It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Last of Times...

Name:  Feet
Age: 23 Years Old

Size: 11.5ish
General Interests:  Walking around, running, jumping, stinking, not getting cut by stuff, not being forced into shoes, massages.

Personality Type: Kind of like mine. Just like mine, in fact.

Two gentlemen about to experience the wetness of the Atlantic...
...in April.

This weekend I accomplished something. I finally saw the Atlantic Ocean with my own two eyes. It turns out it looks suspiciously similar to the Pacific Ocean. I didn’t experience it personally, but apparently it was just about as wet too.

I was a little bit underwhelmed.

Still, the weekend was not a waste. It’s hard for it to be one when you go camping with 115 people on an island populated with wild ponies. I got the required sunburn, campfire smoke exposure, little-to-no-sleep, and exhaustion that often accompany camping. It’s possible that all contributed to me getting the flu as I arrived home on Sunday night. What a weekend.

It’s with the epic weekend in mind that I am bringing up a tough subject. This post will be the last of my “regular programming.” Yes, you read that right: A Reason to Put On My Shoes is going on semi-permanent hiatus.

Over the last 2-3 months, I have faithfully updated each week (even last week, though that was kind of cheating). I have enjoyed going on hikes, bike rides, and canoe trips, all with the goal of having an activity to blog about. I wanted to be able to say that I found “A Reason to Put On My Shoes.”

What happens when a wild pony comes into your campsite to eat trash.

However, over the course of time, my blog has been so successful at its intended goal that I no longer have time to keep it updated. At first, it was a new and exciting venture. Now, it is actually keeping me from participating in shoe-wearing-activities. Ironic? Yes. Tragic? Some might say so.

What a campsite of 100+ people looks like

Please, Dear Reader, I do not want you to fret. There may be updates from time to time in the future. I have enjoyed providing you with entertainment in the form of my oft ridiculous muses.  Maybe, just maybe, I was even able to help convince you to embark on similar adventures with the goal of shrugging off the shackles of boredom and inactivity, much like the reaction a fat person has when watching the Biggest Loser on TV. If I dug just one of you out of the pit of boredom and blandness that often accompany your daily lives, then this blog has become even more successful than I ever dreamt.

Charlie!!! With sand in his mouth...Classic.

Ultimately, however, the purpose has been met. I no longer play video games on Saturday afternoon. Heck, I barely play them at all. I’ve become more integrated into this not-so-great city of DC. I have friends. I have fun. I have a life. I’m putting on my shoes and taking them off with regularity.  

So, I must thank you, Dear Reader, for that which you have helped me accomplish. From the beginning I have aimed only for your entertainment. By accomplishing that, I have found a life worth living. I have found tasks worth doing.

Most importantly, I no longer lack A Reason to Put On my Shoes.  

Goodbye...for now...

These Shoes took a Break

Hello, Dear Reader. I must apologize. As I hit the magical/cursed #13 of my posts, I have done the unthinkable: I took a break. A busy week plus a chance to spend the evening with a cute girl from the South, and the sum turns out to be "I'm out of time!"

I expect that at this very moment, your body is probably beginning to become dehydrated from all the crying and weeping. You may even be "hiccoughing" violently. Fret not though, because all is not lost. Calm yourself, then remember that in my very first post, I explained that this very situation may occur. Plus, there will be a post next week, and it will be a doozy of a post...and the event itself will be a doozy as well.

So, as I sign out at 1:30 AM, I ask you: Can you really be mad at me? Disappointment is understandable, nay, even expected. But we must remember what this blog is all about: Finding a reason to put on my shoes.

That, friends, has been accomplished.

I'll see you all next week.

I Eat Adversity For Breakfast...and then I Get Indigestion.

I didn't take pictures at the DMV, but here are some from my
motorcycle safety class! Notice the manly boots.

Please forgive me if you’ve heard me talk too much about my motorcycle. To say I’m excited about owning one is a bit of an understatement. It’s not so much that I’m excited to own a motorcycle (though I am…I just don’t think I’d be talking about it nonstop), as much as I’m excited to gain freedom. Much like the feeling that a 16 year old gets when he passes the driver’s test at the DMV on his birthday (or in my case, the feeling a 17 year old gets when he finally passes his driver’s test after his 3^rd try…), I am about to finally unfold my wings and fly.

