Bare foot walking, pt. 4

Remember last summer when I was walking barefoot in the grass in an effort to ease some foot problems? My theory, as I recall, was that the grass would stimulate the nerves in my feet which had started to hurt after wearing a certain pair of sandals. And in the course of my very brief research, I learned that barefoot we walk and run differently than when we wear shoes. Keep in mind, however, in many countries parasites enter the body through bare feet. But here are some bare truths from Nature Magazine which I just received today.

Runners in sports shoes run differently from those who run barefoot and who have never worn shoes. Research published online by Nature this week shows that unshod runners land on their toes, or the foreparts of the sole (fore-foot strike), whereas shod runners tend to land on their heels (rear-foot strike). The first style of running uses the body of the foot to cushion the leg and body from the shock of impact, whereas shod runners might run more risk of impact-related injury.

Watch the video free online on the Nature Video YouTube channel.

And of course, always watch for dog poop. Not fun between the toes.

Bare foot walking, pt. 3

When I was a student at the University of Illinois I used to pass two disabled students at lunch time--I think it was in Lincoln Hall (now closed for renovation). I believe one may have been blind and in a wheelchair and the other had no arms. The U. of I. was a forerunner in services for the disabled, beginning I believe with disabled veterans after WWII. The armless man would push/guide the wheelchair with his pelvis, and ate his lunch using his feet as his hands. He was quite limber, as was I at age 19, and his toes functioned as fingers. Blind students attending college didn't surprise me because my grandmother was blind and I'd seen her do many remarkable things that sighted people didn't or couldn't, including distinguishing her many grandchildren by voice (she often mistook me for my sister, but so did sighted people). But I'd never seen someone hold a sandwich with his toes. (Don't know who prepared his sack lunch.) At that time I could pick up objects with my toes, I know, because I tried it after seeing him. But walking barefoot the last few days I discovered that the joints in my toes no longer are flexible--at all. I have no idea when this ended, because I so rarely go barefoot, I haven't tried to move anything with my toes in probably 40 years.

I suspect that a healthy, limber foot should be able to pick up objects. Aren't joints supposed to move? What do you think?

Today I wore hose on my barefoot walk. The temperature has dropped about 30 degrees and we've had a lot of rain, so I thought I'd just check this out rather than not do it at all. It works fine (assuming you aren't planning to use those hose for anything else) and washing your feet afterwards is much easier because anything that sticks, is probably on the hose. Not sure why, but I found the wet grass less slippery. I thought it would be the other way.

When walking barefoot in the grass you certainly see and hear and feel more of nature, even listening to Luther's Catechism on CD. A multi-sensory experience, this barefoot walking.

Give us this day our daily bread And let us all be clothed and fed. Save us from hardship, war, and strife; In plague and famine, spare our life, That we in honest peace may live, To care and greed no entrance give.

Luther wrote his small catechism in 1529, but this hymn of the Lord's Prayer in catechetical form was 1539. The tune on the CD is not the one Luther wrote.

Bare foot walking, pt. 2

My feet and legs felt good this morning, so I took two more walks bare foot, one in the morning and in the afternoon, then decided to look it up. Google found some interesting stuff, keeping in mind Google can find something good to say about every imaginable health cure from eating bugs to amputating limbs.

But according to my limited research, I was correct in sensing that my body aligns itself very differently in bare feet than in shoes. This very interesting article in New York Magazine contained some references, interesting snippets, and some great photoshopped pictures of feet.

The sole of your foot has over 200,000 nerve endings in it, one of the highest concentrations anywhere in the body. Our feet are designed to act as earthward antennae, helping us balance and transmitting information to us about the ground we’re walking on.

For all I know, other areas of the skin are also well endowed with nerve endings, but after a few strolls in the back yard my arches, ankles and toes were starting to feel more alive. I wouldn't call it a tickle, but they definitely had been in prison far too long.

Try this test: Take off your shoe, and put it on a tabletop. Chances are the toe tip on your shoes will bend slightly upward, so that it doesn’t touch the table’s surface. This is known as “toe spring,” and it’s a design feature built into nearly every shoe. Of course, your bare toes don’t curl upward; in fact, they’re built to grip the earth and help you balance. The purpose of toe spring, then, is to create a subtle rocker effect that allows your foot to roll into the next step. This is necessary because the shoe, by its nature, won’t allow your foot to work in the way it wants to. Normally your foot would roll very flexibly through each step, from the heel through the outside of your foot, then through the arch, before your toes give you a powerful propulsive push forward into the next step. But shoes aren’t designed to be very flexible. Sure, you can take a typical shoe in your hands and bend it in the middle, but that bend doesn’t fall where your foot wants to bend; in fact, if you bent your foot in that same place, your foot would snap in half. So to compensate for this lack of flexibility, shoes are built with toe springs to help rock you forward. You only need this help, of course, because you’re wearing shoes.

Other articles made reference to the coolness of walking bare foot, which was true if I was in the shade, but some areas of the lawn are already dry and crusty from the current heat; other articles get close to spiritual--in touch with the earth, being grounded, etc.

Another mentioned it as a natural form of reflexology, with the manipulation of joints and tendons in the foot and toes.

"[Reflexology is] A type of massage applied to the feet to compensate for the lack of barefoot-walking on uneven ground. Small rocks and roots would randomly work with your body weight, stimulating the release of static charged channels of trapped energy linked to other areas in your body. Also stagnant blood and lymph flow is discharged as the renewal of oxygen fresh blood is supplied, stimulating tissues at a cellular level. Similar to acupressure principles, reflexology works with the body’s energy flow to stimulate self-healing and maintain balance in physical function. This technique reduces pain, increases circulation and thus relaxation." Some kind of sanctuary

I don't know about energy flow, but nothing is more boring (or hot in June) than walking or running along an asphalt road, and nothing more punishing to the knees and feet than walking long distances on concrete. At least walking in the grass is low impact and fun. I had none of the usual shin splints. The real test for me will be when I put a pair of sandals on--stay tuned.

She tried to walk home from church bare foot.

Monday Memories of going barefoot

I looked through my albums, but I was a poor deprived child--my mother's camera broke after the first two children, and I can't find a photo of me in bare feet. Although I'm pretty sure that like most children growing up in the 1940s, I rarely wore shoes in the summer except to go to church. Several years ago my son had a summer job mowing lawns. I was a bit concerned because he was suffering from a bad back--stenosis of the spine, I think. Anyway, after a summer of walking behind a lawnmower, he was fine. I'm not sure he was barefoot, however, he might have been.

To stay on track here, the toes on my right foot began to hurt last summer while I was wearing a pair of sandals and giving a presentation in front of the Green Gables (Lakeside) on 19th century architecture. I sort of limped home and put the sandals away. Most of the time, the foot didn't hurt as long as I didn't wear them.

Last week-end I put on a different pair and the same pain started--I think it is a nerve between the 3rd and 4th toes, but I suppose it could be on the ball of the foot. So I googled it--found a picture and pointed. I read through the stuff, book marked it, but have already forgotten what that nerve area is called. (Cousin Bill, help me out here.) But I did remember my son. So today I went outside with my CD of Luther's Small Catechism, took off my shoes and socks, and walked for about 30 minutes in the back yard. It's a very different sensation. For starters, you have to lift your foot a little higher because dragging your toes through grass is not a fun feeling. Then you have to watch for sticks and rocks. And dog poop. I wouldn't say my foot feels better, and my back hurts a little from the awkward gait, but it wasn't too bad for a childhood memory.