Wednesday, March 17, 2010 at 2:38PM | Amy C barefoot hiking
I went hiking a few weeks ago with a friend. This in itself, is not surprising. I like hiking. I especially like hiking with this particular friend. He has just the right balance between support and challenge and often encourages me to do things I wouldn’t otherwise try.
I love hiking. It’s something I’ve done a lot over the past 10 years, yet it wasn’t until I got to Hawaii that I had a I-love-this-from-deep-in-my-bones realization. It had been three full months since I’d been hiking; three months in Kaua’i where I didn’t go on a trail at all.
On that very first hike in Hawaii (not the one a few weeks ago—I’m getting there, I promise), I felt like that proverbial kid in a candy store. I was grinning, laughing and just playing outside. Like those obstacle courses back in elementary school where you had to crawl over and under and jump across things. It was fun. An adventure.
In Hawaii, there is so much that is new to me and I have begun to treasure this newness and sense of discovery. These Hawaiian trails, where orchids grow wild, palm trees appear on mountainsides and weird, new kinds of trees (like hala trees with their crazy, outside root system) are introduced to me.
I’d forgotten how much fun new things could be.
nounou
On this particular hike, a trial outside of Kapa’a called Sleeping Giant (Nounou Mountain) you can see the ocean to the east (and north, and kinda south, too... it is an island, after all) and mountains along the center of the island to the west.
The trail is made up of the famous Kaua’i red clay, interspersed with igneous rock, roots, small, sharp rocks and large leaves that have fallen. The guidebook we used makes it out to be a pretty difficult trail, especially toward the summit. Yet I found the trail to be fun, obstacle-y, and well-maintained.
As we started up from the parking lot, I noticed my friend’s choice of footwear. As in, none. No trail shoes (as I was wearing), no sandals. Nothing. “I’m trying to toughen my feet,” he said. So, with his shoes tucked into the bag on his back, we started up.
I will admit I was a little jealous. I didn’t want to wear shoes, either. I love going around barefoot any chance I get. Yet it hadn’t crossed my mind to try hiking without shoes. You're supposed to wear shoes hiking. I imagined the feel of the clay and dirt on my feet. I wondered what the rocks felt like.
Alas, my practical side prevailed, and my shoes stayed on for the climb up; my feet safely protected and ensconced within the warm, stable running shoes.
a challenge
As we took a snack break at the summit, my friend challenged me to walk part of the downhill barefoot with him. I considered, but felt a little chicken. He’d already admitted that his feet were beginning to feel pretty tender.
We headed down. With a mile left to go, we came to a switchback overlooking the town below and the miles and miles of open ocean beyond. Again, my friend, with a twinkle in his eye, mentioned “now’s a good time to try it barefoot if you wanted to.”
I thought about it. I thought about trying new things. I thought about my excuses for not trying new things. I thought about my intention to inspire others to try new things. And the bottom line? I was curious.
I untied my running shoes and as I peeled my socks off my sweating feet, the cool breeze felt incredible. Refreshing. Liberating. And the texture of the dirt and clay beneath my soles... it’s hard to describe. Cool, firm, rough, invigorating.
I felt connected to the earth. Really connected to my feet and how I was stepping, where I was placing my feet and what muscles I was using (and I assure you, I was using muscles I didn’t know I had).
It took longer than I’d imagined to actually see dirt on more than the bottom of my feet. It didn’t take nearly as long as I’d imagined for my feet to start feeling tender. The leaves, once slick under the rubber soles of my running shoes, were suddenly a welcome respite. Their soft, clean surface smooth after a particularly rocky (as in small, random rocks you can’t avoid, jutting into the pads of your feet) section.
I found myself more conscious of the trail. Of my surroundings. Of how my toes curled around a large rock as I climbed down a steep section. Our pace slowed as we both navigated this new experience. Encouraging each other and pointing out particularly sharp rocks or obstacles to avoid; commenting on how smooth and cool the clay felt beneath our toes.
One of the really cool things about this experiment for me was that it illustrated so beautifully how adding one small, new element to a very-familiar and comfortable experience evoked so much change.
It opened new doors of awareness and possibilities of experience. The dirt that colored the soles of my feet a reddish hue would be gone after one good washing, yet the experience will stay with me, embedded into my being.
One small change. Just one thing different.
What can you change in one small way? What kind of a difference could it make? To you? To others around you?
Reader Comments (3)
I've tried barefoot hiking once with my friend and it was a lot of fun. It was a new kind of adventure but a bit painful on the rocky parts. Wish we could do it again. Thanks for sharing your adventure with us.
you are my hero! i love barefoot walkin'! great story!
thanks for sharing,
alexander john
I live in South Africa close to the beach surrounded by fynbos vegetation - hike barefoot all the time, once you used to it - simply the best!