Not Just Another Pretty Foot

    Why do so many people react to bare feet in public like they have just witnessed a Burmese Python swallow an entire box of puppies and kittens?! Why are they so repulsed by the sight of bare feet attached to the long end of bare legs? Nobody I know gets upset about bare legs, bare arms, bare shoulders, bare hands, and these days pretty much any bare body part, in public -- just don't let those funny appendages attached to our shins and calves run naked!

    Would those horrified reactions change to acceptance if our feet looked differently than they do? Our feet look somewhat similar to our hands, they are just located at the southern end of our bodies, which is a good thing as it makes it much more difficult for us to pick our noses with our toes'es -- fingers are much faster at a sinus showdown anyway. So which is more disgusting again, toes or fingers?

     Dr. Suess wrote in The Foot Book: "Front feet. Back Feet. Red feet. Black feet. Left foot. Right foot. Feet, feet, feet. How many, many feet you meet." However, in today's snooty society, we don't get to meet too many feet anymore because we are trained that we must hide them from views with shoes. But what if our feet looked like feet drawn on the many characters created by author and illustrator, Dr. Suess? Fuzzy, furry and fun! He may not have been a Dr. of podiatry, but he sure knew how to help people feel more comfortable about their feet.

Feet by Dr. Suess

     Stop them dogs of yours from barking, take off those shoes! Would it be more socially acceptable for humans to be barefoot in public if our feet looked like Fido's?  

      Maybe somewhere over the rainbow bare footing in public would be acceptable if our feet looked like this:

  Or, what if our feet looked like the feet in a child's drawing of a typical stick figure person? Round, ball-like feet were always depicted in my masterpieces. Would bare feet be less offensive shaped like that? The balls of our feet would take on a whole new meaning. Would we even still have balls of our feet, or heels for that matter, if we have balls for feet? So for those of us who prefer going barefoot, if we bared our balls, let them roll out there freely while we are out and about in public -- oh grow up, I am talking about our round feet -- would that be more acceptable? Another plus having round feet, when we are asked why we don't wear shoes we can say, "that's just how we roll!"       

Here's another thought, what if the Earth's polar axis suddenly switched places, as has happened numerous times throughout Earth's long history, but this time as a consequence of this event our feet anatomically switched places with our hands. Now that our feet are where our hands used to be, and our hands where our feet used to be, would we be free to wander about in public in our bare feet because they are now situated at the ends of our wrists instead of being banished to the ends of our ankles. You know what realtors always say about location, location, location! Our hands would now take the brunt of scrutiny down below. If we didn't put gloves on our hands before hitting the streets to take a walk, would we hands-down get those python-swallowing-puppies-and-kittens- looks for being out in public barehanded. It may not really matter what our feet look like: how they are shaped, what color they are, or how cartoonish they look. When baring our feet in public it might all just come down to location, location, location!

     

Toe'd Away

I unknowingly sat in a "No Writing" zone to compose my next post. I didn't notice the sign and I sat there too long. I got "toe'd" away before I could complete my next great post about the Paleo/Barefoot lifestyle. As soon as I get out of the impound lot, I promise to finish my next piece called: "Not Just Another Pretty Foot."

Fast Food Hunter-Gatherer

    I fantasize about the same thing every evening in the quiet, warm, semi-darkness of my man-cave. I try to finish before my family comes bursting in. Afterwards, I feel more relaxed about what is facing me just outside my door. I suppose my fantasy is probably not much different than many other cave-dwelling moms and dads who just want to come home from work and relax. Let me share my fantasy with you -- I'll make it a quickie since the hungry wolves are at my door: "ohhhhh...ahhhhh...mmmmm...feels so nice..." imagining how good it would feel if fixing dinner for my family came easily.

    Choosing food for dinner each and every night is a mammoth task since nobody in my family wants to eat the same thing at the same time. They are under the influence of a crazy notion that home cooked meals are chosen from a menu as if home-sweet-cave were some kind of restaurant. By the time everybody has disagreed about everything planned for dinner, I feel like clobbering my head with a club and dragging myself by my hair back to my man-cave for more fantasy time.   

