Wet Soles, Wild Heart: My Barefoot Weekend Escape Oh, the glorious feeling of Friday evening! For many, it signifies the shedding of work stress. For me, Ross, a 36-year-old barefooter by passion and practice, it means one thing above all else: the shedding of shoes. After a week confined by the necessary evils of corporate footwear, my feet practically sing with anticipation. And this past weekend was no exception, even with the grey, weeping skies that greeted me. Some might call me mad. A glutton for punishment, perhaps. But when I say a wet, rainy weekend is still my choice for a barefoot adventure, I mean it with every fibre of my being, every nerve ending in my soles. There’s a raw, invigorating honesty to feeling the world directly, especially when everything is softened and saturated by rain. Saturday: A Symphony of Puddles and Polished Floors The moment I stepped out of my work shoes on Friday evening, I felt the familiar rush of liberation. My feet, after eight hours of being encased, stretched and flexed, already anticipating the ground. Saturday morning arrived, and true to the forecast, it was a proper British grey. Rain pattered against the window panes, a rhythmic invitation. No deterrent for me. My first foray into the great outdoors was the drive to Morrisons for the weekly food shop. Sliding into the car, I felt the cool, textured rubber of the pedals under my toes – a familiar sensation, far more connected than through a layer of sole. The drive itself was typical, but the moment I parked and opened the door, a wave of cool, damp air hit my bare feet as I swung them out. My first steps in the Morrisons car park were a delightful shock to the system. The asphalt was slick and cool, tiny rivulets of rainwater snaking across its uneven surface. Each step was a mindful experience, feeling the grit, the smooth patches, the surprisingly warm puddles. I strode purposefully into the supermarket, enjoying the abrupt change from the outdoor elements to the dry, cool tiles within. The floor was smooth, almost polished, and I could feel the microscopic film of moisture tracked in by thousands of shod feet, a faint coolness that clung to my soles. Navigating the aisles with a trolley, I was keenly aware of the different textures. The slightly raised bumps of the accessibility strips, the faint grittiness near the fresh produce where stray leaves and soil might have fallen, the cool, even expanse of the freezer aisle. I’m sure some people noticed, perhaps a fleeting glance, a double-take at the bare ankles disappearing around the corner. But mostly, people are absorbed in their own worlds, their own shopping lists. And that’s fine by me. My focus was on the vibrant colours of the fruit, the hum of the refrigerators, and the utterly wonderful feeling of the cool floor against my feet. By the time I checked out, my soles bore the honest marks of my journey – a light grey, mottled with dark smudges from the car park and the general floor grime. A badge of honour, if you will. Back home, groceries put away, it was time for my loyal companion, Elsa my jack russell to have her walk. The rain was still falling, a gentle, persistent drizzle, turning the local park into a lush, vibrant green. This is where the real sensory magic happens. The soft, soaking grass, each blade a tiny brush against my skin. The squelch of mud underfoot, cool and yielding, momentarily engulfing my toes before releasing them with a soft pop. Puddles weren’t obstacles; they were invitations. Stepping into a shallow one, feeling the water lap greedily around my ankles, then squishing out between my toes as I continued on, was pure, unadulterated joy. Elsa, oblivious to the weather, bounded ahead, her own paws making happy smudges on the wet earth. My soles, bless them, were now a rich earthy brown, adorned with bits of grass and small stones. The afternoon’s adventure took a slightly more consumerist turn, but no less barefoot. A trip to Next and TK Maxx. The transition from the muddy park back to the polished floors of retail felt like a cleansing of sorts, though I didn't actually stop to wash my feet. Just walking over the relatively clean, hard surfaces gradually buffed off some of the mud, leaving my soles a darker, more even shade of brown. In Next, the carpets were a welcome change – soft and yielding, absorbing sound and impact. TK Maxx, with its eclectic mix of hard floors and occasional rug sections, offered a different kind of foot massage. Again, the odd glance, but mostly just the anonymous bustle of shoppers. It’s surprising how little people truly care or even notice. As evening approached, the allure of the cinema beckoned. There’s something wonderfully subversive about settling into a plush cinema seat, feeling the soft, slightly dusty carpet beneath my bare feet, completely hidden in the darkness. It’s an intimate moment of personal freedom, an internal rebellion against convention, even as I’m lost in the magic