Probably not the recommended treatment for a blister

I wasn't sure I would write about this, but after hearing this story, a friend said, "Please tell me you're going to put that on the blog!" And frankly, it's by far the most interesting thing that's happened in training this season, so here goes:

For the last three weeks I've been developing blisters on the ball of my left foot. They hadn't been too bad but the previous week I had a deep blister and it tore open, leaving a good amount of exposed skin. Then came Saturday's long run: hot as blazes and really sunny. (The one day all summer we have decent weather and it ruins my long run. Nice.) Maybe it was the hot pavement, maybe not, but around mile 5-6 I could feel a blister forming in the exact same spot of the recent one. By mile 8, the midway point, each step off of that foot was really uncomfortable. I took a break to fill my Camelbak with ice at the Grand Isle ferry dock and examined the situation.

Sitting on the wooden steps of the information booth, I took off my sock and saw that a puffy blister had formed under the delicate new skin where the previous blister had popped. I pressed on it, but it was too deep and tender to pop it with my fingernails. I sipped my water, I looked around, I assessed my options. Among my possessions that I considered for MacGuyver-like duty were:

- driver's license, which I carry in case the run destroys me and I have to be lugged home by helpful strangers, but the hard plastic edge was not sharp enough to do the job;

- a few dollar bills, but not up to the challenge of causing a paper cut;

- Camelbak's zippered pouch -- seemed too unwieldy and painful to try to get blister caught in zipper;

- fence post! this I seriously considered. Maybe I could pry loose a splinter that was clean enough to jab into my foot;

- splinter idea led to small sharp pebble idea -- seemed cleaner but harder to execute;

Sitting there, cataloging these options, I suddenly understood the easiest, most sterile solution to the problem. I sneaked a look to my left, where cars were waiting to drive onto the ferry. After the last car passed, I crossed my left foot over my right knee, stared down at the blister and went in for kill: I chewed it open with my front teeth, in one strong, precise chomp.

I wasn't surprised that I had the reached the nadir of personal integrity that allowed me to do this: it was hot, I was desperate. I was surprised, kind of impressed actually, by how much water gushed out of my foot.

The people I've told have generally had two reactions to this story: 1) that is vile and disgusting. 2) How the heck are you flexible enough to put your foot in your mouth (literally)?