Hiking – Andrea Arthur Owan

Zig Zag Hiking: Making the Climb Easier on the Camino de Santiago

I stood on the side of the rocky path and gasped for breath. My heart pounded so hard I thought my chest might explode. Sweat dribbled down my face and back.

This was brutal!

And I was not enjoying it.

The journey begins—

Chris and I were on our first day of walking the Camino de Santiago. We knew this day would likely be the toughest, although word on the street was that the next day—from Orisson, France to Roncesvalles, Spain—would be just as murderous, if not more so due to the steep elevation gain toward the end and then then precarious descent.

We would start in the medieval French town of St. Jean Pied de Pont, in the Basque country of southern France, at the beginning of the Pyrenees foothills. An elevation of 594 feet above sea level. In 5.1 miles, we would ascend to 3,614 feet.

By car, a 6-minute drive.

By foot, hours.

Not a trek for the faint of heart.

When Pierre, our adorable French bed and breakfast provider, waved his hand in dismissal and said in thickly accented English, “Oh, it is easy. No problem!” I chuckled. He was a strapping twenty-something who looked as though he could jog up and down that mountain all day and not feel tired.

In our giddiness to finally be on The Way after a year of planning, praying and physical preparation, the first mile or so didn’t seem so bad. And the view was gorgeous and the weather perfect, (fog and rain had been forecast for our start day, and we were relishing clear skies and warmth), which distracted us a little from our labors.

But then the real climbing started as we broke from the paved road and headed up the livestock path. We wobbled over and around sharp rocks as we made Z patterns up the switchbacks and stopped often to catch our breaths or adjust the position of our backpacks.

Then I found myself hiding in the shade of a tree, panting and sweating, looking down on all of those pristine white farmhouses with their identical red trim. My enthusiasm plummeted. Everything I had worried about in ascending the Pyrenees was coming to fruition.

Going in afraid—

Frankly, I had been terrified of hiking over those mountains. Hadn’t even wanted to go that route to begin with. I’d wanted to start the journey in Roncesvalles, like most other pilgrims, who seemed to be saner than us. This had been Chris’s idea, and he had pushed for it. “I think it would really add to the experience,” he said. “Make it special” Or something to that effect.

Honestly, I was more than a little miffed he was interjecting his plans into myGod-directed pilgrimage. Shouldn’t Ibe the one making the route decision? Nearly everything I read about those mountains talked about them in terms of the “much-feared” Pyrenees; how deadly they could be in bad weather.

But I caved in and tried to train by walking around our 3000-foot elevation, hilly neighborhood, and in Tucson’s mountains. “Remember, Andrea,” he said. “You live in a city with some of the most rugged mountains in the world. Those Pyrenees won’t be anything compared to them!” Humph, how does he know that? I thought. He’s only seen pictures of them.

His pep talk only dampened my worry for a couple of days. I was so worried about it I had a major meltdown the day before we departed Tucson. (The stress of having to prepare to leave the country for a month, with making sure my elderly mother was provided for and calmed down, didn’t help.)

I sat on the family room couch, pounding my fists on my knees and yelling at Chris about how terrified I was of hiking over the Pyrenees, berating him for how he had pushed me to go over those Pyrenees, and screaming and wailing that I didn’t want to hike over those Pyrenees. Ever!

He’d knelt down before me, gathered my hands in his and apologized. Then he encouraged me by saying that if I didn’t want to go, and it was too rough, we could take a cab over the mountain.

Ha! Now here we were, fulfilling what I had feared: Me and my beaten up knees and nodule-sprinkled lungs weren’t going to make it.

But while you can take the athlete out of the competition, you can’t take the competition out of the athlete. I was already on this mountain and determined to fight on.

After my umpteenth stop to slow my heart rate down, we pressed on. Not long after, Chris must have had a revelation because he padded up behind and whispered in my ear: “Don’t forget your training, Mrs. Owan. You should be zigzagging up this mountain.”

Eureka!!! “You’re right!” I responded. “I’d forgotten. All of my hill work at home, zigzagging up our foothills. Thank you for reminding me!”

My giddiness returned as I shifted my backpack again and re-clasped my hiking poles.

And up I went. Crisscrossing the path, weaving around other pilgrims as I greeted them with a wide smile and hearty “Buen Camino!” (The standard Spanish “howdy do” you give other pilgrims as you pass them.)

