Barefoot

I feel the heat practically evaporate from my heel to toes as I secretly peel my purple, thermal socks from the surface of my feet.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I remind myself, as I plant my bare feet on the varnished wooden slats of the back porch. I feel my stance adjust, my weight redistribute and the pressure points change along the longest running feet muscles. Starting out, I take slow, deliberate steps, allowing each foot to roll; hell through to arch and toes. Every time my foot loses contact with the slats I feel a stick sensation of glue, trying to root me to the spot.

This should be a practice encoded in my DNA. My parents grew up running barefoot across dusty West African fields of their youth. A recent foot injury had made barefoot walking something I never did anymore. Here and now, I would go on a short discovery, to retest my limits.

I begin the steps of my rebirth by moving through the crisp cold and absorbing the moisture and tepid warmth from each surface I encounter. My unassuming, size 10 feet tread along the mini-cobblestone patch of the walkway.

Searching for softer ground, I leap onto the slowly revitalizing front lawn grass. My toes stretch wide and comb away the split ends to the point that each baby toe begins to curl due to lack of flexibility. The turf is still too damp from excessive amounts of melted snow that day and had combined into the texture of a wet sponge. My heels squelch into the mud. The earth is a brownie, where the sensation of sinking and feeling the fullness of its density lingers. I brush away remaining specks of dirt away like a child who’s just been called inside from the sandbox.  I grab my figurative shovel and pail to collect secret treasure.

Walking barefoot, I take strategic steps to avoid any sharp, hazardous objects. The story of the prince and the pauper immediately comes to mind. I remember how the prince ends up with his delicate feet bleeding after being pierced by small rocks. I know that I’m more akin to the pauper as I cross over to the strip of grass separating the driveway. There are bent, metal bottle caps and blocks of wood scattered around.

My feet have always been the appendage of choice to pick pencils, clothes and marbles off the bedroom floor. I avidly practiced this skill as a child. I moved toward the rusted caps and commission my three middle toes to scrape it up. Knee bent and balancing carefully in a yoga-esque pose, I lean forward and connected my foot to hand, in an act so effortless it must be muscle memory.

I re-abandon the worthless cap onto the road. I step out to meet it; curious with what I might discover on this path. I’m greeted by an acute grittiness which gives way to numbness that slows me down with each step. Pressure points reconfigure to the outer side of my feet while the tender curves of my arches are pounded by an onslaught of pinprick tiny rocks.

Down the corner, there is a small glacier, speckled with particles of trapped earth. It’s shiny and wet as the hint of spring warmth lazily morphs it from a powdery molehill to a slick sheet. I know there is a good chance that I could slip awkwardly and embarrassingly upon this concrete danger, but I still dare to. With each step, the ice breaks like a thin wafer; each bite creating a thin crack in the remaining cookie. The ice fizzles and shatters, before finally erupting with a sigh of relieved tension.  

As I reacquainted myself with the familiar, yet painfully uneven tarmac, the road soaks up the dampness of the ice, leaving no trace of the previous encounter. Treading towards home, I spot a makeshift rail made of a solid metal pipe and supported by two short planks of wood at either end. It’s a balance beam. My inner seven year old lifts a leg high into the air, toes en pointe. Still unable to achieve perfect symmetry, my toes curl to grip the pole with the familiarity of hands clinging to bike handlebars.

By this point it’s painful. The muscles in my feet burn like corroding holes boring deeper into a shooting pain. Like a piece of paper set on fire in the centre and disintegrating from the inside out.