my way through the streets of LA to gather a few supplies for an upcoming hat class that I am taking. I managed to get those supplies, but also gained some nice new swelling in each blister. Ick.
Thankfully, I am home now and my blistered, wrecked feet are resting. But I will have to be on them again in a few hours and am so very much dreading the thought. Hmm, I wonder if it's possible to strap pillows to my feet?