Running and Fish Eat Feet

I have been running:  every day for a minimum of 5 kilometres or 30 minutes, whichever does me in first.

I am 19 days into my second iteration of consecutive-days-running. The first iteration concluded on day 30, followed by two days of rest before I began the 2nd iteration.

During the first iteration I averaged 6.5 kilometers a day. I have upped the distance in this current iteration. This time around  I am looking forward to day 30 to see what my new daily average is.

I am also looking forward to a rest. My knees are ache. I walk gingerly upon a pair of much abused, constantly aching feet. Dead skin has hardened around the normal spots on my feet, but it is harder and drier and moving toward the not-so-normal dead skin spots.

I have made an appointment for a massage. I asked the spa if they give pedicures as well, but they said, ‘no.’ They massage feet but they do nothing about hard, dry skin. Standing at the bus stop on the way to work the other morning, I noticed a new beauty treatment locale. I saw ‘pedicure’ in the sign. I couldn't quite make out the word that was in front of ‘pedicure’, but I scribbled down the name of the new spot and vowed to look them up and call them from work to see if their version of a pedicure includes the cutting off of un-useful dry skin.  I forgot to call.

Today, after my run, I limp up to the local coffeeshop to buy myself a tea. (I have thrown out all consumables in our London flat since Tuesday is moving day, so even a simple tea is a going-out-adventure.) I see the new beauty place and remember that I want to have a pedicure. I walk up to the shop front to verify that they are open today. I see the pedicure is no ordinary pedicure; it is a pedicure where little fish eat away at the dead skin on your feet. I stop in my tracks. I cannot bring myself to open the shop front door in order to make an appointment. I am slightly disgusted by the whole idea:  parasites on me and the poor parasites eating the dead skin of my mangled feet.

At home on the sofa with aching knees and feet, I begin (again) to obsess over the state of my feet. I look up the fish pedicure place on the internet and read about the procedure (and the health and safety concerns that are being investigated).

Where's your sense of adventure?

I call and make an appointment. I wonder what to do with myself to keep myself from freaking myself out during the next two and a half hours before my appointment. I wonder if the ‘spa’ will let me put my fingers in the water and let the fish nibble at the dry cuticles around my fingertips as well. Will the staff tell me to pull my hands out of the foot tank? Is it a kind of thievery to take advantage of a hungry swarm of fish.

Whales come in pods. Bees in swarms. Birds in flocks. Livestock in herds. Fish ....


Schools! 


That is what fish come in! Schools. A hungry SCHOOL of fish.

I begin to wig myself out with the idea of what I have signed up for. I decide to take my mind off it by writing a post.

I have written a post.

I still have two hours to go.