In my somewhat near future, there is the potential for a lot (a lot) of hiking. More on that later as details are confirmed…
While I am not one for camping (see the painful evidence here and here), I really don’t mind a good walk in the woods. In fact, I often even enjoy the fresh air, the nature, the strange bugs, the satisfaction of physical exertion.
What I don’t enjoy are the pretentious hiking pricks who think they are better than me for one silly reason: my choice in footwear.
First of all, get over it.
Last year, when I went hiking with my friend Gisela in Olympic National Park, I opted for my slim fitting, comfortable Havainas. Though we had originally planned to hike for no more than a couple of hours, we found ourselves ploughing through forest paths, up rocky paths and over fallen logs for several hours straight. All the while, my footwear never failed me.
I eventually lost count of the number of times I passed (yes, passed, because I was walking faster) hikers decked out in really intense, heavy boots, and all the gear in the world on their backs. They, along with those descending the mountain in the opposite direction chimed in with snarky comments like, “Nice shoes!”
Eventually, I piped back as I flew by them with, “They’re more comfortable than yours!”
I was a little confused. I thought people who liked to be out and about with nature were sort of hippies at heart, kind to all, nonjudgmental. And here we all were, complete strangers heckling me for my shoes.
Here’s the thing with my choice in footwear, crazy though you, reading this, may think I am.
If you read those camping articles I linked above, you will know how horrible the experience was. At the end of the second day, one of the only forms of relief I had was when I changed out of my hot, stuffy sneakers, into my light, breathable flip flops. Doing this was the singular choice I made that helped me finish the hike back to civilization.
Having experienced this, when I was in Washington, I preemptively chose the comfort of my feet and went straight for the Havaianas.
Some people will insist on a good, sturdy pair of hiking boots. They support your arches, your ankles, your toes if something falls or you trip, blah blah.
Here’s my counter.
First of all, those boots don’t come cheap, and from what I understand, one has to break in said pair of boots to achieve true comfort, and I simply don’t hike enough to make such an investment worthwhile.
Further to this, putting such a cement block on my feet feels completely counterintuitive to me. I like to think that this goes back to my Native American heritage, my ancestors who would have had access to no such equipment. I need to feel the ground I’m walking on. I need to know the terrain under me, to understand the earth upon which I walk. Putting on heavy hiking boots is removing myself from these sensations. I feel far more vulnerable and prone to accident/injury when I can’t feel the ground under my feet. Using flip flops like my thin Havaianas allows me to grip the stones I walk on, the bark of the fallen logs I use to traverse streams, the roots that otherwise would trip me if I couldn’t feel their presence.
Arguably, if the skin on my feet were tough enough, I would be better off barefoot than in heavy hiking boots, if I took this argument to the extreme.
You know what I did the next day? I went for another forest stroll with Gisela, this time in my silver Cole Haan shoes, with my hair down, and in a dress. Heaven help us all.
Well, and guess what. I was comfortable.
So get over it.
And when I go hiking in the future, for there will be hiking, I don’t want to hear a peep out of anyone about the choice of my footwear.
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