Date: 2006-09-02
To: Dawn of the Post-Hygienic Era
Miles today: 0.0

I¢ve become obsessed with my feet¢¦I realized this when I went out for drinks with a friend last night and ended up discussing the merits of foot beds for close to twenty minutes, a conversation that seemed to be titillating only to myself. I¢ve begun observing the subtle nuances of my feet in the way a serious horseplayer monitors the numbers in the daily racing form. After my recent section hike, I saw the toenails on my big toes take on a rosy black hue. I notice that when I miss a couple weeks of hiking, the calluses on my feet begin to peel off in delightfully grotesque strips. I had my last pedicure in early June and gave up on the practice after I realized that it made my feet feel tender on a hike the following weekend. I¢ve developed a sort of pride in the fact that my feet now resemble those of Pan (who, for those of you not in the know, has hairy cloven hooves) though I do have to admit that the end of sandal season in the city leaves me sighing with relief. I went into EMS to buy Keens this summer and was mortified when the salesperson (the same skinny bespectacled guy whom I¢ve had a crush on for over a year and who manages to talk me into buying the stupidest crap which is then relegated to a box in the closet¢¦call it my hiker chick tribute to unrequited love) attempted to help me try them on. I recoiled in horror, shielding my beastly calloused hooves from his sight. I¢ve now vowed to not show a man my feet until at least the third date. I just bought a new pair of hiking shoes today¢a pair of New Balance 907s. I hiked a bit in NB running shoes last year and liked them an awful lot until they fell apart after a shamefully small amount of mileage (they were sort of sad and worn to begin with). My shiny new 907s are ugly as sin and, in my experience, the uglier the shoes, the better they function. If this theory holds true, these will be the best pair yet. They look less crunchy and more urban and space-age, sporting a logo that makes them resemble small government aircraft or Soviet factory equipment. They fit super well though and, I swear, give off a faint comic book BOING-SWOOSH sound each time I step off the ground. This¢ll be the fifth pair of hiking shoes I¢ve used this year including the failed experiment with Keens (which, as well as ruining my romantic prospects with the EMS guy, failed to cut it on 15-20 mile days). Who knew that hiking would turn me into such a shoe head? I can no longer jeer at my friends for having 20 or more pairs of heels in their closets. At least their shoes are relatively fragrant while my motley collection draws stray dogs, rats, and other vermin to swoon under the opened apartment window near my closet. So what did I learn this summer aside from nurturing my sick quasi self-directed foot fetish? I learned to revel in my own filth. I went two, three, four¢¦and more days without showering. Becoming filthy has become a feverishly practiced past time for me. I anticipate the dirt of the trail as much as seeing rattlers or pretty sunsets. I¢ve learned to love my own stink and a feeling of total self-acceptance is not far behind, I¢m sure. I especially enjoy getting onto the commuter train after a long sweaty hike and assaulting the senses of the decent family folk attempting a civil day trip to the city. One day, a particularly snobbish mother daughter combo were glaring at me and went so far as to make a rude comment under their breath about my foul state (sticks in hair, salt stains on shirt). I was compelled to sit as close to them as possible, right behind them in fact, to better spread the olfactory love. Since then, I¢ve vowed to use my olfactory assaults for good rather than evil, delighting the sensitive noses of dogs and helping to neutralize the nauseatingly artificial smell of perfume and cologne on the train. In learning to love my stink, I¢ve become a connoisseur of putrid hiker smells. There¢s the subtle cheese and mildew smell of hikers after multiple days of rain, the un-bathed infant smell (much like an well-worn hat in need of laundering) which results from low humidity and sunshine, and, my personal favorite, the pungent aroma resulting from many small elevation changes on a 90 degree day. Of course, all good things must come to an end and after each hiking trip I spend a long time luxuriating in a hot shower, watching small brown rivers of filth trickle down the drain. For some reason, when I emerge out of a post-hike shower, I feel that something is amiss or missing; as if I¢ve lost my dear hiking companion, The Stench. But it consoles me to think that The Stench will always return after 50 miles, a few rain showers, and the failure to change my shirt. I would wager that I¢ve logged at least a couple hundred miles on the AT in the past two months (I know, it¢s a mere drop in the mileage bucket compared to what I hope to be doing this time next year), thanks to a number of long weekends and a section hike between Great Barrington, MA and Pawling, NY. It feels good to be on the trail rather than at the gym (and I think it baffles the gym personnel that, after a multi-day absence from the weight room, I re-appear in even better shape than when they last saw me). I¢ve seen a calendar year of hiking go by since I first decided to join the class of 2007, hiking at least a few days every month since then. I¢ve hiked in snow, during flood warnings, on obscenely hot days, and in every condition in between and, you know, I almost feel ready to give this thru-hiking business a try.