“Exactly, what are puss heels?” you may be asking yourself in trepidatious horror. We’ll get there. Don’t worry. All I can tell you, right now, is that you probably don’t want them. Trust me.
It all started innocently enough. I was excited for my first mountain backpacking trip in the west. I had boots from back east that were broken in, plenty of supplies, and a group of great traveling companions.
About four miles into a twenty-something mile trip I was keenly aware of a burning sensation on my right heel (what’s known as a hotspot for non-hikers).
“No big deal. I’ve had hotspots before. I’ll just check it later,” I thought.
I was with 15 other people and did not want to slow down the group. I did not want to be that person. You know, the one who complains and whines the entire trip. The person who is the reason you don’t make it to camp until 9 or 10 at night.
“Boy, this hurts, but I’m sure we’ll stop soon enough,” I kept telling myself.
When we stopped, I took off my boot and the hotspot on my heel had turned into a quarter size puss ball. Frick. I still had at least another 15 miles to hike, three days in the backcountry, and a lot more uphill until I returned to civilization.
In the course of the next three days I crafted about 16 different types of blister paddings, wrappings, splints, hell, that blister had its own name and mansion of gauze, duct tape, mole skin, and antibiotic ointment. Blisters are not something you want to ignore in the backcountry. I was lucky it did not get infected, but several years later I still have a scar from that blister covering most of my right heel.
How often do you go through life not wanting to say something or speak up for yourself when you start feeling a “hotspot”? How often do you risk your own well-being and let it get to the point where you have puss heels because you don’t want to cause a small disruption with your friends, family, or co-workers?
My advice. Listen to yourself. Stop a little sooner. Check out the irritation. Believe me, dealing with a hotspot is a heck of a lot easier than dealing with puss heels.
Dedicated to my first mountain backpacking buddy, Jess Whitehurst.
Oh, I heard it though. It sounded like a tribe of banshees outside my backdoor. The radio station announcers chimed in high-wind warnings between news stories. I should have known better, but I decided to go for walk regardless. It was sunny. Clear blue skies. It’s just a little wind. Moving air. What did I have to lose? Ummm. Potentially my corneas.
