Running Barefoot is Good for Your Health – and Sexy Too
Girls running barefoot is an image that appeals to the caveman instincts woven through the spirals of our DNA. Like all animals, when the female bolts, the male follows. Of course, running barefoot is not only a question of girls fleeing, but girls enticing the male to give chase. Escaping is fun. Getting caught is divine.
Girls running is sexy. I’m not sure why. Girls running barefoot on the sand or wet grass is sensual, feminine. Look at any couple on the beach and you’ll see he always keeps his shoes on. She takes hers off. Women are more attuned to their surroundings, nature, the heartbeat of the earth. Who is that girl pictured right? She is you, she is me, she is every woman. She stares with eyes fixed on the future and feet planted in the present. She is an earth child, fecund, resolute, robust.
Running barefoot as a metaphor for freedom. We run, not to escape, so much as to arrive somewhere new. The faster you run, the nearer the the future comes. The only permanence is change. Running barefoot reminds us of this.
We were born to run. Barefoot running was the only way to run for thousands of years. When we lost our connection to the earth, we began to build our buildings higher as if God was in the sky, not walking among us on Earth. If architecture is the signature of our humanity, we have clogged the world with words and covered the maps with symbols.
Running Barefoot isn the Garden
We had a large garden with a high wall at home where I grew up in Kent. Running barefoot on the grass with daddy chasing me is a memory I cherish. On hot days, I would run naked around the flower beds and he would spray me with the hose. Such a small thing can bring so much joy.
I remember that last time when I was six or seven. Mother came out of the back door through the greenhouse with her prize orchids carrying a large bath towel and a determined expression. As I ran with daddy and the spray of water behind me, Mother scooped me up into the towel.
‘That’s quite enough of that,’ she said.
I am not sure if she was talking to me or my father. But he never chased me through the garden again. I realised that day that I had a bond with him that I would never have with her. That beyond being mother and daughter, we were in competition. As females we were and would always be rivals for his attention.
In some ways, I have been running barefoot away from things ever since, that garden in Kent, boyfriends, careers, secrets. I stamp around the street of Barcelona well shod as I go from assignment to teaching assignment. But when weekend comes I go south to Sitges or north to one of the Costa Brava towns so I can run barefoot on the sand and remember my cave girl instincts.