My heart rate and breathing slowed even as I leaned heavily on my poles. The walk intensity dropped to a level just above feeling easy. And my confidence and enjoyment levels shot up.

It was then I knew that I was going to make it over those mountains.

And thank Chris for pushing for this route.

Even with all of our panting and water breaks, we maintained a rigorous pace and arrived at the Orisson refuge with plenty of time to shower, wash and hang our clothes, enjoy a hot chocolate on the deck overlooking the rolling pastoral vistas of wheat, Basque sheep, cows, and work horses and village of St. Jean, take a nap and socialize with other pilgrims before the 7:00 PM dinner.

And I didn’t forget my zigzagging the rest of the journey, even on the descents. It saved my decrepit knees from disintegrating and the pilgrimage from potentially ending in disaster.

Why zig zag?

Like a switchback trail that cuts off the slope of a mountain, making it easier to climb or ascend it, (even though it inevitably increases the mileage you walk), zigzagging across a moderate to steep path decreases the slope—and difficulty—of the trail. I even used the technique on narrow trails, zig, zag, zig, zag, zig, zag. Shorter steps. Pivot, walk, pivot, walk. And use your poles to maintain your balance and disperse even more of the load, away from your hips and knees.

Like using ski poles as you zigzag down a mountain.

I encourage you to give it try on your next hike with a tough grade. I’m here to testify that it will likely increase your hiking joy and success rate. And let me know if you notice a difference.

Until next week,

Buen Camino!

(And happy zigzagging!)

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).

Photo by Raphael Biscaldi on unsplash.com

My Camino wasn’t going to be rising before dawn and rushing through the popular 15-18-mile “stage” in order to make sure I secured a bed at the next town’s cheapest Albergue (like so many of the pilgrims on the path).

My Camino was going to be slowing down, engaging with the history, geography and spirituality. Stopping often to absorb the surroundings, architecture, history and people. Sitting in churches long enough to breathe in the Spirit of God. Trusting that God would provide a place for me to lay my head each night. Teaching myself how to live and walk in a relaxed manner.

Preparing for your day—

When you’re preparing to leave one place you know you won’t be returning to and walking 5 – 15 miles to another location, you plan carefully. You spend some time thinking about what you’re going to wear, how you’re going to pack, in case the weather changes and you need to shed a jacket or get to your rain gear and poncho in a hurry. If you happen to leave something back at the place you slept, you think long and hard about whether you really need it. About whether or not you can buy a replacement in the next tiny village you sleep in.

You get into a rhythm, and you realize quickly just what you need to have and what you can live without. Hopefully you’ve done some serious thinking about this before you’ve arrived to start the walk. Unless you’ve decided to splurge and have a carrier service cart your bag from sleeping town to sleeping town, carrying an extra 2 or three pounds of unnecessary gear in your backpack can be physically and mentally debilitating.

At first it’s a little frustrating and disarming: Where do I keep my pilgrim credentials so I can access them easily to give to the person checking me in at the albergue? Where’s the best place in my backpack to keep my reading glasses so I can access them in a hurry? My sunglasses if the clouds should part? My first aid kit? (Just in case your or another pilgrim needs some care.) A special place for the precious handmade journal my son gave me and insisted I take along. The one I’d weep buckets of tears over if it got wet or lost.

It takes your brain some time to process, the fact that you have to think carefully about these particulars, since you’re more accustomed to being able to jump in the car to rush back where you left something, make an additional trip to the store to buy what you forgot. But the brain is an amazing body part. It eventually learns to accommodate and think in different patterns and meet new demands.

You develop a daily rhythm:

Although this run-down may read like a tedious list, stay with me. I’ll talk about the benefits afterward.