    I do admit that I am also guilty of complicating this dinnertime ritual of disagreement because I try to follow a Paleo diet as closely as possible. My wife says I have always eaten like a caveman and that watching me feed like Fred Flintstone has totally turned her off to the Paleo way of eating. And our two teens both say that they would rather eat fossilized dinosaur turds than go Paleo. So instead of arguing the evening away about what to eat, I become "fast-food-hunter-gatherer-dad" and off I go in search of food. My teenage son is ravenous for something from "McMastadon's;" my daughter is delirious for a Pterodactyl pan pie from "Pizza In A Hut;" and my wife wants me stop by the "Saber-Tooth-A-Lot" for an ice age dinner. I just want to stop by the local watering hole.
     
    Sometimes I fantasize about what it must have been like for the original Primal hunter-gatherers when dinnertime came around. Did they sit around banging their heads with rocks trying to think of what to have for dinner? -- I use my cell phone 'cause it's usually up there anyway with my kids constantly calling me about what's for dinner! Or, did supper roll around as easily as those new rock-chiseled square wheels that were becoming all the rage. In some ways it had to be easier than today -- there probably wasn't as much variety on the menu to cause any disagreements over what to serve for dinner. You just went outside, thumped something that was grazing on the head, and dragged it back to the cave.

    I actually do enjoy living a Primal lifestyle, which is one reason I also enjoy being barefoot as much as possible -- just like our ancient ancestors. But in our modern society, that's not always possible. And that leads me to the notion that Paleo people had another plus over us: they didn't have to wear shoes while out and about grocery gathering. I guess they didn't have to wear much of anything, which probably made scavenging for food a whole lot more fun! They probably also weren't hassled by "KaveMart" managers ugh'ing about the dangers of being barefoot while shopping. Everybody was barefoot so nobody was being told to either slip on that pair of furry flip flops or leave "WallArtMart." Those pesky NO SHOES/NO SERVICE signs hadn't been invented yet -- maybe NO LOIN CLOTH/NO LOITERING -- but barefoot was acceptable.

     If only modern-day society's prehistoric perspectives about barefeet were actually more prehistoric in practice, then that would be "ohhhhh, ahhhhh, mmmmm, feels so nice!"

The Long and the Short Toe of It

I have been a "barefooter" for more than a couple of years now, and there are many times when I run out of the house and forget to take a pair of "just-in-case" flips with me. Somewhere along the way to where I am going, I realize I left home empty-footed. I don't notice much anymore that I am barefoot because it has come to feel so normal being sans shoes.

Since I go many places and do many things barefoot, I thought maybe I could even type my blog posts barefoot -- I mean actually type with my bare toes. Now that is on a whole different level of being a true barefooter! It took some practice but I finally got the "Hang Ten" of it. I have become so proficient at typing with my toes, that my fingers lost their touch and have forgotten how to type.

This has been working just fine until last month when I stubbed my blg typing toe. And that is the long and the short-toe of why I have not posted for several weeks. Typing toe is feeling better now.    

Feets of Magic

    Out on the streets, I am known as "Barefoot Magic Man" for my "feets" of magic. I have never actually heard anyone call me that, but I am fairly certain that's what onlookers are thinking when they see me sprinting down the street in my barefeet. My impromptu audience is amazed when they see me running sprints with nothing up my sleeves or on my feet except, well, nothing. That's right, barefoot sprinting in public conjures up an audience of disbelievers every time. "And now ladies and gentlemen, for my next feat of magic I will run on hard pavement in my barefeet." And just like ordinary folks being amazed by magician David Blaine creating magic on the streets, my audience will challenge me with the usual, “WOW, how do you do that?... that’s impossible!...doesn't that hurt?...and Wow, that’s unbelievable!” I am actually amazed by my audience that they can magically pull all those words out of their empty little hats and make them appear in one breathtaking non-stop sentence -- that is magic to me, how do they do it?!

