I wish I could tell you I got this super disgusting injury doing something cool. Or at least tell you I did it trail running or at the gym or in yoga class, even. But nope. I got pools of blood collecting in the bottoms of my feet in a bar - a bar located in a bowling alley. And I didn't even do it while bowling.

In my own defense, it's a really cool bowling alley. (Shut up. It was.) It had been rented out for my husband's company holiday party and the upstairs turned into a semi-decent dance club with an open bar. The open bar might have contributed to the injury. It's possible. I'm not ruling it out.

It was the shoes, you see.

I'd worn high heeled boots. They were, I assure you, gorgeous. Comfy? Not so much. But I was going to a bowling alley where I would rent old, hard, fungal-infected shoes worn by crusty, middle-aged men on league night, so who cared? I did not know there would be a DJ. I did not know about the dancing.

Who invites you to a party with dancing and doesn't tell you about the dancing?

It is nearly impossible to keep me off a dance floor. You shouldn't try. There could be tackling injuries. That would be preferable to what happened to my feet. Blood blisters. Bigger than quarters on the pads of my toes. I took pictures. It was gross enough to warrant it, but I'm not posting them. You don't want to see this. Trust me. If you touch them, the red-black blood squishes around under the skin. You don't want to see that. I don't want to see that. And hurt? FUCK.

The logical thing seems to be popping them. I was about to. It was close. Then I picked up my handy-dandy athlete's guide to all possible injuries, which said - I'm paraphrasing here - "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Don't pop them. Don't do it. Your foot will fall off, and you will die. You will die and die and die and die. And you will be dead. Don't do it!"

So I haven't. But when I take a step, I feel the squishing. And I have to say - ewwww.