He was crotchety that day. “What about my feet?”, he grumbled. “They hurt sometimes. And besides that, look at where they’re at… way down there at the bottom of my legs. Can’t hardly get at ‘em down there.” Which reminds me, you know what’s on them feet? Shoelaces. What’s with that? Shoelaces? I hate shoelaces. What a pain. Aren’t shoelaces left over from the middle ages or something? Them and buttonhooks, for Pete’s sake. But don’t go tellin’ me to use velcro instead of shoelaces. Velcro? Velcro my butt. Velcro is for disposable diapers. And I made a vow a long, long time ago to never go anywhere near disposable diapers ever again. I even divert myself when I discover (much to my chagrin) that I am actually going down the diaper aisle in the grocery store. I think I’d rather go down the cosmetic aisle, and I’m actually not too keen on that, either. But the damn toothpaste is down there somewhere. What in the heck is toothpaste doing in the cosmetic aisle, anyway? I suppose it’s that whitener, brightener stuff in it. Does that make it “cosmetic”? It’s probably just white paint for all I know. Smear that stuff all over your chompers and you’ll have a smile you can be proud of, no doubt about it. But I’ll tell ya what you can do with that gleaming smile…take it over there up the diaper aisle, that’s what. Smile your way up that. In the meantime, though, I’d like to sit my sorry backside down. My feet hurt. Which reminds me, why don’t they have benches along the grocery aisles? They’d be used, I guarantee it. You could have a plaque on each one… “This bench is donated in loving memory of Samuel Wiseacre. “Sit here for a while and ponder your choice of pickles. As Samuel was doing the day he left us.” Pondering pickles, at least, would divert your mind from your sore feet. Did you know they have 53 different kinds of pickles? I counted ‘em. They even have these little gherkin things imported from Germany. Spicey dill, they say. I bet. I wonder how those babies would interact with some of that whitening toothpaste?… Even being crotchety, his mind wandering hither and yon, I can’t help but smile. He does have a point or two. Maybe not about diapers or toothpaste, but certainly about sore feet. Lots of us have sore feet, at least occasionally.

What’s up with that? And I do, as he reminds me constantly, write stories for a semi-healthrelated newspaper… “Why don’t you write about sore feet?” Get on it. I don’t think, however, that the solution has a whole lot to do with benches in the grocery store. But I‘ll keep an open mind. My starting point for talking feet has to be my buddy, Stan, over at Heart and Sole Sports. He’s the owner of the premier running shoe store in New Mexico. Maybe even in the entire southwest. He lives and breathes feet. (That doesn’t sound quite right, does it?) “Funny you should bring that up,” he said to me. Sore feet, that is. “Come here and look at this.” What he showed me, proudly, looked to be a rubber or plastic insert to go in your shoe. “Stan, buddy,” I said. “I already have an insert in my shoes.” It’s one of his, as a matter of fact. It’s a plastic arch support that I’ve been using religiously for many years when I play soccer. He recommended it to me back in about 2006 or so when I was experiencing hip pain. It was in my left hip and was evidently from my soccer playing… I was continually planting on my left foot for punting and kicking. He suggested his arch support inserts that he had designed in conjunction with a local podiatrist. I used ‘em. They solved my problem. I’ve been a believer ever since. “These,” he said, showing me the new devices, “are not inserts. They are insoles. They are designed and built to cushion, as well as support, your feet. The way they should be cushioned and supported.” Here, take off your shoe. What size is that anyway? About an 11? He was pulling one of the new devices down from the rack while I was dutifully removing one of my brand name running shoes. Look at this insole, he said, pulling it out of my shoe. This is what they come with. All of them. This thin little flimsy insole. It amazes me. You pay a bunch of money for a pair of shoes and they come with this cheap insole that costs about a quarter to make. There’s no cushioning. No support. Nothing. I put his insoles into my shoes, replacing the paper thin things that were there. I stood and took a few tentative steps around as he watched me and my feet expectantly. I felt like I was supposed to swoon or something.

A Duke City Fit Production In Conjunction with The Center for Gait and Motion Analysis My Feet , My Feet A Kingdom for My Feet James “Bone” Dexter & Stan “Heart n Sole” Hockerson