I used to get asked those very same questions when I was a young magician performing feats of magic at clubs, restaurants, and parties. But now, I am no longer a magician of magic tricks, I just take my “feets” of magic out onto the streets and sprint barefoot. When asked by astonished onlookers where my running shoes are, I say I am a “street-feet” magician and I made my shoes disappear from my feet and then reappear way over there on that squirrel. I confidently exclaim this miracle while looking and pointing behind them in the distance using the magic of misdirection to make everyone look the other way. While they are still looking for the angry squirrel wearing my running shoes, I slip away quietly, no shoes/no sound, and when their blank stares return to where I had just been, I too have now disappeared. “WOW, where did he go?... that’s impossible!...and Wow, that’s unbelievable, how did he do that!” - but that squirrel would never tell.

And just like that squirrel, I would never divulge the secrets of how my illusions worked because it took me many hours of practice to learn how to perform them convincingly. So what’s the secret to sprinting barefoot I have been asked. Practice I will say. Like magicians have said for millennia, “Practice makes perfect.” If you are a beginner barefooter, practice padding around on the tiled flooring in your house in your barefeet until they become comfortable with all of the dirt, critter hair, sticky stuff, and crumbs now stuck to the bottom of your feet. Then stride on into the living room and share all of those goodies with the rugs in your house. Once you feel comfortable dragging all of that debris around on your soles, and you no longer cry out in pain if you step on a cornflake, then you are ready for steppin' on out.

It's time now to take your bare dogs for a walk outside when you walk your other dogs, you know the ones with fur on them. And if fur on them applies to your feet as well, you might consider a different lifestyle other than barefoot. Outside is where you will encounter the real world of barefooting adventure. This is where the magic happens. The more you practice going barefoot outside, the less you will notice when stepping on things like small rocks and pebbles, sticks, glass, screws, bugs, amphibians, reptiles, dog poop, snot rockets (more about those in an upcoming post), acorns, squirrels that are angry because you’ve stepped on their acorns, and any other lumpy, hard, sharp thing that you might encounter with each timid step taken.

It’s actually not that bad. I have stepped on just a few small rocks, and several large acorns, but that is it, and I have never been injured. Your feet will use the magic of proprioception which will minimize any pain or injury to the foot. And like a mind-reader, I know what you are thinking right now. You are wondering how does that proprio-something-or-other word help me survive being barefoot out here in the wild. A simple explanation of that term goes something like this: the nerves on the bottom of your feet will alert your brain instantly that you have stepped on something that might cause injury. As soon as your brain receives that message, it will instantly "tweet" the foot in imminent danger instructing it to perform a "Houdini" to escape from stepping hard on the object. This all happens in the blink of an eye.

Here’s another secret I will share with you. The best places to walk outside barefoot is on sidewalks or streets. Concrete and asphalt is actually friendlier to your feet than walking on grassy fields or lawns that can conceal many of those previously mentioned impediments to your bare-bipedal movement.

It doesn’t take too long (several weeks to a month) before your feet begin to toughen up to the terrain, they grow stronger as they build some solid muscle, and they become more desensitized to the rubble in the road. You will know when the time is right to take that first test run, and like the great shoe-guru says, “Just do it!”. Start with a short warm-up by walking the path you are going to sprint on, and check for any debris that can be moved. Stretch your leg muscles a little, and then start out with a slow jog until your stride feels easy. Be careful not to start out too fast and overdo it until your body becomes accustomed to running shoeless. Before you know it, you will be sprinting faster than you can say abracadabra! Now get out there and conjure up your own audience of disbelievers to perform your “feets of magic for. How do you do it?! Now you know.

 

Streakers are Like Training Bras for Barely-Barefooters...

Streakers

...or like training wheels, if that's how you roll. I have a feeling that there are a lot of barefooting-wanna-be's out there who really want to be honest-to-goodness, go-everywhere-totally-barefoot barefooters, but they just need a little help until their confidence grows enough to venture outside and take their bare "dogs" for a jog without getting freaked out that someone will confront them. Streakers can be that helping hand for those nervous feet. It is like when you are learning to ride a bike for the first time with the training wheels attached, or trying on your first supportive undergarment. Slip on a pair of Streakers, like training bras for your feet. Wear them until you achieve that level of confidence to boldly go everywhere with your feet wearing nothing but what they had on the first time you wore your birthday suit.  

