Halfway back to the UK yesterday, I noticed that my ankles were starting to do an impersonation of water balloons, and my calves and ankles had once again merged to form "cankles" (see France 2005). By the time I landed in Heathrow, my socks had become as tight as sausage skins, and the pressure got more and more painful. It was a little tricky driving my stick shift rental car and trying to take off my socks simultaneously. I'm glad I don't have to run on them today.
By the way, one thing that many stage runners do is to cut down the front of every pair of socks, to relieve pressure on the front of the ankle. Part of my small but moving final ceremony before leaving Norway was to throw out all my many pairs of used, "restyled" shoes and socks. In the end, I opted to place them all discretely in a garbage can rather than cause a littering spectacle at the North Cape.