If I'd been interested in counting the blisters, I imagine the number would have been in the 20s. Each of nine toes had at least two, some three. Then there were the ones under the balls of my feet. I can't imagine what happened to the middle toe on my right foot. It wasn't bruised, bloody or malformed at all. I'll never understand it, but I actually began thinking of it as a shirker. (Guess my feet weren't my only disability, huh!)

It all started last year, when Hugh and I decided to double cross-hike the Grand Canyon again. We'd done the cross-hike five times before, but the last time was 1996, the year I turned 50. We'd do it again, our last time, and really take in the awesome scenery. I'd lose weight. We'd train. We were older, but heck, we could do it! I called for reservations for cooler September and ended up having to take sweltering August. As a friend used to say, CRAP-A-MODY!

Our plan was that we'd hike 16 miles down the North Rim, stay at Phantom Ranch three nights, hike 10-and-a-half miles up the South Rim, stay three nights, hike the 10-plus back down to Phantom for three nights and then back up the North Rim. I reserved all our rooms, our food at Phantom and paid a small fortune to confirm it.

The hike down North Rim began at daybreak, 5:10 a.m. on Aug. 14, my 61st birthday. We were full of ourselves, feeling proud and fit. We had some yummy snacks, plenty of water and Gatorade. The temperature was agreeabl