How to maximize minimal shoes

I SPENT THREE months getting my feet ready to hike 6½ miles with 1,900 or so feet in elevation.

For 12 weeks, every day, I stretched my feet using a half-dome roller or squishy balls. I walked barefoot over rocks outside my house to get my feet accustomed to uneven surfaces. I wore minimal shoes, groaning occasionally over long stretches of concrete in South Lake Union.

I had a goal to hike in minimal shoes. Despite years of teaching yoga while barefoot, I learned while reading Katy Bowman’s book “Whole Body Barefoot” that I had stifled my feet from developing real strength and flexibility over a lifetime of wearing tight, stiff-soled shoes, often with heels, and walking continuously on flat surfaces. Everyone’s feet are capable of flexing in many directions to adapt to natural terrain, but most of us rarely challenge our feet to their full capacity. Instead, our feet are adapted to a flat, hard world. To hike in minimal shoes, I needed to train my feet.

I picked up a pair of minimal trail runners, and walked first in my neighborhood, marveling at how I could feel every crack in the sidewalk. I wore flat shoes every day. I eased my way into hiking by carrying my regular trail runners with their cushioned bottoms and slightly elevated heel, and putting them on after a couple of miles when my feet got tired in the minimal shoes.

By the time I headed out to Oyster Dome off Chuckanut Drive, I was a little nervous, and also determined. I didn’t bring my backup shoes, and I wasn’t sure my feet were totally ready. The hike had the potential to be quite painful.

On the trail, which immediately starts with steep switchbacks, I didn’t notice my feet for quite some time, though that might be because I was immersed in conversation with my husband (apologies to bystanders if I was a little shouty while breathing heavily on the way up).

I did pay attention to walking heel-first to challenge my Achilles tendons and get more mobility. I could feel sensation, though it wasn’t unpleasant. A note for those considering this transition: You will hike more slowly. Possibly a lot more slowly. When you can feel every rock and root under your feet, without any cushioned sole, your body needs more time to adjust to every step, in a good way.

I occasionally had to skirt sharper rocks, but otherwise made it to the top without much foot fuss. I felt triumphant. My feet felt good, and I was proud of their strength.

Coming down, however, was less jubilant. I was slow, as expected. I often have some knee pain when wearing sturdy hiking boots, and it still showed up at the tail end of the hike, despite my effort to strengthen my feet and ankles (and subsequently my knees and hips). My minimal trail runners already had forced me to walk softly down the trail, navigating sharp rocks more carefully once my feet were tiring. I slowed down even more, but it didn’t alleviate the pain completely. I descended without limping, and that felt like a win.

Now that I have gotten my feet this strong and made it through a substantive hike in minimal shoes, I plan to keep doing it. I know the next hike will feel even better. I love how strong my feet feel. Stretching is second nature now. I feel like my knee issues will subside with more work. More than anything, I love having strong feet capable of taking on new physical challenges and hiking without support.