The mother of all blisters...

...or so I thought.

Yesterday I hit the gym for my favorite class -- TurboKick.  The instructor was a fill in and (as I was warned) was quite intense.  I mean, this woman had me sweating in a way that I thought only a good hard run could get me sweating.  She did FOUR turbos (short intense tracks designed to get your heart rate up really high really fast).  I'm used to doing two.  By the fourth one, I was pretty much in muscle failure.

Jump?  You joke, right?

Punch?  Do you mean wave my arms around like limp noodles?

Kick?  Hun, these toes just are not leaving the ground anytime soon!

About 45 minutes into the class, my big toes really started bugging me.  By the time we finished, I was sure I had two of the biggest blisters ever on both of them, as well as the ball of my foot.  When I got home and removed my shoes from my oh-so-sore feet, I was surprised to find no signs of blistering.  And then I realized that I had actually bruised the soles of my feet.  After icing them, they felt a little better.

Man, those were my good running shoes.  Now I'm thinking they belong on the curb.

Today, because I am a maniac, I hit the gym twice.  Once this morning for yoga (necessary, because I was so stinking sore from Turbo) and then back again for a "bellies and bottoms" class and then an hour on the treadmill.  I had intended to run, but ended up walking slowly -- slower than I ever usually walk, simply because my feet hurt so bad by the end of the class.  I know I should take a day off and let my feet recover and heal, but I am heading to Ohio this weekend and taking 4 days off anyway (because, lets face it, no matter what I plan on doing, I rarely actually run when I am there).  I really do need to do a nice long run tomorrow, but I am dreading how my feet are going to feel.

You know the crazy thing, though?  I actually really enjoyed having that woman beat the heck out of me in gym!