“How do your feet feel? How are your legs? Are you still drinking?” It was Ian, behind me, checking, worrying, doing what pacers often do. I had to think for a second. How did my feet feel? Now that he mentioned it, they hurt. I had a few blisters. My legs? Yeah, come to think of it, they were kind of shot through with invisible knives. “Fine,” I said. “I’m fine.”