Wake up and rise slowly, stretch the body to prepare it for the day’s walk.
Do your bathroom thing. Since the pottying and washing rooms might be separate, you need to prepare for carting your tooth supplies to a different location for preparation, and your clothes for dressing. Putting in contact lenses might require yet another locale (depending upon sink and mirror availability.)
Roll up and shrink your sleeping bag (if you had to use one) and then spread all of your bags of clothing and necessities out on your bed, to make sure everything is accounted for.
If you haven’t done so the night before, head to the clothesline to gather your clothes and give them a once-over to see if socks, shirts, undies and pants are dry enough to wear or roll up in a baggy. If not, the item will be rolled into a special bag (so as not to dampen other items) or clipped onto your backpack to dry as you walk.
Kinesiotape any body parts that need taping.
Double check the weather and temperature outside and decide on the day’s start-off clothing.
Get your hiking shirt(s) and pants on.
Prepare your feet and toes for the day, carefully put on your socks and then your shoes. (Although you may have to wait until you’re fully dressed and backpacked and headed to the front of the albergue if you’re shoes are stored in a downstairs cubby to keep the floors clean.)
Carefully pack up your backpack—sleeping bag in the very bottom, followed by bath towel and washcloth, silk sleeping bag liner, shower sandals, Ziploc bags of clothes and undies. The tiny pouches of daily contact lenses, foot care tape and pedicure supplies and the one containing general toiletries get tucked into available areas.
Then the journal and pilgrim credential (stored in waterproof bags) are slipped into the backpack and covered by the rain poncho and compressed puff jacket.
The upper pouch gets the Goretex rain jacket and pants (if the jacket isn’t being worn that day for general warmth), along with the assorted eyeglass containers (long distance sunglasses, travel-sized readers, and general long distance (for those times I’m taking a contact lens break). The sports sunglasses—in their case—get attached to the outside of my backpack’s hip pocket pouch for easy access. If I’m not wearing my sunhat that day, it gets folded up and stored in the top pouch too, for easy access. The money pouch, with the United States passport in its waterproof container, goes on top. Just in case we stop for a café con leche, banana or hunk of cheese along the way.
The outside pouch stores the Duck Back cover for my backpack (which I actually don’t need any longer since I purchased a full over-the-backpack-and-me poncho in St. Jean Pied de Pont just before setting out). It also carries my collapsible parachute bag I used for necessities like my United States of America passport and money pouch. The compact first aid get goes there, too, as well as any oranges, cheese or bananas I can squeeze into available space.
The two hip pouches contain lip cream, Euro coinage, the rosary Cory bought me in Rome, the prayer beads my dear girlfriend Judy bought me for my journey, and my hearing aids, which would cost me a small fortune to replace.
Before grabbing my coveted Pacer Poles hiking sticks, I double and triple-check for several items:
Hearing aids in the container (if they’re not in my ears, which Chris always checked for me too).
My phone, which I have only to take pictures, and in case of an emergency, should Chris and I become separated and I need to make contact with someone.
My precious leather journal and pilgrim credentials, to prove I’m on a foot-born pilgrimage and which gives me the right to bed down in an albergue.
Contact lenses
My money pouch and official passport, (which Chris always eyeballs too).
My Kinesiotape, (with which I could not walk comfortable if I were to lose).
Finally, the critical water bottles are topped off and placed in our backpack pockets.
Then the wrist sweatbands go on, followed by the Kool Tie neck wrap tied around my neck to ward off overheating and migraines, the hiking poles are grabbed, and you head out the door for another adventure, which you’ve come to realize you’re going to have. Every day.
The only jewelry I wore was a $15.00 faux pearl and diamond ring, so I didn’t have to worry about losing my real wedding ring or futzing with earrings. No watch, either. I relied on my phone, or the sunlight, for the time. And I didn’t bring any makeup. The only thing I applied to my face was sunscreen.

Not much to worry about.

Preparation time—

Because Chris and I were unhurried, this procedure took us about an hour. On days we wanted to rise early to beat the heat or walk longer distances, we managed to whittle it down to 45 minutes. Because most albergues expect you to vacate by 8:00 AM—to prepare for the next gaggle of pilgrims flooding their dormers—you’d likely have to rise earlier than you might have preferred. Especially if you’re sharing a room with pilgrims on a sprint to their next bed, who awaken you with noisy departure preparations or abrupt, dream-shattering light so they can be off.

Typed out on a word document, the process looks boring and tedious. Too methodical and repetitious. But it quickly became a comfortable ritual, one that gave consistency to our lives and only mildly jostled the brain. Each possession had a purpose and its place. Nothing useless or unnecessary. Everything we carried was meant to meet the basics of our daily needs. There was nothing but the necessaries to weigh us down. And most of it, besides the eyeglasses to see, the hearing aids to hear, the United States passport to move around Europe and get home, and the water was not critical.

Joy, and possibilities, in tedious structure—

The mundaneness had its advantages.

Since my brain had very little to be concerned about every morning, and became accustomed to the repetitive program, it was left with plenty of room to engage in the geography, the new surroundings, sights, smells, tastes and varied languages. New people and interesting conversations. All enjoyed without distractions or waste. Just as I was doing physically, my brain was relishing being able to take a breath.

