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RICHARD BERCUSON Feet ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy At about the 30-kilometre mark

of my first marathon, or nearly 75 per cent through the self-inflicted torture, I blistered up. This is fancy-shmancy runner’s lingo

for developing blisters bad enough that, for the last hour of the race, I hopped on one foot and then the other. At the end, drained and achy, I

discovered massive blisters the size of Prince Edward Island on each instep. For the next 24 hours, I wobbled on the outers of both feet, looking like I’d just spent a month crossing the prairies astride a Brahma bull. I feared the slightest pressure on the

blisters would cause them to explode − the foot’s equivalent of a dirty bomb. That was seven years ago. I’ve applied

ointments, gels, rubs, and baby powder. I’ve blanketed my tootsies in special double layer poly-something-or-other padded runners’ socks and tugged them over the latest Dr. Scholl’s bunion/blister/ callous aids. Still, after long training runs or races

on warm days, I tend to blister up. It would seem my feet, if they could vote, would vote – well − with their feet, and avoid this long-distance pounding altogether. Tough, says I. Deal with it. Bring on

them blisters. Let the second toe’s nail on each foot crumble as it chafes against my expensive shoes, step after step after step − About 33,000 for a marathon, according to Runners World magazine. I’d just assumed, then, that subjecting

my feet to such abuse made them repulsive.

8 BOUNDER MAGAZINE Not so, according to my newly-

annointed personal foot advisor, Fran Kadubiec. A registered nurse turned esthetician, she owns All About You Esthetics in Orleans. Men of a certain age comprise more than 20 per cent of the clientele who come to her for hand and foot treatments. My feet, it seems, are in pretty decent shape. As I remove one shoe and sock, I

have some trepidation about revealing the source of my frustrations. “Remember,” I say, “I’m a runner and

it’s ugly.” She gives it a once-over, then: “For me, this is a beautiful foot to

work on, because anything you have is easily addressed.” (Insert runner’s sigh here.) “This callous,” she says, as she

touches the end of my second toe where the nail has gone all Elephant Man on me. “I’d love to take it right out of your life, but you require it, since your second toe is longer than the great toe. It would have to be addressed, but on a moderate scale. If I took it off, you’d endure pain.” Then comes the deal-maker. “This is a nice healthy foot, an athletic

foot,” she says. (Insert runner’s chest- swell.) “What you have is very gentle compared with most I see.” What she sees each fall is a stream of

men coming to her to clear up a summer’s worth of hiking, golfing, and other pursuits that result in “manfeet.” Even without the lunacy of running to

and from a distant planet, we’re hard on our feet.

continued on page 57

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