|Walking in heels is fun. Going Out pt 3|
was a serious contender for a post title.
I had dug out an old pair of jeans that I noted had wide legs - 34" waist, 32" leg - from a long time ago when I really was getting fat and wore them on Friday night and Saturday when the children were over. Why had I ditched them? A belt dealt with the waist size issue (I'm still higher than 32" but not the 34" I was when I bought these jeans) so... Oh, right, a massive hole in the pocket big enough to drop my credit cards and phone. Right. Anyway, I switched to my new flared jeans (female tailoring) today to take the eldest home and thence on to charge the car (I am so interesting, I know). And, on return, I thought: I wonder what these jeans look like with my boots?
Initially the main issue was that the area in which I live suddenly seemed very busy compared to previous walks. I usually see one or two people on a Sunday, sure, but today I saw so many more - there was a gentleman going very slowly in a mobility scooter on the pavement (surely he heard the clip-clop of the heels and noticed my much reduced stride?); there were three families with young children on the way to the canal (they all looked at my feet, did they know?); a horse-rider (never seen a horse on the path before) who stopped for a chat (did she see my gait as well and wonder?); people on the benches (usually they're fishing, not today, they eyed me curiously as I went over the bridge over the canal) and at least six cyclists (I'm lucky to see one usually), one of whom stopped as their dog went swimming and definitely spotted I was wearing heeled boots.
Once home I had a proper look. Yes, there was a massive blister on the left foot, on the sole near the toes, big enough to take in most of the front pads to the instep. It was so big that I literally couldn't walk on it after sitting for about ten minues. I popped it (probably not the best move, ask your doctor's advice) and then applied some crappy plasters I'd bought in when making the bunk beds ended up with me stabbing myself with a screwdriver before donning trainers, my mustard t-shirt (my original t-shirt being soaked through with sweat) and new socks to head into town (and the big supermarket) for some proper ones.
Fair reader, they looked good.
The length of the leg and the size of the flare was such that you could not tell I was wearing heels (and the legs still grazed the ground) so I decided to go for a walk - no one could see the heels and no one could stop me.
|About the point I realised I had a blister.|
The App struggles mightily with this
t-shirt. It is 15 years old though.
In all, I walked for an hour and ten minutes out on my usual route. With significantly smaller strides and a realisation that my size 9 boots allowed for a lot of slip-sliding around by my feet - particularly on my left. The clip-clop was replaced by scraping and a bit of a hobbling gait as my feet slipping gradually took on a painful aspect - the soles were thin, and on my left in particular I could feel the sharp stones on the path on my foot.
Going uphill was fine and walking on moss or mud was almost comfortable - my tendons and heels were totally silent - but my sole on my left was getting hot and complaining. Going downhill made me run in comically short steps even after the slope was passed. I was also struggling to keep my legs straight like I do in much smaller sojourns with the boots, and a deeply held desire to go quickly kept getting in the way of walking properly in the heels. When I got to a road I thought would loop round and found that it didn't (to be fair, it's a route I have avoided so far as being potentially too short) I turned and headed back, picking up pace to avoid yet another female walker looming behind me. Oh, yes, there were at least four female walkers I passed and at least one of them looked at my feet inquiringly.
That's when the pain really started. By the time I got over the bridge again, closer to home, I realised that I had a blister and that it was probably unwise to have gone so far with my boots and no recourse to alternatives. In the end I walked 5.32km at an average pace of 13m per km, and a pretty high heart rate of 136bpm on average. I was sweating profusely all the way back, not like me at all (though the sudden onset of summer rain suggests to me that the humidity was higher than I'm used to). Yes, I am sad enough to check the data from my fitness app, imagine a tongue out emoji at this point.
|On my way into town to get plasters.|
My left foot really hurt. But, well, heels
do so... I guess I liked it?
Really liked wearing my tee and jeans
I worked it out - that hair length is about
ten months away now.
This walk, stat fans, was 3.08km at 9m30s per km and an average of 80bpm. Took 46 minutes in all. I got the plasters, some oat milk for work (Miss Warrington is avoiding dairy and specifically asked me to share her almond milk last week) and a tray of sushi (because I am still a fat pig). By the time I got home the plasters I had applied were red, literally, and soaked through. No sign of bleeding as I looked, but clearly some bleeding had happened. I have applied a gel plaster and am hoping that will do the trick for tomorrow and a return to work. Oh, and I've had a home-cooked (but packet made) Thai curry and some Rose wine (this was part of a student gift and this particular bottle was left for me by Alice after I came out to him, the gender script is real and I am early enough in my journey that I actually rather liked it). Feeling pleasantly light-headed.
So, in conclusion: if you go for a long walk in heels make sure you know what you're doing and maybe don't take 3" heeled boots on a walk you usually romp in trail shoes over broken ground. Mind you, I still loved it.