I started enjoying the simplicity of carrying lightly and started pondering what I carried through life back home—what I’d picked up and carted along in my life “just in case”—that could be discarded.

There were plenty of buying opportunities, (and I had a wad of Euros in my pouch), but with so little room available, and the burden of extra weight to consider, I pondered each purchase with care and conscientious analysis. Something else I knew I needed to do more of in life.

Seriously consider the weight and substance of everything I own, everything I do, everything I buy.

It wasn’t that I was embracing a minimalistic attitude or view of life. If anything I probably found greater emotional joy than I had before in thinking about the beautiful and varied things that enrich my life and bring me happiness and satisfaction. The family heirlooms and pictures that trigger happy memories and the release of feel-good brain chemicals.

But I started asking myself some questions. Questions you may also want to ask yourself:

Introspection—

What things do I too hastily pick up and burden my heart, mind and life with? Do I carefully count the cost of carrying them before picking them up?
What belongings do I have that add nothing to my life, or, worse yet, only make it more complicated and burdensome?
What should and would I divest myself of in order to enjoy a richer, fuller life?
What should I divest myself of in order to invest in deeper, fuller relationships with family, friends and strangers?

It didn’t take long for me to start pondering those questions and soaking myself in the simple, divested life of a pilgrim. After all, I had traveled all that distance to hear what God had to teach me through the experience.

And I was determined to listen.

I’ll tell you more about that NEXT WEEK!

Until then, take some time to count the cost of your belongings and attachments?

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).

Photos by Andrea A Owan

Multi-Day Hiking Blister Prevention and Care Kit

AS YOU’RE READING this blog post, I’m either sleeping or out walking on the other side of the world. A dream and Heavenly direction that began a little over a year ago and that has involved months of study, preparation and training has arrived. And my beloved and I are on a life-changing pilgrimage. At least that’s what everyone who has experienced it says it will be, and I have no reason to doubt these friends. That’s the expectation we have.

But preparing for this hasn’t been easy. Especially in the what-to-take category. Most specifically in what to take in case of …

My background in play—

As an athletic trainer, I’m used to carrying around an arsenal of goodies to treat athletic mishaps on the spot. Whether it’s blisters, nosebleeds, dislocated fingers, broken limbs, brain-jarring concussions or spinal injuries, we’re prepared.

While the books I’ve read tell me that the countries I’ll be in really do have nice grocery stores and pharmacies, that won’t do me a lot of good if I have to hobble ten miles through a forest or pastoral farmland before reaching one. So, I aimed to be prepared. But prepared meant a small amount of items in very small sizes. Things that would fit in the portable “house” I’m carrying on my back and help aid my walking comfort and sanity.

My hiking mini-arsenal for my feet—to prevent and treat foot injuries and blisters—and why I selected these items:

Two pairs of shoes, a road/trail shoe and a strictly trail pair.

The road/trail shoes provide more support and handle the pounding my feet take on asphalt, which I will be walking on. When I hit the dirt trail, though, I’ll switch to the trail shoes. Better, more lax and forgiving structure for wobbly surfaces.

I had to make the difficult decision to forgo my Keen hiking shoes. I knew I needed to take two pairs of shoes, and the hiking boots are too heavy and too big to fit in my backpack when I’m wearing the other pair. I didn’t want them swinging back and forth on my backpack, either. These Altras are more compressible.

Hiking Poles!

As I mentioned in my last post, I wouldn’t go anywhere without my beloved hiking poles. I’m taking a pair of poles made in England, called Pacer Poles that my younger son gave me for Christmas. I like them because they help me navigate rocks and take the load off my knees, especially on descents. They’re light and the hand grip has an anatomical/ergonomic slant to it, which helps me avoid irritation to my compressed wrist nerves.

Water, Water, Water!

As far as my body and I are concerned, one can never carry enough water. I’m prone to dehydration, especially in heat, so I always need to have water available. No waiting until the next fountain makes its appearance. It reduces my chances of suffering a migraine or other effects of insufficient hydration. Even if it adds weight to my pack (and back), I’ll be loaded up.

Staying hydrated also reduces my chances of getting swollen feet.

Electrolytes

Along with the water, I’ll need to replace electrolytes lost through sweating. I’ve found the Sports Beans brand to help me immensely and perk me up. One bean every fifteen to thirty minutes.

