I've started running again. I can say this with confidence because for two days straight I've donned my imitation Adidas pants and set my feet to the pavement. The revival has more to do with weather and weight than my 29th birthday. However, there's an adage that states: "Habits set before 30 are made in wet concrete, middle-aged patterns are set in stone..." (and its ending has something to do with granite, but I've not quite finished making it up.)
Quite frankly, I'm not sure wet shoes are helping my pace, but at least I have an excuse for the blisters. A blister gives proof of one's effort--credibility that the runner is, in fact, running. There are other causes, of course. Perhaps her shoe is too loose. Perhaps his sock is too new. But a new sock and a loose shoe on a lazy man will produce a stench sooner than a blister.
Blisters are the result of work, friction, output. They come most readily when your hands and feet are repeating motions, but not all motions are worth repeating: A woman blistered her thumb when shoveling a six-foot hole. A man blistered his foot when marching at a day-long hate protest. Young Christian blistered his soul and lips when he fed his hormones one more fantasy.
But I would be foolish to judge every sign of chaffing and serum as a mark of sin. Some people blister because they run: life depends on it.
(1 Corinthians 9:24-27; Timothy 2:22)