by Steve Book

"One of the good things about feet is that you always know just where they stand."

So wrote Edford Willington, obscure philosopher and podiatrist of the 1800s, who was concerned with many of this body parts. In the same paper in which he praised his feet he berated his hair, since he and it were having a falling-out. Whatever Dr. Willington's motives were, feet nonetheless deserved some kind words.

I once tended to overlook my feet.

Ten years ago, when I noticed by body was becoming spherical, I started running. I abused my feet, as I ran without mercy over streets, paths, and trails. Unless my feet developed lumps, bumps, strains, or sprains, I didn't recognize them. I never saw them as individuals; I treated them merely as extensions of myself.

I used to feel that way about my feet. My outlook changes, though, as I got to know them better.

I had been running almost daily for a few months. For the most part, I was competing with all the components of my body. They were winning. I hurt.

Then a friend told me the best way to run and avoid pain and injury was to listen to my body. I vowed to run the next day, all ears.

That morning I went on a long run, and, while listening, I heard my feet converse.

"How long have we been running?" one of them asked.

"Several months, I think," answered the other.

How do we know where we're going, or for how long we'll be gone?" the first one asked.

"The man upstairs--he takes care of us," came the reply.

"Yeah, I guess so. Do you think we could make it on our own?"

"I doubt it. Without him, we wouldn't have a leg to stand on."

I continued running, trying to act oblivious to their conversation. It was becoming painful, though.

They spoke again.

"You know, I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately. Sometimes I think I would have like to have controlled my own destiny. I should have gone off on my own."

"I'd have been hopping mad if you had."

I hoped they would stop, that this punishment from the depths of my soles would end. Alas, they continued.

"Maybe my problem is I'm run down."

"No, your problem is you're a defeatist. What you need is a lift. Maybe I can think of a joke."

I found I was waiting in anticipation. Perhaps my earlier thoughts of their conversation were callous. Finally they spoke.

"Give me an example of redundant discomfort."

"I give up."

"Stubbing your Morton's toe."

They began to laugh, and amid the giggles I finished my run. I thanked my feet for their patter and I promised to become a regular listener.

Now I listen to my whole body as I run. I still listen to my feet, too, but they tend not to talk and laugh out loud as much as they once did. We all are more mature and much more serious.

No, they try not to get carried away anymore. But, as Edford Willington said, feet cannot hide their true feelings.

Just the other day, I finished an enjoyable run and I contined to listed to my body. My heart pounded happily. My lungs and legs were ecstatic.

All of me was having such a good time that I looked down at my feet.

They were beside themselves.