Energy Snack

I discovered the StroopWaffle-style portable energy snack at Seattle’s REI in June, and I LOVE them. I’ll be taking the Stinger brand with me, because they still make a variety of flavors besides chocolate and caramel, including our favorite ginger flavor. They’re easy to pack and eat on the run (or hike) without too much down time or fanfare.

Kinesiotape

I’ll be taping my left ankle, several toes, left hamstring, (allowing that to hurt changes my gait and thus overloads my feet), and left outside foot area, and the ball of my right foot. My tape is a godsend to me. It will also be handy in a pinch to cover a hot spot.

Foot Glide

This is the lubricant I use to apply a light glaze to the ends of my big toes and heals and the ball of my left foot. Works great to reduce hot spots.

Double-layered socks

These socks are light enough and padded enough to be comfortable in my shoes and reduce the friction and shear forces I’ll confront over miles of walking day after day.

Sock liners

These will go on under my double-layered socks. They wick sweat away from my foot and provide an extra layer of friction and shear protection. They’re so thin that they don’t provide additional bulk that make my shoes too tight.

Spenco Second Skin Kit

This will provide me with moleskin and gel pads to patch up any blister that pops up.

Pedicure appliances

Clippers, nail file, scissors and tweezers are essential to keep my nails properly trimmed and rough and hanging skin under control.

Gold Bond Powder

I’ll use this to help keep my feet dry and medicated, especially after a shower.

Lotion

I’m taking a little Gold Bond tube to slather my feet with before bed, but it could be any brand of deep healing lotion. The lotion will keep the calluses down and manageable.

Ibuprofen

An anti-inflammatory will help in a variety of areas, not just in case of an altitude headache. If my feet get uncomfortably swollen, an anti-inflammatory will help reduce it. It will also help if I suffer a case of hiker’s vasculitis—breakdown of blood vessels under the skin and leakage of blood into the tissues. I hadn’t incurred that problem for years, but it happened one night while hiking just prior to my departure. I have to be careful with anti-inflammatories, though. I was prescribed way too many of them when I was competing, which left my stomach damaged. They can cause internal bleeding and blood thinning, so I tread carefully when using them. Fortunately a little for me goes a long way.

First Aid Kit

The little kit will provide me with some antiseptic, more ibuprofen, tape and gauze. Little emergency essentials. I can order refills for this bag.

Emergency reflective blanket

This might not help for my feet, but it will come in handy if one of us gets injured and needs some warmth. Always an essential because you never know what’s going to happen.

Emergency ice pack

This is the kind you squeeze to activate. It’s a chemical-based, one-type use bag. Good for injuries, swelling and reducing swelling around insect bites. It might come in handy for foot and toe hot spots too.

And, finally,

Gaiters—

These will help keep grit, pebbles and dirt out of my shoes and socks. When worn with my rain pants, they’ll also help keep water out of my shoes. While they’re not specifically made to repel rain, they will slow it down.

That’s a wrap! (No intended.)

That’s my care package. See anything you use or think you’d do well to try out?

I’ll let you know how successful I was at selecting my items when I return!

WORKOUT WEDNESDAYS will be on hiatus until October 19. I’ll give you a foot and blister care wrap-up and then head into eating and diet strategy for brain care and aging. I’ll be sharing some great information I’ll be learning at an October 9 conference.

Until then, choose your first aid kid treatment and prevention kit and supplies carefully to keep your feet in shape to keep trekking!

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).

Photo by Andrea A Owan

Knowing Your Socks—Materials Matter

Ever spend much time considering the socks you wear, especially the ones you put on for exercise walking, running or hiking? If not, you should. They’re critical to your foot health and exercise enjoyment. And the all-important blister prevention.

4 Basic Functions of Socks—

Socks do have some important functions, besides just keeping your feet warm and comfy, and maybe adding extra padding. The functions are:

Protection

Warmth

Cushioning

Absorbing or wicking moisture from the feet

While you may head to the ubiquitous white, six-pack tube socks for every need, those might not be the best choice for your feet or your activity. A shapeless cotton sock may be more harmful than helpful.

There’s much to consider when selecting a sock, something I’m really just beginning to appreciate.