I’ve come to view DC much as an angsty 15 year old views his parents. By that, I mean I feel like DC is an oppressive regime that keeps me on a tight leash, only letting me wander as far as the Metro system reaches. There are things worth seeing beyond the borders of this city, but I only get to go when I have special permission, or a friend can give me a ride. It’s been a frustrating experience, to say the least.

This was my chariot as I learned the ropes. It was slow,
but it was quite trusty, and I passed my tests.

Everyone talks about how much they hate the DMV, but the DC DMV is renowned for being similar to the 7^th circle of Hell (“Adult language” is used in the first of those links…viewer is advised to not yell at me, and understand that the DC government oft inspires that reaction). Keeping track of all the forms has been a nightmare, the fees stand on their own as reason enough not to bring a vehicle into this city, and the requirements for each step of registration are so steep and poorly explained that it’s not uncommon to make multiple trips to accomplish a basic task.

The process of obtaining all the necessities to own and operate a motorcycle legally in this city has been akin to building a puzzle out of pieces made of the same color…in the dark. Much like the average 15 year olds’ sophomore year of High School, it has added complexity, awkward social interactions, and large servings of contact with other people’s greasy skin to my life. I want it to be over, but my experiences at the DMV will stay with me, and probably contribute to a need for counseling later in life.

The view from "The Cockpit." My Speedometer was broken.

My favorite example of this insanity is that I was at one of the three main DMV stations (yes, a city of 600,000+ people only has three “full service” DMVs). I was able to get a new license printed in the building, and I was able to take the motorcycle written test in the building. The logical conclusion is that they’d then print me a new license with a motorcycle endorsement in the same building, right??

Wrong!

Any sane person over the age of three should be able to make that leap of logic. Unfortunately, the planners of the DC DMV must have had an even more tenuous grasp on logic than your average three year old, because to get an ‘M’ on the back of my brand new ID that had been printed literally minutes before, I had to travel about 30 minutes north to a smaller servicing center, where they were able to finish the task.

It may look sunny, but that's because it was. The day
before, however, was wrought with intense rain. No fun

Despite spending 5 hours at the DMV, I have at least 2 more visits before my motorcycle is fully legal (I have temporary tags, so it’s legal for the time being).  Those will likely take a few hours as well, plus I still have a job to go to (though I won’t much longer if I keep going to the DMV and not work…).

I’m sure we’ve all gone through something we didn’t like. There are experiences in all of our lives that we wish didn’t happen. Throughout these experiences, it’s so important to remember that we can’t grow without them. 9 times out of 10, the outcome leads to something positive. This DMV experience is a perfect example of that. I have hated every minute of it, and it’s still not over. However, tonight, as I strap on that helmet, and take my beautiful new motorcycle out on the open road for the first time, all the frustration and gnashing of teeth that I dealt with over the last month will fall away faster than my hair did during my 2^nd year of college…

Positive outcomes…those motivate me to Put on My Shoes every day.

That's tough

Tenthiversary: The Past and The Future

As I begin my 10th blog post (WOOOO!!!), I’ve come upon a fundamental flaw with my blog: I’ve run out of shoes. Sure, I have a couple of crappy shoes or dress shoes which I wear for the more mundane tasks that I do on a day to day basis, and those may make an appearance yet. That being said, I either need more shoes, or more creativity for the format of this blog.

Going forward with this blog, I hope to incorporate some guest bloggers who are wearing shoes in interesting (some might even say “exciting”) locations around the world. There will be some more variety in segments that will create a sense of childlike wonder inside of your mind. Maybe I’ll even get a celebrity to talk about something interesting, but that’s still a work in progress (I cancelled Charlie Sheen’s entry since he’s so “last month.”).

Summer is going to be great. You will wish you had my life as I create entries that you cannot imagine. I wouldn’t even count interplanetary travel out as a possibility. With my new-found freedom through the independent mobility found in the form of my new motorcycle, I now have the whole Eastern Seaboard at my proverbial finger tips, along with the adventures that will bring. With an upcoming trip to Europe and an epic 125 person beach camping trip, I will need new shoes very soon, and you will need a full time medical staff on hand, because the depth and breadth of these quests will blow your mind.

(On a side note, my shoes need to cover more ground, and you can help with this. Go back through the last 2 months of blog posts, click on your favorite, and post it as a link on your Facebook. Though I have an impressive "Friends" list, it is possible that there are some people I do not know that need to hear of this blog. Think of it as giving food to the hungry. They will be forever grateful to you, and they will live to see another day. Or at least another post.)

