Feet

Rick tugged the heavy boot off of his foot, feeling an intense sense of relief as he felt the fresh coolness that he knew would be only amplified the moment he removed his sock as well. The air on his bare skin was incredible - and he was used to the smell enough that it didn't bother him. He had been on the trail for days, having hiked well over one hundred miles, and his feet were tired, sweaty, and swollen. Any chance to remove the constrictive boots and socks was a welcome change of pace.

The river beside the trail wasn't particularly deep, but the water was moving quickly and was frigid cold to the touch. It was made by melting ice water from further up the mountain rushing down the crevices until it reached where he was standing. It wasn't particularly clean - you couldn't just drink from it - but putting his feet in that icy water, Rick couldn't have asked for anything more. With his foot having swelled as much as it had, this was exactly what he needed. The coldness would help to reduce the swelling, and the rush of the water would give him a feeling of weightlessness that was a huge relief after having his entire weight on them for so long.

He'd been dealing with his feet for years. He'd been diagnosed with neuroma nearly fifteen years prior, which frequently caused pain and swelling in his foot, but he had done his best to never let it stop him from doing the things that he loved. He still hiked frequently, he still worked a job that required him to be standing nearly all day, and he still went dancing with his wife every couple of months. The pain was a near constant - so much so that he barely even noticed it anymore. From time to time people would ask him about it, after he had been hiking for a while usually, and he'd think about it and become conscious of his foot. "Yep, still hurts," he'd say. And then he'd move on.

People would try to give him advice. They'd tell him all sorts of things, and they usually contradicted with one another. No one really knew what they were talking about, he found. A few did, of course - but those few usually told him to do the things that felt better, which was what he was doing anyway, but it was nice to have someone corroborate with him from time to time. He frequently heard not to do exactly what he was doing now, for one reason or another. Usually something to do with how the icy water would rub against him or some other made up bullshit. They seemed to ignore the part where ice was what you applied to swelling to help it. And he wasn't an idiot - he always made sure to get his feet dry before covering them up again. Wet socks were a surefire path to problems.

It was an hour before he stood up again, pulling his boots back on. It was nice to get a chance to relax. But he had places to be.