Barefoot bravado

Two people advised me to walk barefoot in the grass last week, so yesterday, part way through a run that took me through some woodland, I took off my trainers and socks and promptly stood on a thorn. Damn, I knew there was a reason why we wear shoes!

I didn’t let it put me off and sat in a clearing with the sun on my face, naked feet on the cold earth for a full 20-minutes. It was meditation al fresco and aside from the prickle incident, it was wonderfully relaxing.

As you may have guessed, I am someone who gets bored easily and at the moment, I’m seeking novel places to meditate. The woods, train, hospital, beach…I’ve realised you can meditate just about anywhere if you put your mind to it.

This morning though, I tried to meditate in bed for 20-minutes, but I could not quiet my racing mind. How strange. There I was, alone, tucked up in bed with the curtains closed and I couldn’t find a minute’s inner-peace.

I gave it up as a bad job and vowed to achieve as much present moment awareness as I could whilst on the way to Brighton to see my dad. All good intentions fell by the wayside when I had to get no less than four trains. I felt like climbing into Dad’s bed when I got there.

I did manage to get a good blast of sea air as I walked along the front to the hospital and watched the Brighton marathoners stumbling past the finish line. My hip felt a bit gammy today, but I consoled myself with the thought that I was only walking two miles while they were running 26.2.

Some weeks ago, I passed a barefoot runner on the riverside. It shocked me as I am forever dodging shards of glass when I walk the dog by the Thames. There was nothing cautious about this shoeless jogger, he was thundering along without a grimace. That takes a lot of trust. I wonder, if I had more faith, would I be less likely to tread on stray thorns? Or is it just foolhardy to go around with no shoes on in this day and age? Answers on an insole please.

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