When I was a kid, I hated shoes. I spent most of the summer barefoot, except when I practiced tough tricks on my bike. (A BMX wanna-bee needed shoes to dig into the bike pedals.) But when I ran through our backyard or played basketball on our blacktop driveway, I preferred blisters and callouses to the trapped, tight feeling of laces across my forefoot. I wanted to wiggle the toes and feel my joints grip and move.
Sometimes, I even enjoyed the burn of hot pavement against skin. (But of course, when the Iowa sunshine burned too hot - often above 100 degrees - I resorted to flip-flops, at the very least.)
This summer, when I fractured bones and sprained ligaments in my left foot, I could not fit the swollen tissues and toes into a shoe, though I desperately wanted to leave the house.
It got me thinking about feet, and how they seem so different in the city. Even those of us who walk everywhere - work, groceries, classes, social events - feel alienated from our feet most of the time. We shield them with cushioning and steel toes, thick soles and waterproof leather. But we rarely let them grip the concrete. Do you even remember the wonderful sensation of your toes gripping rough surfaces as you walk?
After spending several weeks with my injured foot wrapped, iced, Epsom-salt-bathed, elevated, massaged, and gently stretched, I am thrilled to watch it come back to life. The toes touch the floor again (after weeks of sticking up at bizarre angles, from the swelling) and can grip the carpet. Gently. Barely. The alternate numbness and tingling has ceased, and I can feel the balls of my feet again.
For now, I wear a stiff medical shoe that prevents bending, so the sprains can fully heal. I hobble and limp, with most of my weight supported by the right leg. Even still, the very act of walking feels sensational. I missed it. My imagination missed it.
The medical shoe looks ridiculous, with its white sole and open toe, its velcro straps and blue cloth design, but it makes it possible to walk. For the first time in 5 weeks, I am able to explore the downtown and visit cafes.
Happiness may not be a new pair of shoes, as the Johnny Sole sign proclaims, but this week, it feels like something close.