My experience—

Growing up in Hawaii, socks were not a go-to wardrobe item. At least not often. Open-toed shoes and slippers were clothing staples, and Keds for physical education classes were the norm, which were often worn sans socks. And as a gymnast, bare feet or little white Peds anchored on the feet and ankles by elastic were the norm. I spent hours stitching quarter-inch elastic in crisscross fashion on my peds; and when they got holes in the balls of the feet, I’d use those as top layers to two or three (or more) bottom layers. Even back then, I wanted as much padding as I could get on my feet. Having all that cushion also helped when I ground my socks in resin to keep my feet well-anchored to the balance beam.

But what’s available now is light years away from what you could find on the shelves several decades ago.

Sock materials and construction—

Cotton. Silk. Spandex. Nylon. Wool. Blends. A ton of choices. What works for someone else may not work for you. What works for one type of activity and shoe may not work for others.

Dense weaves provide more cushion and often more warmth, which may not be ideal if you’re out running or hiking in hot temperatures. Double layers of socks (as I used to wear as a gymnast) provide cushion and the added benefit of reducing friction, critical to longer days of walking or hiking. (Can anyway say blister prevention?!)

Different benefits from different materials—

Let’s look at the benefits and drawbacks of each type of material, so you can get an idea what you might want or need.

Cotton—While these might be your first and cheapest selection, it is probably best to avoid them. Cotton socks, especially 100% cotton, provide no moisture wicking, so when you sweat, your feet are more likely to get wet, possibly cold, and blistered.

Cotton blends—Anything containing cotton plus spandex, rayon, acrylic, or nylon provides some stretch, better conforming to the foot, and some advantages over the 100% cotton models.

Silk—Once a man and woman’s staple, and primary choice, silk socks are now most often used as liners. I have a pair of silk liners I LOVE! I wear them between my wool hiking socks and boots. They reduce friction and have the added benefit of allowing me to slide my thick hiking socks on without much effort. I also wear them between my ski socks and ski boots. Very comfy! I have to replace them, though; I’ve worn them so much they have runs in them. Can’t bring myself to toss them out!

Wool—The advantages of wool are that it usually provides more cushioning, definitely provides more warmth, and wicks moisture away from your sweaty foot. But it’s also a comfortable sock to wear in the heat.

Wool blends—Again, comfortable in temperature extremes. They can also be soft and long lasting.

Fleece socks—Fleece is soft and warm and dries faster than wool. Fleece socks can be baggy, though. I like to wear fleece as ankle warmers—they roll down around the ankle and keep me warm.

Synthetic blends—The majority of synthetic sock materials are blended with cotton, nylon, spandex, or acrylic. They can offer protection against a wide range of problems, such as moisture-driven blisters, friction hot spots, and droopy socks that just don’t want to stay up. Many are moisture wicking, which is great for reducing blisters. Some have good insulation properties to keep you warm (such as ski socks). You can find them in single or double layer (now my favorite type of sock to wear).

Check your drawers—

Pull out all of your socks. What kind of blend do you have the most pairs of? Can you remember why you bought the socks? (They were cute and stylish? On sale? Cheap?)

Ask yourself what kind of activities you do on a regular basis. What kinds of needs you, and your feet, have for socks. What your budget is. (Try not to skimp in the sock department.)

Go window shopping—

Go to your department store and look around to see what they carry. Inspect the package to see what the material content is.

Head to your local outdoor activity or shoe store, particularly the stores specializing in walking or running, to see what they carry. Get with the professional staff at these stores to see what they recommend, what they wear when they’re out for a day hike.

Change your shopping approach—

It may be time for you to start being a little more need-based than utilitarian in your approach to buying and wearing socks!

NEXT WEEK: We’ll look at the different kinds of socks available for exercise.

Until then,

take care of your feet!

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).

Replacing Those Beloved Hiking, Running and Walking Shoes

Don’t you just hate it when you have to toss a pair of shoes you adore? You know, the ones you worked to break in, mold to your feet, and put some memorable miles on?

That’s what I’m going through right now. Giving up beloved hiking, road and trail shoes that have seen too many miles, too many trails, and too much asphalt and rocks to provide the support and comfort I need.

Out with the old—

It started by my having to say goodbye to the KEEN hiking boots I purchased in the summer of 2013 to hike part of the Kalalau trail on Hawaii’s island of Kauai, listed as one of the top 10 most dangerous hikes in the United States. Even though I wasn’t a big hiker at the time, I put this on my bucket list, for several reasons.

1) I wanted to get an up-close and personal look at the lush, dramatic Na Pali Coast, which is only accessible on foot or from a boat. I got tired of seeing it from Steven Spielberg’s aerial shots in all of the Jurassic Park movies. I wanted to walk where the T-Rex roamed.

