Feet First

I pity the poor foot. It suffers so badly. Day in and day out, it is sheathed in cotton and encased in what may or may not be a comfortable shoe. This constant prison of footwear is just where the foot's ignoble travails begin. Even being locked into that hell does not protect it from harm, for the soft, yielding shoe permits no end of it to the fragile, helpless toes. Why must the foot so seldom see the light of day and feel the caress of a cool breeze? It is nothing short of the most ugly intolerance. Is the foot unpleasant? Perhaps so, but is the remedy to lock it away in dank, clammy confines like some Morlock? I submit that it is not. The foot should have liberty to come as it is to more places than the beach or the park.

Of course, sparing others the sight and smells of the foot is maybe not the only reason why people cover up their feet. As I said, the shoe offers imperfect protection, but is sometimes valuable. A recent trip to some hot springs served as a renewed example of what may happen to the unwary, unshielded foot. Between the aforementioned springs, a pool, a Roman spa and the beach lining a small lake, the amenities for which shoes were a realistic proposition were few. This is most unfortunate, because the appeal of those things which makes shoes unwelcome leaves the feet at the mercy of some very rough elements. The springs in particular menaced my own feet with impunity. Their bottoms savaged my soles badly, and their sulphurous waters had prunes taking a lesson from the condition of the skin thereon.

It's hardly an isolated case of foot abuse for me, and I'm surely no unique case. Having been in the Boy Scouts, I was very hard on them all my childhood. I hiked a lot, sometimes in not the best footwear. I still tend to walk around the house barefoot even when it's rather cold, dismissing my father's warnings about body heat lost via those extremities. I was and am generally careless, trusting in the foot's resiliency. I wonder if the time will come when mine will be unable to answer the bell. As they say, the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long. My feet may not have been exploited to as full an extent as any of the great track and field athletes, but perhaps they have had less to give.

Thankfully I do at least have some idea of how to treat the feet right after they've been in the wars. The Boy Scouts may have put them in harm's way, but they also taught me how to address the blisters that often came. I've worked jobs that had me hopping around all day on my feet, but I'm sure that sinking them into a piping hot tub of water and epsom salt left things square. I guess where I draw the line is pedicures. I don't believe in coddling them. That makes for weak feet that fold when the chips are down. I suggest that you follow my example, reader.