miles to go

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Not exactly an even wear.  On a riding heel, no less, so that's not a trivial amount of mileage.  Not ridden atop a mighty steed, but ridden hard and long nonetheless.  And whipped many a time with a riding crop.  It's my left foot.  I don't even need to check which foot it is.  It is the foot that drags when my back starts hurting.  And I don't mean hurting.  I mean REALLY hurting.  A pulsing numbness, yet combined yet with searing pain exists in a mutually exclusive duality going down my left leg.  Numbness.  And pain.  There's no explaining how those two exist side by side unless you've felt it.  And my wife looks for a new pair of boots to last this final sprint towards the finish line.  An identical replacement, really.  For they have served me well.  After all, I have earned the name of Vaquero Doc.  Why trade it in now?