There are two reasons I’ll never appear on the Discovery Channel’s Naked and Afraid.
One, the bugs. How people before the modern era lived without bug spray, I don’t know. [They didn’t. They died of malaria. Forget malaria, the itching would drive me mad!]
Two, walking barefoot everywhere. Who cares about being naked? It’s the shoeless thing that would do me in. I like going barefoot through the carpeting in my living room, not over rocky terrain or alligator infested waters.
[There are other reasons I’d never make it on Naked and Afraid, not the least of which are the inability to make fire, hunt or go without food more than six hours, but we’re going to talk about shoes, so we’re focusing on naked feet for the purposes of this blog post.]
I admire barefoot runners, but I will never be one. My Achilles heel are my feet (that sentence is a disaster for so many reasons, but you get my point, right? My feet are made of clay? My soft underbelly is my arches? How to best say this?).
I have insertional Achilles tendonitis, intermittent plantar fasciitis and Morton’s neuroma (or, at least, I have self diagnosed myself with these maladies) and in order to cope, I spend a lot of money on expensive running shoes on the theory they make running less painful.
[One could argue that running is causing these symptoms so rather than buying more shoes, I should simply spend less time running, but that makes too much sense. We runners pursue irrational ends.]
In any case, I collect a lot of used pairs of running shoes, and this was no more apparent than last week when I was forced to empty the back entryway in order to remodel it. I found no fewer than eight pair of running shoes, all of which belonged to me.
See the thing with running shoes is that they wear out Most runners put no more than 500 miles in a pair of shoes. Until recently (when I’ve cut back on running — cut back, not eliminated — because of the aforementioned aches and pains), that meant at least two pair of running shoes a year for me.
Given how much they cost in the first place, I couldn’t bear to just dump my surplus shoes in the trash.
So I looked for a way to recycle them, and I found the MORE Foundation Group — Modular Organic Regenerative Environments.
MORE collects gently used athletic shoes, sells them and then uses the proceeds to plant thousands of trees around the world (it’s a little more involved than that, but you can check out their website if you’re interested in grand vision; we stick to personal transactional details here). Trees, as any kid knows, offset the carbon in the atmosphere, and it’s hard to hope for more than that with shoes that would otherwise end up in a landfill.
All of this explanation and whining is to say, if you, too, have used athletic shoes cluttering up your entryway, click here to find the nearest donation site.