I’d been training for two months for my 130-mile hike of the Northville/Placid Trail in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. I figured on hiking approximately 15 miles a day over what would likely be very rugged terrain carrying a pack of between 35-45 pounds (starts at 45 and gets lighter as I eat the food before resupplying). Training included some cycling, but mostly hiking long miles with my new REI backpack filled with some gear and a bag of rock salt. It weighed in around forty pounds.
My biggest concern was the plantar fascia I’d been suffering with since doing a three-mile run in late May. I hadn’t run in several years prior to the three-miler, but I was in good shape and it felt so easy that I kept going. The next day my troubles began and it was on the same foot I’d had surgery performed two years earlier. Dumb.
My foot remained sore throughout the summer. With only two weeks remaining before the hike, I decided to buy new hiking shoes…a brand I’d never tried before…from REI. I was approached by a sales person and asked if I needed assistance. I explained the kind of hiking I did, including climbing on open rock. She pulled a shoe from the displays as a starting point. I quickly flipped it over in search of the yellow ‘vibram’ trademark emblem that would indicate the rubber sole was, in fact, vibram, which was the standard in all brand of hiking shoes for hikers looking for good grip on bare and wet rock.
“This shoe doesn’t have vibram,” I said, quickly discarding it.
I could see the puzzled look on her face as she took the shoe back from me. “It’s really a great shoe! In fact, I’m wearing it. It’s top of the line and expensive, I know,” she said, thinking I was afraid of the sticker. I wasn’t.
“All that may be true, but everything I read, everyone I know, any shoe company I’ve tried and my personal experience says go with vibram for the best grip,” I replied.
I could tell she was frustrated by my attitude. Basically, I was saying I knew more about hiking shoes than her. I didn’t know if I did or not and maybe something had changed over the past year with some kind of new and improved shoe sole, which surely was possible. John was with me and gave her a smile saying, “he just likes to give shoe clerks a hard time.”
I don’t, but I had with him along once. I told him it didn’t have vibram, but he stuck with her on the issue.
“Look…sell me. Tell me why I should go against everything I know to date as to why I should give up vibram soles for what you’ve got there,” I said in a conciliatory tone.
She thought for a moment, but it was clear that she didn’t know anything about vibram and therefore didn’t know where to start. “How about we talk to Jeff over there. He’s the expert on hiking shoes and he can tell you why this one is so good,” she said, still holding the shoe.
Jeff came over and I began by explaining what kind of hiking I did and what his recommendation was.
“Start with a vibram sole,” he said matter-of-factly.
Which is exactly what I did. I found a shoe with a higher arch to support the plantar fascia, took it home and headed out for a trail with the pack fully loaded. Over the next two weeks I did this every day in addition to wearing the shoe to work. I wanted it well broken in. Slowly, the pain dissipated. It was gone completely, but it reached a level where I figured I could deal with the pain if I carried some pain killers in my pack.
I had hiking companions for the trip. Justin from the farm and Alaska Paul were all in and excited to be hiking. We drove two cars north on October 5th, depositing one in Lake Placid at the trailhead where we’d be coming out of the woods in ten days, driving back to the midpoint and a local grocer who had agreed to hold our food for re-supply in the town of Blue Mountain where we camped for the night. We’d give the food to the grocer at seven in the morning, when they opened, and then drive to Northville, leave the other vehicle, and begin our hike north.
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