2) I wanted to relive my childhood and take my husband and sons back into a Hawaii valley to get up close to some towering cliffs, experience the thrill of diving into a Hawaii waterfall pool, and swim behind a cascading waterfall. (Even though a lot of people paddle around directly under the falls, you really want to avoid doing that. Rocks from above can dislodge and crash into the water. And all of that gushing water can really pound your head.)

3) I really wanted to see if I had what it takes to make that kind of trek. Although we only went in and back 5 miles, (rather than the full 11 miles in and the 11 miles out), the return trip was grueling.

My hiking boots did me well on the Kalalau Trail! Crossed streams four times and got me safely (and comfortably) up and back. (At least the feet were comfortable. My knees ended up being an entirely different story on the grueling hike back out.) The boots have since carried me around the White Mountains of Arizona and the 9,000-foot mountain forty-five minutes north of our home here in Tucson, Arizona.

But I’m five years older, and in the last couple of years I’ve gained weight, which has caused my feet to fatten up and widen (a nasty side-effect of both gaining weight and growing old). Plus I have a left big toe injury that now makes those shoes too tight and miserable. Darn. I really love those shoes! (I love them and the memories I had wearing them so much that I’m going to use them as nostalgia décor in our mountain cabin!)

Bring on the New Hiking Shoes—

So, last summer I went hunting for some new hiking boots and bought a new pair of KEEN’s. More flexible, wider toe box and a half-size larger, so my feet can spread out and swell without being bound up in the boot, and screaming at me by day’s end.

And now those are eking to the end of their life too. Hiking the hard trails around here, the Cascades, and the Olympic Peninsula has worn them out. (In the last year I’ve become an enthusiastic hiker.) I need some boots that’ll go the distance for me on my upcoming pilgrimage.

Darn! So I went down to REI again and bought yet another new pair of KEEN boots. (I wanted another pair of last year’s model, but REI no longer carried them. The nice sales guy did some research and directed me to KEEN’s website to purchase the old model, if I want.) But I picked up a pair of the new model from him and am about to break those in. (They’re still lounging in the box.)

The same thing happened to my hot pink Altra trail shoes. My avid hiker son warned me the special nubby soles would get torn down tramping around on asphalt with them, but they were SO comfortable I couldn’t help myself. They got replaced by a brand new pair of Altra hot pinkies several months ago, and I’ve worn those once. (The old ones are now garden shoes.)

And the Altra road shoes I bought last month have already taken a beating. Daily road or treadmill mileage to prepare for the pilgrimage have worn down the toe treads so much I think I might need to replace those earlier than expected. It probably hasn’t helped those shoes that I’ve walked on both blacktop and gravel with them. Different surfaces require different treads.

Needing to make a decision—

The pilgrimage has a combination of surfaces, so I need to plan accordingly. But it’s going to be a tough call. I want to take two pairs of shoes—one hiking and one trail—but that means a lot of extra bulk and weight in my backpack that I can’t afford.

Breaking them in properly (and saving your feet)—

When breaking new shoes in, tread carefully (pun intended). You shouldn’t just thrust your foot in, lace them up and put in the same kind of daily mileage you did on your broken-in pair. It’s like getting used to contacts. The first day you have them in your eyeballs a couple of hours and then the next day work up one hour more. You continue doing that until you’ve reached your eight hours a day or more limit.

Same with shoes.

Insole savvy—

And one of the REI sales guys gave me a good tip. When breaking in your new shoes, he said to remove your insoles from your old pair and put them in the new shoes. Evidently it helps your foot accommodate better. I’m going to give it a go with the new Keens and let you know how it works.

And by the way, another way to breathe new life into your old shoes is by buying new, cushier insoles to put in them. That could give your shoes some additional mileage and your feet the relief they need until you can swing for (or find) that new pair!

Share your story!

Have any good hiking or walking shoes stories? I’d love to hear them! Just drop a comment on the “Leave a comment” page to share them with us.

More on the Kalalau Trail—

The Kalalau Trail is currently closed due to flood damage, with reports that it will be closed for at least a year, but you can read more about the famous, breathtaking trail here.

Find some great Kalalau Trail maps and trail info here.

NEXT WEEK: Keeping your precious feet in shape for going the extra mile on that trail or path!

Until then,

Have fun breaking in those shoes!

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).

Kalalau Trail picture by kalalautrail.com