My feet are unsightly—some might even say they’re downright gross—but they’re pretty useful. They’ve been up mountains and down rivers, across glaciers and talus fields, over miles of trail both soggy and dry. I have stuffed them into too-small climbing shoes, smelly ski boots, worn-out trail runners, my beloved Chacos, and, on very rare occasions, a pair of sky-high heels. I rarely have ten toenails.
The week of my wedding, at my best friend’s insistence, I got a pedicure. This was uncharted territory for me.
“Look,” she told me, “If you insist on getting married in those sandals, the least you can do is make your feet presentable.”
“They’re Chacos,” I explained cheerily, “And what’s wrong with my feet?” Continue reading “These feet are made for walking”
my alaskan odyssey 