Tyler Leech

12,000 Miles Barefoot

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A blue heron looked up from the slimy water and gave me a sly sideways look, just as the digits 11,999 started to roll.  This was during a 1.6-mile barefoot stroll along the paved trails of Andrew Brown Park, Coppell, Texas.  I’m kidding – I don’t actually carry an odometer.  Rather I measure distances using a GPS watch and track my training (walking, hiking, running) in an excel spreadsheet with 16 tabs stored in the cloud.  It’s only in the spreadsheet that I see the world in digits.

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From Andrew Brown Park it was off to DFW and then there was the long flight back to New York and a dark drive home in the rain.  The next morning, I emerged from boreal gloom onto the open summit of Wittenberg Mountain, where the southern view unfolds before your eyes as you step toward the edge of a flat sandstone ledge – nearly 100 miles of rolling green ridges, spring forests, hazy clouds — and it occurred to me that this, too, will end.  Instead of counting up past 12,000, maybe I should be counting down from (X-12,000) to zero, where X is my total lifetime mileage.  Only, I don’t know X.  Not yet.  But with each year it’s drawing closer.  I can sense it, just like when parachuting at night, how the invisible horizon rises to greet you – that’s when you flex your knees and get ready to roll. Continue reading “12,000 Miles Barefoot” →

12,000 Miles Barefoot

The Barefoot Autism Challenge

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When I first heard of the Barefoot Autism Challenge, I immediately thought of art museums.  Not that I am a fan.  They make me feel claustrophobic.  When I do visit one, I rationalize that there’s only so much I can absorb.  So I fly through the place, taking in a handful of paintings and a few sculptures, but all the while, I sense the ticking clock.

Why did the Barefoot Autism Challenge spark the thought of art museums?  Maybe when you take on a challenge, it shakes up your thinking.  Lets loose some new ideas. Arguably that’s the point of taking on any kind of challenge. In any case, I do remember the first time I ran the Ft. Worth Cowtown Marathon, how right by the starting line there sat a low concrete building with a plaza and a forlorn sculpture.  After the race, as I walking back to the car, I looked up and saw the place again. Stared for a moment. Wondered if they’d let me in without shoes (Cowtown was my first barefoot marathon). Maybe that’s where the idea came from.

The Challenge is simple — go somewhere barefoot for the experience and to show support for the autistic community, where barefooting is popular for the sensory input which helps with processing information about the environment. I decided to give it a try at that museum by the Cowtown starting line.

Recognizing that barefoot is an unusual mode of dress, I went out of my way to make a good impression.  I dressed up in stylish jeans and an expensive fitted shirt (the kind I used to wear during my banking days).  Traded my Yankees cap for one with the logo of the Dallas Cowboys (the better to fit in with the local crowd).  Rehearsed answers to all the questions I thought might be asked.  And then, on the appointed day, freshly-showered and cleanly-shaved, I strode in confidently through the front door.  And was immediately intercepted.  And shown right back out. 

I demanded to see the manager.  A few minutes later, a portly gentlemen emerged wearing a navy blazer.  He was courteous and patient.  Explained, “It’s the law.” Talked safety, too — when they move the art around, small tacks might fall out from the frames. 

I could think of nothing to say in response to such nonsense.

On the way back to my car, a woman observed how lovely Texas weather was, that you could go about barefoot in November.  This comment made me smile. But, I am a stubborn man.  I vowed I would return.

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The Barefoot Autism Challenge

10,000 Miles Barefoot

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How irritating — that they would spread salt so liberally everywhere, not only in the streets, but on the smooth white sidewalks where I’d planned to run (and not a patch of snow in sight).  Later I asked my Mom — she didn’t know, but agreed it must have been the City, which forced me to consider the possibility that the local population was so lacking in balance and agility that a late November snow-dusting was seen as potential calamity.  In any case, due to the salt I cut my run short at 4 miles instead of 5 and stepped into a favorite coffee shop for my morning cappuccino, only to be confronted by a young woman behind the counter.  I saw a pale white face, light-blue surgical mask, and a pair of hazel eyes glaring at me. 

“We can’t serve you — it’s the health code.”

With raised eyebrow —  “In Illinois.  Really?”

“Even if it’s not against the law, it’s our right.”

So I left. 

Once back at my hotel, I opened laptop, entered the mileage in my training log, and saw I’d finally crossed the boundary — I’d just passed my 10,000th mile of barefoot hiking, walking, and running.  And then I went back out, still searching for my morning coffee….

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10,000 Miles Barefoot