“My feeeeet hurt.”
Brian has traveled tens (and tens) of thousands of miles with me. A few of those miles have been on ancient cobblestone streets and modern concrete sidewalks. And marble palace floors. And museum floors. And a few thousand stairs.
He gets quite weary of my incessant moaning about my feet. No wearier than I am of the pain itself though. It becomes debilitating after only a couple hours. This in unfortunate indeed because when we travel we spend, generally, entire days on our feet.
Last year before we went to Italy I finally went to a podiatrist. Turns out I have plantar fasciitis (PLAN-tur fas-e-I-tis). The medical definition for this term: my feet hurt when I walk. I’ve tried lots of shoes and a prescription insert since. The doctor said tennis shoes are the best. Those of you who know me know I’m not much of a tennis shoe wearer. He also said shoes with a slight heel are good. Something about stretching the something.
I haven’t had much luck. No matter how good the shoe, after a few hours pounding the pavement in London or Paris, it’s back to my old refrain and I’m looking for a place to sit and rest my feet.
It’s extra challenging looking for shoes for our next trip. It’s summertime so I can’t slide the inserts into my shoes. We’re packing for sightseeing days and dressy nights on the ship. And I’m trying to fit it all into one carry-on sized suitcase. Brian has the unreasonable rule that if I want to wear it, I have to carry it. Oh, and I don’t want my shoes to announce that I’m a tourist. I cringe to recall my backpacker Timberland sandals of our first trip.
I think I’ve done pretty well with the selection I made this weekend. The Born “Marin” sandals are super comfortable, have a slight heel, go with a wide variety of clothes, and are pretty darn cute for travel shoes.
I wore them on a city walk today at lunch with no trouble. The next test will be our 2.5 mile walking loop at Cherokee Park. The true test will be after our first day in Rome come next month when we see if I’m crying to Brian or ready to slip on my Pradas to go to dinner.