of the big screen. The final stop of the day was M&S Foodhall for a ready-meal dinner. By this point, my feet were well-acquainted with the various urban textures, and the smooth, pristine floors of M&S felt almost luxurious. The smell of prepared food, the soft lighting – it was a calming end to a very full day. Back home, before a much-deserved shower, I inspected my feet. They were a testament to the day’s journey: dark, worn, and wonderfully grimy. The dirt felt like an external layer of experiences, a tangible record of every surface I’d touched. Sunday: Skipton in the Rain, a Canvas for My Soles Sunday dawned much like Saturday had ended – wet. The rain continued its steady fall, painting the world in shades of muted grey and vibrant green. But a little rain never stopped a barefooter from exploring, especially when the destination is somewhere as charming as Skipton. Skipton, with its historic high street, market, and castle, offered a perfect canvas for a barefoot wander. The drive up was scenic, the world outside blurred by the constant drizzle. Parking up, I took a deep breath of the damp, fresh air and relished the immediate contact of the cool, wet tarmac beneath my feet. The town itself was a delight. The paving stones of the high street were beautifully uneven, each slab telling a story of countless footsteps. Water pooled in the natural dips and cracks, creating miniature lakes to paddle through. The market stalls, though perhaps a little quieter due to the weather, still offered a myriad of sensory experiences: the faint smell of roasted nuts, the vibrant colours of fresh produce, the cacophony of vendors' calls. Walking past them, my feet felt the solid, ancient stone, occasionally straying onto the smoother, more modern pavement sections. We ambled along the canal path for a while, the ground there a mix of compacted gravel and earth, softened by the rain. Here, the sensation was entirely different from the urban landscape. The path was more yielding, studded with small stones that offered a gentle acupressure massage with every step. My feet sank slightly into the damp earth, drawing up the cool moisture. The grass by the canal, lush and verdant, felt incredibly soft and springy underfoot. The sound of the canal water lapping gently, the rain rustling through the leaves of the trees – it was a symphony of nature, heightened by the direct connection through my soles. There’s a unique sense of presentness that comes with barefoot wandering, especially in a place like Skipton. Every nuance of the ground is felt, every texture, every change in temperature. It forces you to slow down, to be mindful of where you place each foot. It’s a connection to the history of the place, to the very ground that generations have walked upon. My feet, by now, were a rich tapestry of the Skipton landscape – dark with the wet earth, speckled with tiny bits of gravel from the canal path, and still bearing the faint marks of the town's paving stones. They were, in a word, gloriously filthy. Embracing the Earth, Rain or Shine As I finally drove home, my feet resting comfortably against the mat, I felt a deep sense of contentment. The rain had been a constant companion all weekend, but it had only served to amplify the experience, making every surface feel more alive, more responsive. Why do I do it? Why subject myself to wet, potentially cold, dirty feet? Because for me, barefooting is more than just a preference; it's a philosophy. It's about grounding myself, literally and figuratively, in a world that often demands we be disconnected, encased, and removed. It's about experiencing the world in its rawest form, embracing the imperfections, the textures, the temperatures. It’s about freedom, connection, and a deep sense of well-being that comes from being truly present. My dirty soles at the end of the day aren't a nuisance; they're a testament. A testament to a weekend fully lived, fully felt. They tell a story of supermarket aisles, muddy park paths, polished shop floors, cinema carpets, ancient cobblestones, and damp canal paths. They are, in essence, a map of my joy. And as I looked forward to another week in shoes, I knew that the moment Friday arrived, my feet would be ready to sing their song of freedom once more, rain or shine. Because for this barefooter, every day is an opportunity to touch the earth.
Inspired by RT19's barefoot weekend I tried some barefooting today in Reading, UK. The city centre is pedestrianised, with a higher variety in textures of paving. I left my sandals in the car and ventured out barefoot and walked around the streets and ventured into a UK supermarket for only the 2nd in my life. It was a surprisingly uneventful, I don't think anyone even noticed! I also went into a mall for a while. A good day out.
I finished that walkway with some rock and it’s comfortable to walk barefoot on here’s a picture what it looks like now . The first one is before and the second one is after.
