Barefoot Running Sandals

After obtaining a very cool do it yourself indigenous-style running sandal kit from Barefoot Ted, my partner and I got together and attempted to assemble the kits. The instructions are minimal and really quite helpful if you follow them. Which I didn't. Which led to attempting to assemble the sandals part 2. Basically all you have to do is place a bare foot on the sole material, run a marker around the outline of your foot, and cut it out. Like making turkey hand paintings when you were a kid. Then you poke a couple of holes (where you poke them is an important part), run your laces (the toughest part), and you're all set: for the horrors of trying to learn how to tie your shoes all over again. You will get it. It may take a couple of attempts, but they teach you things. You know right away if you've done something wrong. Thankfully Ted provides instructional videos.

The first time out in the sandals is shocking. Your feet aren't bare, but you feel most everything you walk over. I walked down a gravel drive, about thirty feet, and I'd had enough. I had to get back Now.

The second time out I was more brave. I made it part way down the road. Gingerly: it was also gravel. The third time there may have been a few tentative steps that may be called a jog. I wondered if it was possible to ever get past the pain of rocks on the bottom of my feet or the feeling of my weight on rocks on the bottoms of my feet. I was assured by my partner that our feet would grow and adapt. This did happen, but for the most part, I can't envision running on gravel in these shoes. Others seem to have no problem. I could go about fifty feet more or less and be ok, but there always seems to be an evil lurking, one rock in particular which aims for the most tender cut of the heel, right as full body weight lands. The pain, OH GOD, the pain. Do it twice in a row and you start questioning whether or not running is really for you. Or you change back into shoes.

Then there was the time I decided I looked silly running in socks and sandals. The weather had finally warmed a bit, my feet wanted to be free, and I looked real cool in my ancient/modern sandals. I think it was just after the first mile that I began to sense a problem. I didn't want to stop, so I waited until I got home to explore what that odd feeling was under some of the straps. Turns out it was my flesh being rubbed away completely. Friction burns between the crosspieces of the hemp ties and my tender skin. I still have the scars. Seriously. And I couldn't run for days while the wounds healed as they sat right on the top of my foot at the highest point of my arch and across the backsides of my heels. Again, I have been assured that feet adapt, and wonders can be worked with moleskin, but I am not keen to try that again.

If you don't like to attract attention, the sharp slap of these babies on hard surfaces will likely put you off. On a softer surface, like sand, they would be great (except, again, for my need to wear them with socks).

The sandals force different muscles to assist as you run, so expect some unusual soreness. They are great at helping to develop calves. They seem to really isolate the back of the lower legs. They're also a perfect excuse if you run with a friend and tend to feel guilty for asking for a walking break or just a second to recover. There is some unique physic that not only allows but attracts small stones. Looking at the design, you will wonder where they could enter and how they could remain. The stones are unconcerned with your questions and earthly laws. They hunger for tender human flesh. And they quite stubbornly refuse to dislodge no matter what sorts of fancy dancing and contortion you may perform.

And I haven't even begun to consider how a person could trail run and not stub a toe so far into their foot proper that it might need to be popped back out with some sort of tool.

Overall, the sandals are nice, well-designed. They simply aren't for everyone.