Hiking with the Feet I've Got

            Last weekend I hiked a new trail that ends, or in my case, begins, just up the mountain from my house. It follows an old mining ditch that contours for miles around the mountains, so the walking is level.

  I walked 14 1/2 miles along that ditch. When I came home, my feet were aching

            My feet had reason to ache. They have a number of problems.

            Problem #1: hallux rigidus: rigid big toe. The big toes don't bend.

           My brother, who also has hallux rigidus, had the surgery that is supposed to fix it, which fuses the bones of the big toe so it doesn't even try to bend any more. The success of the surgery was dubious. I'm not even considering it. My sister told me to stand with my toes on a piece of paper every day, gradually increasing the number of sheets of paper till my toes bend. Never mind that. I used to hang my feet over the end of the bed while I slept because they couldn't stand the slightest pressure, but gradually, over the years, the pain has diminished. I think the bones of my toes have fused on their own. Downhill hiking is still hard, and so is just walking for hours, as I found out on the Layton Ditch trail last weekend. But years ago I told myself that I would stop hiking when the pain was greater than the pleasure. I'm still hiking.

            Problem #2: On the right foot, Morton's neuroma – a sort of pinched nerve on the ball of the foot between the third and fourth toes that feels like walking with a pebble in my foot. On backpacking trips, when I start on a trail first thing in the morning, the pain level is about an 8 on a scale of 10. I tell myself that if I can just put up with it for half an hour, it'll stop hurting. As I walk I remind myself: "It's about a 6 now. Now it's at level 4. Pretty soon it'll be at level 2, and I'll be able to forget about it." It takes half an hour to work that pebble out of my foot.

            Problem #3: On the left foot, a bone spur. This causes the worst pain of all. It splinters with pain, like glass shattering. When that happens I have to stop immediately and take off my boot. Then I stand by the side of the trail, one shoe off and one shoe on, resting my foot like a horse resting with one uplifted leg, until, after a minute or two, the pain abates. Then I put the boot back on and continue my walk without pain – if the Morton's neuroma isn't placing that pebble in my foot and if my boots aren't irritating the hallux rigidus and if my feet aren't getting pounded on a steep descent. And if my bunions aren't hurting, either.

            Buying shoes is a nightmare. Shoes that fit in the toe are too big in the heel and give me blisters. If they fit in the heel, the unbendable big toes won't even go into the shoe. A shoe saleswoman at REI showed me how to tie my boots differently, to take pressure off the toes. 

I tie my boots as tightly as possible around the ankles, but to tie them too tightly worsens the hallux rigidus. It's a balancing act: tight enough but not too tight. I often have to stop and retie my boots. 

            It's a wonder I can hike at all. Hiking poles help. That I can ski is even more of a wonder. I have found ski boots I can wear, but in order for the toes to fit, the boots are slightly too big. In certain conditions that poor fit makes skiing difficult, if not dangerous. Traversing an icy slope, for instance, when the technique is to jam the metal edge of the uphill ski into the ice, step by step, I can force the ski into the ice as hard as I want, but then my foot slips in my boot, towards the downhill side, bringing the ski with it. It's not poor skiing technique. It's the condition of the feet. There is nothing to do but keep stepping and slipping all the way across the slope.

            The pain from the hallux rigidus, Morton's neuroma, and the bone spur is easier to deal with when I'm hiking. I can stop and take off my boots and rest my feet. Or I can always go barefooted.