Who Could Have Guessed it Would be the Shoes?

Crow’s Feet Writing Prompt #24 — Aging Surprises

Ever since I outgrew my little white toddler lace-ups, I have been obsessed with shoes.

As a child of the 1950s, I desired patent leather Mary Jane’s in every color. Since money was limited, I was lucky to get one black pair every year, but I rejoiced in wearing them.

As a teenager, I would troll the downtown shoe stores, trying on every gorgeous shoe that caught my eye, settling on one pair that I could afford.

As an adult, well, that’s when the addiction really took hold.

I hyperventilated every time I stepped into the famous DSW shoe store. Shoes came in a rainbow of colors; adorned with beads, baubles, flowers, and crystals; straps in front; straps in back; strapless; gold; silver; low heels; high heels. Whatever meager money I was able to save from summer jobs, I spent on shoes. I loved my shoes.

Although I always struggled with my weight, and my dress size continued to expand, shoes never disappointed me. Size 6 ½ - always.

When I moved to Florida at the age of 58, I discovered sandals came in as many beautiful styles and colors as shoes.

As my weight continued to balloon, my feet started to hurt a bit, and I was beginning to be somewhat limited in my choice of footwear. I was never one for stilettos, regardless of my weight, but now I had to wear sturdier flats to accommodate my increasing pounds.

Still okay. Still many gorgeous styles from which to choose.

Then in my late 60’s something began to change.

Bumps on the side of my feet started to appear out of nowhere. Bumps that made it difficult for me to fit into anything but flip-flop sandals with those uncomfortable straps cutting into the space between my big toe. DSW was becoming a distant memory. My forever size 6 1/2 medium width suddenly became a 7 1/2 wide width.

At the age of 71, I made a life-altering decision to have bariatric sleeve surgery to finally get my weight under control. I lost 120 pounds. Yay! I figured my shoe store adventures were once again eagerly awaiting me. Losing that much weight had to make a difference in my feet, right?

But first, I wanted to get my legs and body into the best shape I could. I donned a pair of sturdy sneakers and started to walk.

Within four months, I was walking four miles at a time with no hip or back pain. Oh, excitement, I thought. DSW here I come again. My heart raced in anticipation.

Except there was an unexpected problem. Those bumps I previously mentioned grew larger AND I developed excruciatingly painful calluses on the bottom of both feet.

My long-awaited trip to DSW was looking dimmer and dimmer.

Instead, I made a trip to my podiatrist. I had already given in to old age by making the Medicare-allowed 8–10 week visits for nail clipping and maintenance, so Dr. Podiatrist and I weren’t strangers.

“What’s going on here?”, I wailed. I complained that after he scrapes the calluses, within a week, they painfully return. To make matters worse, after losing 120 pounds, I had to buy a wider shoe size to accommodate all those ugly bumps.

He uttered the dreaded words. “It’s OLD AGE.” He explained that the calluses were the result of the cushion between my skin and the muscle on the bottom of my feet wearing out.

In the worst bit of irony, he said that I had accelerated the deterioration of the cushion by walking so much — the walking I was doing in an attempt to strengthen my legs and core.

He told me that the bumps were bunions that develop with old age, along with the stubborn ingrown toenails and corns I was experiencing.

I was not enjoying this conversation.

I asked him what I could do about these distressing developments.

To this shoe addict, his solution was ridiculous. He advised me to wear wide-toe, sturdy shoes with strong support. I hadn’t seen any gold strapped, sparkly, beaded studded sandals that matched his description.

Yes, I had heard tales and experienced for myself, some of the ravages of aging — sagging breasts, thinning hair, wrinkly face, failing eyesight, poor hearing.

My back is a disaster story of its own. None of my friends have their original knees.

BUT FEET? No, I had never been advised that one’s feet turn against us when we age. Of course, if I had bothered to think about it, I would have realized how much sense it makes. Our feet hold up the rest of the aging parts, so they should be the first parts to fall to aging.

My aging feet don’t hurt during my daily lengthy walks, wearing my wide-width, wide-toed, sturdy sneakers.

Unfortunately, that is almost the only time my calluses don’t cause me unrelenting pain. Standing barefoot in the shower is a valiant exercise in pain-bearing. It HURTS.

I am NOT ready to give up those pretty shoes. My social life consists of going to dinner, movies, and the theater with friends. This requires walking from the car to my seat and sitting; maybe getting up to walk to the bathroom. For the minimal amount of time spent walking during these outings, I am damn well going to wear my pretty sandals.

People notice those things. I am always receiving compliments on my lovely footwear, and I intend to keep it that way until they bury me in my silver beaded sandals.

©Joan Gershman 2023

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