One thing is certain though...No one can afford to miss what this summer has in store for the nerve center which we like to call "the brain."

So buckle up your safety belts, strap your action goggles over your head, tighten your suspenders, and join me as I find more Reasons to Put on My Shoes this summer. And should we we lose our touch with reality along the way, please remember one thing…

All this, I do for you, Dear Reader.

Quick Hit: New Toys

Put on some shoes today, then I bought this. The road is calling...Looks like it's going to be a good summer.

I Do What I Want (Unless You Carry the Bigger Stick)

Name: Chaco Z/2            
Age: About a Year
Size: 11
General Interests:  Being outdoors, being indoors, going to overpriced coffee shops/breweries, hanging out in groups of similar shoes, chaffing my feet, hanging out at the local Mac store.
Personality Type: Pretentious with expensive tastes; likes to discuss humanitarian and environmental causes without actually doing anything useful to help further them. Despite talking a big game about diversity, Chacos are attracted to likeminded individuals, because true diversity makes them feel scared and uncomfortable.

I approach this week’s post with a bit of a conflict in my mind: Do I keep things positive and talk about my history with sandals and how I love being able to hike and be active without having to encase my feet in hot, sweaty leather? My other option is to go negative and talk about everything wrong with these shoes and the culture that embraces them as a banner under which to rally the hordes of ineffectual, inactive, and generally unproductive, community activists.

Hmmm…what to do…what to do…

I guess I’ll keep it positive. After all, I need to keep some good material for later, right? Plus, some of you out there, probably wear and enjoy your Chacos, and at this early juncture in my blog, I wouldn’t want my oft abrasive sense of humor to offend you. So please, put yourself at ease, Dear Reader…I only have good things to say today!

As I was saying, sandals are great. How great? Imagine being able to run, jump, hike, swim, lounge, work, party, or any number of other activities without changing your shoes! Whoever invented sandals must have been the smartest man alive (I hear they were invented by Jesus before time began). Seriously, sandals of (almost) all shapes and sizes are the greatest thing known to man.

It was with this in mind that I chose to wear my Chacos this most recent Sunday as I joined my friend, whom we will call "Scott" (for the sake of anonymity), for a Canoe trip. Called “Urban Canoeing,” it was a new concept to me. Basically, you take a canoe, put it in a lake in suburbia, and there you go: Urban Canoeing.

"Scott," always a sucker for an adventure, found Lake Barcroft on Google Maps. A manmade lake, it serves no real purpose other than to give a bunch of wealthy suburbanites a great place to swim and recreate without having to share space with us city dwellers, probably known to them as “Hoi Polloi,” or the “Untermensch.” Little did "Scott" know, these folks take their privacy very seriously. As we approached the lake in a car with DC plates and a canoe strapped atop, we were greeted by unfriendly stares and many signs like this:

Is this really necessary?

Undaunted, we parked our car and launched our boat anyway (with a little confidence, people will assume you belong just about anywhere). Ol' "Scott" wore hiking boots, so it was up to me to launch off of the beach, a task which involved my feet getting wet. Lucky for me, my Chacos thrive in wet environs, and aided me in launching the canoe without any problems.

After paddling around and fishing for a couple of hours, it was getting late, so we headed back. We were pleasantly surprised to find that not only had the car had not been towed, but there were no nasty letters or tickets on the windshield. We strapped the canoe back atop the car and drove off. 

Of course, before leaving, we needed to stage one more act of defiance: we drank a beer on the edge of the lake as the sun set behind the million dollar houses.

After the relaxing events of the day, the stress caused by living in the city washed off us in the same manner as the water droplets slid off of our canoe in the wind on the drive home. 

Sometimes, getting out of the city is as necessary to a restless youth like myself as is eating or breathing. It is difficult to live among concrete and narrow alleyways. The soul has a way of dying slowly when you spend too much time in the city.

Prolonging my sanity is possibly one of the best Reasons to Put on My Shoes.

 

It's the simple things in life for "Scott"

A welcomed sight for wary city eyes

These Boots Were Made For Winning at Life

Name: Rockport Hiking Boots I Guess
Age: 4 Months Old
Size: 11.5
General Interests: Going outdoors, dirt, being tough, climbing stuff, doing hard work, kicking stuff in a manly fashion, being tougher than you.
Personality Type: Non-elitist, non-name-brand outdoorsy type.

