One foot in the grave
May. 12th, 2008 09:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ventaI have hurty feet. Does anyone have any advice ?
I've always had problematic feet. As a child I had very narrow feet, and congenitally deformed toes. The trip to buy 'new school shoes' was never a case of which shoes would I like, but a case of were there any shoes which fit.
This meant I grew up with a healthy respect for feet, and for well-fitting shoes. I genuinely admire people who can totter round in painfully-pinching boots all evening, but I want no part of it. If it ain't comfy, I ain't wearing it. These days I also need orthotics[*] in my shoes, so I mostly wear clumpy boots or trainers.
However, last week I spent an unexpected amount of time (a) on my feet and (b) in smart shoes. My smart shoes are woefully sensible, and don't have significant heels. They do, however, have some heel. My feet were protesting bitterly by the end of the week, having found the resulting angle not at all to their taste.
I then took my feet to Wales, to a little International Folk Festival, and made them dance all weekend. The venue, Tredegar House, has an interesting past - mostly due to its colourful inhabitants. It was the home of Capt. William Morgan, the privateer of rum fame. The 2nd Viscount Tredegar was also quite exciting. Apparently his mother built ornamental birds' nests, before taking a house in London and building a nest large enough for herself to sit in. She then got a local goldsmith to make her a wonderful gold beak, and used to retire to the nest to brood eggs. No wonder her son came out a little odd. His second marriage began with a 3 month honeymoon on board his father's yacht - a boat so large it needed a fantastic number of sailors to crew it. Apparently he and his bride emerged from the yacht no longer on speaking terms, largely due to the, er, friendly relations the Viscount enjoyed with the sailors throughout the honeymoon. Tredegar House was also the location for the shooting of next week's Doctor Who.
Anyway, I made my feet dance. Mostly on concrete. The style of dancing means that I have mostly been standing on the balls of my feet, heels raised - at about the same angle as I would wearing small heels. This morning I have received a strongly worded petition from my feet. If I don't desist, there will be a walk-out.
I've been pottering about barefooted since I stopped dancing yesterday (to the horror of many people, as I walked across gravel paths) and I intend to boycott shoes where possible. However, I've just got no idea what I can do to make my feet happier. The joints where my toes join my foot just feel achey and overused and I have no idea how one tackles this.
[*] custom-shaped rigid insoles, which in my case correct the fact that my kneecaps point inwards. Yes, I'm flat-footed and knock-kneed. How sexy :)
I've always had problematic feet. As a child I had very narrow feet, and congenitally deformed toes. The trip to buy 'new school shoes' was never a case of which shoes would I like, but a case of were there any shoes which fit.
This meant I grew up with a healthy respect for feet, and for well-fitting shoes. I genuinely admire people who can totter round in painfully-pinching boots all evening, but I want no part of it. If it ain't comfy, I ain't wearing it. These days I also need orthotics[*] in my shoes, so I mostly wear clumpy boots or trainers.
However, last week I spent an unexpected amount of time (a) on my feet and (b) in smart shoes. My smart shoes are woefully sensible, and don't have significant heels. They do, however, have some heel. My feet were protesting bitterly by the end of the week, having found the resulting angle not at all to their taste.
I then took my feet to Wales, to a little International Folk Festival, and made them dance all weekend. The venue, Tredegar House, has an interesting past - mostly due to its colourful inhabitants. It was the home of Capt. William Morgan, the privateer of rum fame. The 2nd Viscount Tredegar was also quite exciting. Apparently his mother built ornamental birds' nests, before taking a house in London and building a nest large enough for herself to sit in. She then got a local goldsmith to make her a wonderful gold beak, and used to retire to the nest to brood eggs. No wonder her son came out a little odd. His second marriage began with a 3 month honeymoon on board his father's yacht - a boat so large it needed a fantastic number of sailors to crew it. Apparently he and his bride emerged from the yacht no longer on speaking terms, largely due to the, er, friendly relations the Viscount enjoyed with the sailors throughout the honeymoon. Tredegar House was also the location for the shooting of next week's Doctor Who.
Anyway, I made my feet dance. Mostly on concrete. The style of dancing means that I have mostly been standing on the balls of my feet, heels raised - at about the same angle as I would wearing small heels. This morning I have received a strongly worded petition from my feet. If I don't desist, there will be a walk-out.
I've been pottering about barefooted since I stopped dancing yesterday (to the horror of many people, as I walked across gravel paths) and I intend to boycott shoes where possible. However, I've just got no idea what I can do to make my feet happier. The joints where my toes join my foot just feel achey and overused and I have no idea how one tackles this.
[*] custom-shaped rigid insoles, which in my case correct the fact that my kneecaps point inwards. Yes, I'm flat-footed and knock-kneed. How sexy :)
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no subject
Date: 2008-05-12 12:44 pm (UTC)Thank you for your kind suggestion. We have reviewed it and decided not to pursue that course of action.
Yours sincerely,
Venta's Feet.