As those who follow the blogosphere already know, the topic of boots has been the cause of recent lamentation and philosophizing. Certainly there are worse offenses against family and humanity then buying brand-new footwear far in advance of actually need it. But more than raising a defense against such purchases, I wish to take the time to highlight the wisdom by which boots are being bought.
A couple weeks ago, I had the good fortune of making a trek to the White Mountains of New Hampshire for a weekend of winter recreation. The simplest thing I accomplished was downing two, twenty-ounce glasses of a wonderful IPA. The came on the heels (quite literally at it will turn out) on an extensive x-country ski tour. I'd estimate we were out moving for close to four hours. The land was flat and groomed, the air was just below freezing, and there was almost no wind. Even though it was quite overcast, the landscape was subtile yet satisfying. The day before, we put on the snoeshows that have seen little action since they were moved from the Wasatch Range. And in the morning, after a monstrous breakfast, we did more hiking up to a serene peak along a trail that began at an Applachian Mountain Club lodge.
The only issue were the boots. There are multiple outfitters so we went with a larger business thinking they'd have the best variety. The price was superb — something like $25 for a full day of rental. The boots were cleverly designed with a zipper shield to conceal the laces. The fit was snug but not tight. I did feel some hot spots but slapped on moleskin and that did the trick. I was tender afterward but the ales eased the pain. My intermittent forays to the local gym gave a sense of satisfication since the exertion from the skiing was not too much. It felt good to be out there. Except for what the boots did to my feet.
I realize I have been a little too cavalier on longer expeditions. Aside from a half-dozen band-aids, some moleskin, sunscreen and ibuprofen, I have not been adhering to the scout motto of preparedness. The conditions during the cross-country skiing were mild and I had some spare layers. But if the weather had turned, I would have been screwed. The biggest problem was what the boots did to my feet — not a big deal for a halfday within shouting distance of houses. But it all reminded me that I need to be careful. My feet ached and throbbed which made putting on dress shoes on Monday morning before heading out to teach class an unpleasant process.
In addition to wearing away a considerable disk of flesh from each heel, the iimproper boots damaged my toes. My sense that my toes had been squeezed was confirmed when I checked them the next morning. My longest toes at first looked elongated from being compressed. But on closer look, I saw they each had sizable blisters on the tips when made them almost pointed. Even after the skin healed (thanks to antibiotic cream and band-aids) my heels were still tender and even though the bruising isn't visible, I am pretty confident that the improper boots had done some deep tissue damage. Now I have faintlly purple nail on my big toe because the bad boots squeezed so much that there is a bruise there.
And all of this is not to complain about rental ski boots. Nobody should be surprise, especially for as much as we used them that day. What this is intended to affirm is that proper equipment is not always a matter of vanity. A perfectly fitted, well-constructed boot is a wise investment, especially for long excursions in the wilderness. I have re-learned the painful lessons of my youth about the dangerous costs of buying cheap boots. That my new pair look awesome is a by-product of reason trumping the foolish effort to save money — especially when the risks loom too large.