Barely-barefooters certainly don't want to strike out on their first barefooting adventure and get ambushed by a pair of athletic shoes stuffed with a fluffy doofus. These folks have been heard asking barefooters they encounter, "Did you know your feet are bare?" or, "Did you forget to put your shoes on today?" as they toddle past you. Then they will make a stunning declaration in a voice loud enough to knock squirrels out of trees, "Hey everybody look, his feet are bare. He must have forgotten to put his shoes on today." At this point in your fledgling existence as a barefooter, you don't have the confidence to come back with, "Hey, did you forget to put your ass-hat on today?" Instead, you run home so embarrassed by the encounter that you consider having your feet surgically removed. Streakers can save you from unnecessary surgery.

Naive, new barefooters might also have an encounter on the streets with seriously-snide runners and their seriously-expensive, high-tech running shoes. They wear several pairs of those shoes on their feet at the same time just to show everybody how seriously committed they are to running. Seriously? No, they really don't do that, but as they blow past you and your lowly little naked piggies, they will drop their snide-bombs on you about how you can't walk, much less run, without expensive high-tech shoes strapped to your feet. And, since you are outside walking or running in your bare feet, you must be a hobo who is "barely" running one step ahead of the law. As they are disappearing into the sunset they will yell back at you with words of advice telling you that it is dangerous to run, or even walk unshod, so knock it off. Then you watch them snag the ground with the thick rubber heel of one of their high-tech running shoes, twist their ankle and fall down adding a second crack to their backside. This kind of accident doesn't happen while running barefoot, or in Streakers, because neither bare feet or Streakers have thick rubber heels to trip you up, only your sleek bare soles to make you fleet of foot. Barefoot runners only have one crack on their backside. 

These kinds of encounters can be a major setback to those barely-barefooters trying to build their confidence to go forth with naked feet into the wild streets of their neighborhood, or even more daring, into public places like grocery stores and shopping malls. You must go out into the wild prepared, and wearing a pair of Streakers will help you survive the ignorant shoe-wearers of the world. 

I have been running sprints for over two years now wearing my not-expensive-at-all, high-tech bare soles. Yes, I sprint in my bare feet, and all of the leg, knee, and foot problems that I used to suffer from when I ran wearing expensive, high-tech running shoes, disappeared like those two-crack-backside-seriously-snide runners left behind in my dust. 

 So put on your Streakers and go kick some fluffy-ass on the mean-streets before I run out of hyphenated words to use! 

"Streakers" are Born

Streakers for men can be worn 

with the toe strap over the 2nd toe...

...or with the toe strap over the big toe.

Totally sole-less!

Streakers for women are made the same as men's 
but with different colored jewels added for distinction.

Streakers are also available in 

the sporty-looking double strap look.

The name Streakers just seems to fit these barefoot sandals. I originally designed and created them for my own use to help me overcome my shyness of being barefoot in the presence of strangers in public places. They worked so well that I decided to design Streakers for other body parts, and now I am able to be totally naked in the presence of strangers in public places! No, not really.

Public places I have worn my Streakers thereby avoiding rejection and ejection, for being barefoot, by management, daft door greeters, sales clerks, and security:

Supermarkets
Healthfood Stores
Pizza Restaurants
Barber shops
Chinese restaurants

...to be continued.

   

Another "Barefooter" is Born

    When I was born I came out barefoot, and this seemed perfectly natural to this new baby. My feet were the first part of me that I identified with – could be because they were the largest body parts I could see – and I quickly discovered that even though they were all the way down at the other end of my wrinkled little body, I could control their every move and I happily waved them in that bright hospital air.
    
    While lying there innocently admiring my feet, something called a nurse suddenly wiped me down and then proceeded to shimmy a pair of fuzzy little blue socks onto my naked feet. As I helplessly watched her dress each foot, but not the rest of my body, I discovered that along with having happy feet I was also a happy boy – that is until those fuzzy socks smothered my toes and my feet weren't so happy anymore. After the nurse had finished, I cringed when I saw that my feet now didn't look like the rest of my body because of those socks. I wasn't blue and fuzzy looking anywhere else. I wondered why those were the first of my new body parts to be covered up so quickly while the rest of me was splayed out like a nudist on a lawn chair.
   
