Beautiful Feet

Sweaty, filthy, and sometimes frozen. 

What? I titled this "Beautiful" didn't I?

After mowing my grandma's lawn this morning I trotted inside to clean up. At first when I took of my old holey mowing shoes I was ecstatic to see tan lines at my ankles; but then I remembered, this is me we are talking about and I'm in dusty Texas. Unfortunately, in dusty Texas (I prefer to blame my location and not my genetic reality) sunburns are the norm and if I think I have a tan I should probably rinse off to find that it is just deceiving dust and grime... 

Where was I? 

Oh yeah, beautiful feet. As I cleaned up and rinsed the supposed tan from my legs and scrubbed the soles of my feet, got the dirt from under my nails and the grime from between my toes I realized that feet go through quite a lot. Right now they are tucked in a soft pair of socks, nudged into a pair of comfy tennies. But when I think about it, each of the little piggies (in case your parents never played "this little piggie", I'm talking about toes) on my feet have been to a number of places, both level and un-level grounds, in and on land, here and abroad.

These feet were made for working, and walking, and kicking, and dancing.  These size 10 flats have earned me medals in Taipei, Taiwan twice and bronze medals in Lisbon, Portugal.  These babies have trudged the damp miserable streets of Mariupol, Ukraine to play with orphaned children at Christmas time and helped build bathhouses in Ivankiv, Ukraine for local children desiring a summer camp experience.  They've walked hours in South Dallas just to catch a bus to catch a train to get to a grocery store to purchase groceries with my $21 food allowance challenge in a food desert. They have outrun snakes in my backyard, vicious wasps that I may have accidentally disturbed, and dogs that for whatever reason don't appreciate my smile.  Oh what wonders these muscular beauties have beheld as they've danced and tapped to modern songs during my formative years and spent hours kicking and turning in pools around the country. They've walked (and tripped on) the shores of beaches in Australia, Antigua, California, and south Texas. Through sunshine, bugs, rain and mud they have pedaled miles along the bike trails of Wisconsin and found rest as we stopped our exercise for ice cream.  These feet, these glorious appendages at the bottom of my body, these two crazy pieces of flesh and bone and muscle, have spent hours every day in flip flops, tennis shoes, flats, and on one occasion that I can recall- high heels.  These incredible works of art have carried me around the world and back again and enjoyed the pleasure of warmth in boots, "tan lines" in flip flops, and comfort in tennis shoes. My mother would like me to also add that they've spent way too much time in flats.

I don't understand why she hates on flats so much.

Whether my little piggies are frozen and numb from an afternoon of sledding and walking up hills on my Christmas breaks spent back home, or cramping from lots of kicking drills in swimming, or filthy from push mowing my grandmother's yard, I think frozen,cramped, and dirty are the mark of feet well used. That is what makes them beautiful.

I do need to clarify though- beautiful does not imply pleasantly smelling. These poor feet have also prompted the question “who farted?” from my friend’s parents during long barefooted car rides. For this reason, I am sitting and typing my entry right now in a Starbucks with my feet concealed for the sake of the baristas who occasionally prepare my teas "on the house".

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