Walking Barefoot

I’ve been walking my dog barefoot recently. It’s been great.

Growing up I always had to wear shoes because there were always nails or screws around from various projects—a chicken coop, an addition to the house, a shed, a surfboard. We lived in the mountains, so there were snakes to worry about, too.

I remember once I was wearing flip-flops, running through an open field at home, and I stepped on a nail.

I felt it slip right into my foot, felt the small block of wood it was attached to lift up as I ran, now nailed to said foot. I imagined stepping on that block once more, driving that nail in deeper—instead of doing that, I crumpled, sliding head first across the dry grass. Then I screamed—the thing I’d been warned about had finally happened.  

I was fine. I always got my tetanus shots. Everything came out clean, I didn’t go to the hospital, even. (The hospital was far and expensive, we toughed out most things.)

I had a neighbor, Shane Usleaman, who I recall had feet of steel. Never wore shoes. I’ll bet his feet rejected nails, in fact. He had big powerful feet, too.

I remember him bullying his younger brother! But that’s irrelevant to his feet.  

Now, twenty years later, I want his feet. I want my feet to be like his feet.

The problem is I’ve worn shoes since ever, and I have baby feet. Soft and supple things. In fact I would hate to get my feet dirty, because I knew at some point I’d have to put socks and shoes on, and who wants to put socks on dirty feet? Gross. I’d wash them. But what a silly way to spend time.

Hence, I am starting slow, and taking my dog(s) on walks barefoot. We walk on concrete, asphalt, dirt, sand, rocks. I’ve gotten a few stickers. I’ve walked miles and miles, now. And my feet feel good. They’re a little sore, and I don’t feel like I really have calluses yet, but that’ll take time.

It feels good. It feels nice to just walk outside rather than worrying about socks and shoes. I usually wear flip-flops anyways, but still.

In 2019 I tore my Achilles tendon and had to put my lower leg in a medical boot for six months. My calf muscle atrophied like crazy. While I recognize I’m still using my feet inside my shoes, I think it’s wild that I’ve essentially had my feet “booted” forever.

How strong would my feet be now if I never wore shoes? It’s a travesty.