Ah, my Rockport hiking boots. They’re probably not good enough for some people. They don’t have an "outdoor" name brand label on them. In fact, Rockport is a brand known for making dress shoes. These boots mark the 3^rd pair of Rockports I’ve ever owned, and the first two are still in great working order. (I wish I were getting paid to say this, but here goes...) If you ever want some great dress shoes, get some Rockports.

About a year ago, I brought a decent pair of hiking boots out to DC from home, only to leave them on the Metro as I rode back from the airport. That was a miserable mistake. A run-in with brand snobbery kept me from purchasing another cheap but functional pair of hiking boots to replace them, so I slogged through multiple feet of snow and a few hikes in old dress shoes, furthering my miserable experience.  Sometimes you just have to stand up for what’s right, show the haters who’s in charge, and buy what you want…lesson learned.

Last weekend (or was it two weekends ago…?) I joined a group of guy friends on an exciting adventure to a Habitat for Humanity job site. This was the first attempt at our goal of doing volunteer work once a month, and it was a real success. We worked outside for about eight hours, during which we put siding on half of a wall of the house, dug a thirty foot long trench about one foot deep in gravel, and even did some painting. It was hard but fun work, and I even flirted with a girl, who, it turned, had a boy friend. A heads up would have been nice since I spent eight hours thinking we might have a “thing.” Oh well, that’s usually “par for the course” with me. 

That girl and I put all the siding up you see there. A girl that's handy with a 

hammer is both attractive and slightly intimidating.

During this event, I was happy to see my Rockports performing well. I’d even say they felt at home in this environment. The tough, deep tread gripped and clawed at the dirt and gravel, and made climbing the scaffolding a cinch. As I measured, cut, leveled, and hammered all the pieces of siding against the house, I begin to wonder if I missed my true calling. Construction…what a manly profession. Wearing my boots, I looked at home there on the construction site. I even wore a baseball cap for the first time in 4 years. Yep, I was looking good.

Let me share a little secret with you...I have opinions. Lots of opinions. One thing that I often reflect on is the improper use of tough outdoor boots.

Oh lord, how I hate it when people wear them inappropriately.

What is an “inappropriate” use of hiking boots, you ask? Any time you’re not running around in mud, dirt, snow, or gravel, you’re using them wrong. They aren’t called “daily boots” or “sidewalk shoes.” They are called “Hiking Boots” because they are meant for one thing: Outdoor activities.

When I see someone walking around Safeway, wearing their Keens, buying a gallon of milk so you can eat a bowl of cereal in their crappy studio apartment, I can’t help but think “Do you realize how much trouble it was to put those on compared to any other type of shoe you could have conceivably worn?” Short of a pair of snowboard boots, hiking shoes are the most time consuming type of footwear ever.

It’s like they are trying to shout as loudly as possible “I LOVE BEING OUTDOORS!” Well great job! Here’s a medal! I think there’s a Subaru dealership nearby if you want to go hug it out. It’s like when someone gets off their bike and keeps their right pant leg rolled up so we can all see that they biked there. I just don't care. We all like being outdoors...you're just not special

My favorite is when someone wears them to the office as if they were dress shoes. Oh man. Ohhhh boy… I have so many problems with that. Have they ever heard the rule “Don’t wear brown with black?” Well that’s a rule for a reason; those brown and yellow hiking boots look absolutely ridiculous with black dress slacks. An alternative pair of comfortable office shoes are Chucks. At least they are color appropriate.

“You’re mean! I like to wear my hiking boots to [insert place here] because they are comfortable and supportive!” Dumb. Wearing hiking boots to the office, grocery store, mall, or worst of all, a club on a Friday night (I’ve seen it!) is about as ridiculous as someone wearing high heels to play basketball. Sure, your legs and butt might look great, but that’s wildly inappropriate. Just like you wear shorts when it’s hot and pants when it’s cold, you wear hiking boots when you are going to be walking around in the mud, and any other shoe when you’re not.

In my time with this blog, I have come to understand shoes and speak their language. Wearing the wrong shoe for the occasion is, at best, an abuse of that pair of shoes, if not an outright crime against humanity. Be good to your hiking boots. Show them some mud.

Getting turned down by a girl while building a house in tough looking, appropriately worn boots…That sounds like an awesome Reason to Put on My Shoes to me.

 That's 30 Feet of trench. Not an easy task when the dirt is half gravel.