I write to tell you how furious I am with your actions during Sunday's Tely 10.
First, you painfully formed on the small toe of my right foot around Dodge City, the halfway point. Your unwanted presence caused me to trot even slower. As someone whose top speed is tortoise, I needed that like the Outer Ring Road needs more ruts.
Then, at the bottom of the hill by Road De Luxe - where my Tely 10 dreams die every year - you broke open and gushed all over my toes. That sensation was just plain weird, and to make things more unpleasant, you started throbbing.
As I did my best to ignore all that, you bled all over my brand new running shoes. I'm sure there are people in Ireland who heard me yell, "YEEEE-OWWW!"
I considered stopping, but there was no way you were winning, especially not with just 2 1/2 miles to go.
But as I kept hobbling, you kept painfully pulsating, bleeding, making the stain on my shoe bigger and bigger.
Ironically, you son of a blister, you actually made me complete the race a little faster. Walking was more painful than running, so I ran, if you could call my fastest motion that.
But you weren't happy enough to ruin the last part of the Tely 10 for me, were you? You had to unleash a tandem-load of hurt after I finally crossed the finish line.
I limped to the car, and people who saw my shoe grimaced because they knew the agony you were causing. Got off on that, didn't you?
I didn't get a good look at your ugly bubble until I got home and gently peeled off the shoe and sock you had attached to my poor small toe with blood.
You looked, and glowed, like a Christmas tree blub. You were one gigantic bubble on the top and bottom of my toe. You were so big I wouldn't have been surprised if Jim Burton called and asked to build a subdivision on you.
It hurt like hell to touch you to the floor, so I Googled what to do. From a trusted source, I learned that pricking you with a sterilized needle and squeezing all the fluid out was the best thing to do.
Blister, as odd as it may seem, I took great pride in sticking it to you, and then wringing every last drop of liquid crap out of you Monday morning.
It relieved the pain, and it was nice to exact a little revenge after what you had done to my Tely 10.
Now that you're deflated, please be advised you are not welcome back.
There's only one good thing that came out of you growing on my toe - as I limp along, I can claim to have done this year's Tely at a blistering speed.
Steve Bartlett finished 3,086th in this year's race, and figures he might have cracked the top 3,080 if the blister hadn't showed up. Tell him about your race injuries at email@example.com or follow his Tweets at SteveBartlett_.