barefoot

I woke up early on Sunday. It was overcast and cool. I stayed in bed for hours; mostly awake with my mind whirring around as it has been doing more often than I care to admit lately.

After breakfast, some light cleaning, and a hot shower, I decided to go for an easy hike at one of my favorite Atlanta trails. I love the trail because it’s beautiful, rarely busy, and has a dozen little creek crossings.

The hike started with me on ten, walking like I had some sort of important mission to carry out. I didn’t. My mind was not connected with my body or my surroundings for the first quarter mile or so. Then I hit a clearing near the Chattahoochee River, I’ve been here dozens of times. Maybe it was the brisk, misty air and the fact that nobody was on the trail that pulled me back to the present.

“Ok, this is why I enjoy hiking. It’s the mind-body-nature of the experience.”

After that, I slowed down. I listened to the breeze and noticed the autumn colors. I watched countless leaves fall to the ground. Some seemed to divebomb, others were almost featherlike in their movement.

Over the next mile or so I drifted in and out of that mindful connection, at times noticing my thoughts were elsewhere and pulling them back to my surroundings. I stopped at one of my favorite creek crossings and watched leaves wind through the tiny rapids for a several minutes. I made a few bets with myself on whether they would get stuck or make it all the way through. It reminded me why I don’t gamble.

A short while later, another crossing. Compared to others that took some maneuvering, this one only required a single step on a cube-shaped rock to clear. The water was a foot deep and moving faster than the other areas, but it’s never been a problem. However, today that rock decided to tip just enough to put most of my foot in the cold creek. While catching my balance, the other foot took a dip as well.

In the moment, I was annoyed. I hiked a bit further, fixated on my wet feet. But then I came to spot on the trail where several planed logs were placed end-to-end to cross what is an endlessly soggy section. For whatever reason, I decided to double cuff my pants and take off my shoes and socks—great decision.

Not surprisingly, the barefoot walk across the smoothish logs was nice. The wood was cool beneath my feet. The was a sense of feeling grounded. But after 100 feet or so, nothing but trail for another half mile to the car. I stepped off the manmade surface and onto the cold, wet earth.

Navigating that final stretch of dirt, rocks, exposed roots, and fallen leaves forced me to slow down even more. I became aware of every step. I weaved around the path, searching for the ideal next step. It was a slow, meditative adventure within an adventure. I couldn’t help but notice where the Oak trees were because the acorns hidden beneath the leaves felt like razorblades to my unconditioned arches. The remaining creek crossings were extra precarious since I no longer had the rugged outsole of my trail shoes to grip the stones. I loved every second of it.

The experience was humbling and beautiful. I was fully present. Next time, I’ll do it unprompted by the creek giving me wet feet. And then I’ll do it again.