I didn't stop walking...exactly. Somewhere between the first of the month and the sixth, there were a few miles, and on the 6th I did 15, and on the 7th I did 11.
On those days, my blisters raised their ugly heads, and I decided I'd better take it easy for a few days and figure out what I needed to do to get rid of them, get them to callus over, and then walk this past weekend. Surely I could do eight miles one day and six the next, even after a break.
I came across a few answers: Wrightsocks double layer anti-blister running socks (guaranteed blister free; I'll believe it when I see it), witch hazel to dry the blisters out, and antiperspirant to keep my feet from sweating so much. I bought the witch hazel and was planning to shop for the socks, but then my dad died and all training plans went out the window.
Instead of walking on Friday, I was at his funeral (which was, oddly, a damned funny experience) and on Saturday I was on a plane headed home.
The thing is, Thursday night, after having wandered through airports and the like, those blisters were nasty looking.
Friday they were no better.
Last night, when I got home, they'd painlessly opened up, drained, and were drying out. And they look like they'll callus over.
I'd like to think my dad had a hand in that.
Today the Spouse Thingy and I drove to a Fleet Feet in downtown Sacramento and found the socks, then got some antiperspirant for my feet, and this evening I'll take a short walk to see how it feels, and if it feels all right, I'll get up in the morning and go a little longer.
Because, really, if I can get control of the blisters, I don't think the 17 mile walk this weekend will be too hard (though the following 13 might hurt...)
I reserve the right to whine just before and after, anyway.