A Living Magazine - Day 33 - These Boots Were Made For Wallking

The same old routine kicked off the day. Even though I'd only just pulled myself out of sleep, I was riding the psychological pendulum back toward a more light-hearted frame of mind. The day before - like every similar day - took a small piece of me and flushed it down the toilet. There is enough left for a thousand more of those days, but not much more than that.

I walked back down E Street, on my way to Rogue Coffee Roasters (my favorite place in Grants Pass). I seemed to have almost exhausted the photo-worthy things around town, with a couple exceptions...

Flower sphere.

More painted bears.

It was really a beautiful day. The heat wave was taking a break, the air was clear, with a lukewarm breeze. It didn't take long to get there...

Rogue Coffee Roasters.

I settled in and wrote the post about the rough day before. Nursing my coconut water for a few hours, I finally published the post and then checked my email.

Deciding that if I could pull the funds together, I would buy the hiking boots here at a local sporting store, called Big 5. Thankfully, I got a couple of donations that afternoon and it allowed it to happen. When the coffers were sufficiently filled, I set off to do the deal.

I had stalked the store's hiking boot inventory online, and knew exactly what I wanted. Unfortunately they were not LLBean boots, but they were better than Wal-Mart boots.

According to Google Maps, the place was right down near where I sleep at night. I'd only ever seen the back side of its big-box. As I approached the entrance to the shopping center, I saw the name on the sign's list of businesses and slapped my own head for not seeing it before.

Inside the store were all the things you'd need to participate in just about any kind of game or sport--go figure! The cashier kindly pointed me to the back wall, where a very bored-looking older salesman and a friendly, very eager, teenage salesman paced back and forth around their 100 square foot department. 

A woman was carefully checking out the smaller-sized men's hiking shoes and boots, and commenting about how she found it strange that they didn't make women's sizes. I looked around and saw exactly what she was talking about. There were plenty of women's, sneakers and athletic shoes, but no hiking boots. I told her I was from Maine and that we usually go to LLBean where the selection is almost endless.

Her eyes lit right up, and she said, "Oh! My husband's from Connecticut!" She looked like she was about to do the conversation thing, which I probably wouldn't have minded in such a stale environment, but we were both too busy on our footwear missions.

I looked at all the hiking boots and shoes, trying to decide if I really wanted boots, or would be better with a lighter, cooler, well-treaded shoes. Something told me I'd be better off with more rugged boots. I found the style I'd seen online, and pulled it off the wall. The older salesman walked over and I decided I'd make his life a bit more interesting by asking a bunch of friendly questions about the quality, etc. I already knew I was going to buy them if they fit right. He seemed to not know a heck of a lot, simply answering yes or no. Crashing and burning in my attempts to engage him - something you''d think a sales person would jump all over - I simply asked him to grab a pair of 10.5's for me.

He complied and returned with a box and pointed me to the fitting seats. I, in my teenage years, was a shoe stock person at Levinski's in Portland. I was trained to fit shoes on people, so I knew what to look for, for myself. I also was VERY self-conscious about my smelly feet. Thankfully, he wasn't interested in fitting me. Breathing through my mouth, I took off the sneakers, and as quickly as possible, put the boots on, laced them up and took a stroll around the store.

They felt great! Actually having a sole under my feet, arch support and a smooth inner sole was what I'd been looking forward to for the last month. I was sold. I tend to anthropomorphize objects, sometimes out of boredom, sometimes out of sentiment for how much use I've gotten out of them. I do this with my backpack (as you may have read in my last post). My sneakers - all open and upside down on the floor - seemed to know the end was near. They had been as loyal as possible to me; even beginning to "wear their soles on the outside."

I'd only had them since they fell into my life in that Napa park a few weeks earlier. They still looked pretty good from the top, but the treads were just thin permeable membranes at this point. I put them back on for the last time, stuffed the boots into their box, and hunted down a pair of "good" socks. I'd been buying two pairs a week from Dollar Tree stores, since I walked out of San Francisco. And, now I wanted something I could really use for a little longer. The choice was between the $14.99 pair of thick, triple-stitched Redhead socks, and $2.97 value socks. You know me by now. I went for the bottom shelf socks. At least I was paying more than a dollar!

Feeling good about my decisions, I brought my boots and socks up to the counter and paid for them. Outside, I went over to the curb and sat down. Removing the sneakers again, I then peeled off the socks, which had essentially become another layer of skin by that point. They were better than the ones I usually bought, because they had no holes worn through their bottoms yet, even after 4 days.

I pulled out my wipes and really gave my feet a good cleaning. And, it worked very well. No more smell, and they were free of left-over sock fuzz. I realized I hadn't even seen my feet since that motel room in Klamath Falls. Even then, after washing them with a bath and two showers, I never really examined how they were doing. 

Honestly? They were in rough shape. The big toe on my left foot had the entire right half of its nail missing. All the blisters I'd treated a couple weeks ago had turned into callouses (which is a good thing). The bottoms of my feet basically had their own golden, leathery layer of thick impenetrable skin now, built up over nine months of heavy use. For a moment I separated myself from them, mentally and had an overwhelming appreciation for what I've put them through. It suddenly dawned upon me that they were the most vital part of the outside of my body.

They were what I literally touched the earth with, day after day, week after week. Just one injury to either of them would end everything I am striving for. I wasn't particularly careful with how I treated them. They are stuck in socks all night and day, forced to be squished under my weight for millions of steps, punished with heat and cold... They deserved special attention, not no attention. I resolved to change this from that day forward.

The new socks went on. The boots too, and were tied snugly. Like a mortician, I gently placed the sneakers in the boot box casket, garnished with the rotten socks, and took this picture to honor them for all future time...

RIP, Filas.

Meet the new members to the IWALLK family...

Side.

Top. (And, no, my legs are not stubby 12 inch pegs.)

It was with a renewed sense of purpose and foot-pampered comfort, that I walked through that parking lot to the hallowed doorway of Taco Bell, to transfer pictures, work a little bit more on a very special essay that I will soon publish, and consume a small lemonade in celebration.

In no time at all I raised my head from the glow of the laptop and saw that the sun had just set. I wanted to try something that I'd done in Redding. I wanted to see if I could go to the sleeping spot while it was still kind of light out. Hey! I'm a risk-taker! Ha, ha! 

Before the stars stepped out on stage above me, I was down near the Interstate, across the road, and up the grass and pine cone covered hill to my spot between the trees. The guests at the Holiday Inn were still unable to see me, and the cars whizzing down the off ramp couldn't give a shit anyway. I sipped the remainder of my lemonade, laid back and watched the light blue sky fade to a deep indigo. Sleep came without warning...