    Being the newborn that I was, I assumed that feet must be the most important body parts to keep covered up. Of course, I found out later in life that isn't true after I decided to remove all of my clothing at the grocery store while shopping with my Mom. She had to chase me all over the store like I was a criminal on the run (barefoot unfriendly stores still make me feel like a criminal). By the time she caught up with me sitting on bags of frozen okra in one of the freezers, my bottom was as blue as the socks I began life in at the hospital. To this day, I still can't eat okra thinking that someone might have been sitting on the those frozen veggies! 

    After that incident, Mom told me it would be okay if I took off my shoes and socks and to be barefoot, as long as I leave everything else on. That was fine with me because at that early age I decided I didn't like the feeling of having my feet covered up all the time. But who would have guessed that around the next corner of my life I was about to encounter "shy feet."  

    Around that corner I ran shoeless into being a self-conscious teen, and I suddenly became too shy to show my toes. Now, the only places that I would go barefoot were at the beach with my feet quickly buried in the sand (which made getting to the water much more difficult), when I went to bed immediately plunging them under the covers, and sometimes in the shower. Socks and shoes were permanent fixtures on my feet. Like the concrete shoes worn by gangsters anchored at the bottom of dirty rivers, my constantly shod existence was weighing me down with even more anxiety about my shy feet. 

    Not wanting to end up at the bottom of a river, I was determined to free my shy feet from those stinking shoes, and to rediscover the pleasures of being barefoot as much as possible. I wanted to be like a kid again when I went everywhere in my neighborhood sans shoes. But I would still only go barefoot where it was acceptable (like around the house, at the beach, and in the shower). I totally lacked the confidence needed to go barefoot in public places. I really wanted to, but I hadn't been able to defeat my "shy-feet." Eventually I started wearing flip flops to stores, restaurants, and movie theaters. I even had a job for several years where wearing flip flops was acceptable. That was as close as I could get to being barefoot in public, and that was good enough for now since I was taking baby barefoot steps toward developing a barefoot lifestyle for myself.

    But as most thick-skinned barefooters know, it doesn't take long before you don't want to wear shoes at all anymore, anywhere. The more you don't "shoe-it", the more you want to do it. So, I began walking barefoot in my neighborhood when I took the dogs on their walks, and when I would go get the mail down the street at the mail kiosk. But if I saw someone coming my way while out walking, I would change directions to avoid having to deal with the strange looks and not-so-smart comments. I also began driving everywhere without shoes on, but as soon as I arrived at my destination I would slip on the flips. I really just wanted to be able step freely out of the car and go into the store without having to get my feet dressed, but I just couldn't muster up the nerve.

    Then one day while sitting in my car in the parking lot of a local grocery store, nervously contemplating whether or not I should go inside without shoes on, I said out-loud, "Oh the hell with it, I'm going in." I summoned up one of my last nerves that I hadn't used in years and strutted barefoot from my car toward the grocery store doors. As I approached the doors I spotted the usual sign in the window displaying a basic outline drawing of a shirt with a slash through it, and depicted next to that was a cartoonish pair of bare feet with the same slash mark – Fred Flintstone must have modeled for whoever created those signs. Upon seeing that sign, I immediately froze in my tracks (freezing is a recurring theme with me at grocery stores). In a sweaty panic, I took a step backward into a warm glop of gum on the sidewalk and made a sticky retreat back to my car.

   But I was not deterred by this temporary setback. My growing desire to be as free of shoes as possible made me realize that my burgeoning barefoot lifestyle was being cramped, like toes in a pair of too-tight shoes, because of my "shy feet." That moment of realization led to my idea for a sole-less shoe that would look like I was wearing a flip flop thereby allowing me to venture forth into public places with my feet incognito. It was like putting on a pair of those goofy glasses and mustache disguises on each foot so no one would recognize the fact that I was not wearing any footwear. So that's what I did, well, not the goofy glasses thing, but I designed and assembled a pair of bottomless shoes and I call them "Streakers."