Enter Your Foot
Thanks for giving me the floor.
I would first like to mention how much I’m looking forward to this opportunity to tell my side of the story.
If for no other reason, you deserve to know how your foot functions.
This is my story. Told from the vantage point of a foot that has skin in the game.
While we’re on the subject of having skin in the game, I want you to know that every time your foot makes contact with the ground, I’m responsible for absorbing the punch.
I’ve been with you every step of the way. So, I’ll be the first to recognize that you’ve traveled many miles with layers upon layers of cushioning and external support underfoot.
As runners from all over the world like to say, “The hay is in the barn.”
Whether you’re walking or running, every time your foot touches down – I’m taking the hit.
To a certain extent, how well I stick the landing and what I do up to the point of lift-off is up to you. 🚀
See, beyond your awareness, I’m constantly taking in lots of clues that come in from the world outside of me.
As information floods in at a rapid pace, I do my best to process all of it.
Armed with seventeen finely tuned receptors, your feet take in a wide assortment of information.
(Proprioception)
I don’t want to sound too science-y. Having said that, I feel it’s of utmost importance that you know about the groundswell of feedback that you’re most likely missing out on.
When your feet are given the opportunity to take in more information, there’s an assortment of good things that take place within the confines of your brain.
“I thought, this is weird – I hope no one sees me. But the sensory input was tremendous. It’s like I had been wearing earmuffs, then I took them off and realized I was hearing a symphony.”
— Bruce Tulloh
Among all the chaos, I manage to signal all sorts of sensory information.
When something needs to be looked at, I do my best to provide the most accurate and comprehensive signaling.
Heel pain and calf tightness are sensations (and symptoms) that I’m partly responsible for signaling.
Now that I’ve let you in on some of what I can do, you need to be aware of what I can’t do.
First and foremost, I can’t make up my mind. Because I don’t have one.
But you do. So take it from me, your best bet is to stand guard at the door of your mind.
While you’re at it, think twice before you trust your brain to someone who doesn’t understand the mechanical relationship between me and the joints that allow your lower leg to move.
A complete understanding of human mechanics tells us that your lower leg is an extension of your heel.
While conventional thinking tends to ignore the fact that your heel is a direct extension of your lower leg – that doesn’t make it any less true.
Meanwhile, foot orthotic enthusiasts regularly resort to bringing the ground up to meet a bare arch. No matter how good their intentions are, they’ve taken away your foot’s ability to absorb shock at the right time.
If you aren’t giving me space and freedom to move in a way that speaks to my true nature, chances are good, you aren’t aware of how much more I can offer you.
The more prepared I am to absorb every punch is all the more potential that your knees will follow my lead.
After all, I’m the one who’s responsible for initiating shock absorption.
And it all starts with your largest organ.
Because your skin is the closest organ to the outside world, receptors that span the underside of your foot act as first responders.
When your foot makes contact with the ground, sensory receptors are the first to detect the magnitude and rate of loading.
Vast amounts of neurological feedback are also taken in through joints, muscles, and ligaments. And to a lesser extent – tendons.
(Preparedness)
The first time your bare feet came in contact with the ground, feedback and friction were present at the right time, and because of that, your joints were set in motion at the correct time.
How well the 33 joints throughout your foot take advantage of motion also comes down to muscles being able to pull at certain times.
Although mobility is a popular pursuit, stability allows your foot to take advantage of motion at the right time.
When I recognize stability in all the right places, it sets your knee and hip in motion.
In case you aren’t taking in the magnitude of how important I am to your life, there isn’t a body part in your entire chain that has more skin in the game than I do.
Believe me when I say, I’d love to avoid the brute force behind all those punches.
It’s just that here on planet Earth, gravity and the ground are relentless.
(Physics)
When muscles are capable of pulling at the right time, I’m more capable of absorbing a punch at the right time.
An additional benefit to having muscles pulling at the right time is that your weight will be distributed more evenly across your base of support.
What you just read is the reason why so many people struggle with plantar fasciitis.
They are stuck in a vicious circle of chasing pain (and relying on the next best guess).
Because of the mechanical relationship between your heel and lower leg, your foot isn’t the only body part that’s responsible for the motions that are consistent with pronation and supination.
Without a complete understanding of what makes your foot and lower leg go, pronation is just a word that gets tossed around.
The term pronation is often used to confuse.
Since this is my time to shine, allow me to clear up the confusion: motions that take place when your foot absorbs shock is the meaning of pronation.
In other words, the motions required to absorb shock are the same motions that are consistent with pronation.
(Priorities)
Visit a foot orthotic enthusiast tomorrow, there won’t be any mention of how your lower leg follows your foot.
From there, your thigh (read: femur) follows what your lower leg does…
The chances that an expert would tell you that your lower half is responsible for pronation is highly unlikely.
(Principles)
On a daily basis, experts force function with orthotics.
In doing so, more stress is forced upon your knees, hips, and spinal column.
And yet, foot orthoses remain at the top of the list for being the most misrepresented and ill-used device in history.
Step in any direction and orthotics will force your foot to go in the wrong direction at the wrong time.
Now, imagine wearing an athletic shoe with a ramp angle.
The angle of the ramp puts your heel higher than the front of your foot. Then to add insult to injury, additional support is built-in.
With all the layers of cushioning that are stacked on top of one another, there’s no avoiding the dampening of neurological feedback.
Thus, the layers of cushioning add up to a whole lot of interference.
When the environment of your foot is out of balance, all the cueing in the world won’t get you to perform a lunge with the correct form.
Lunge forward, backward, or to the side, because the environment of your foot isn’t as close as you can get to barefoot, the timing at which your knee moves is going to be off.
More often than not, while you’re performing a lunge, someone’s telling you to keep your knee from going past your toes.
To be sure you’re seeing this from where I stand: The environment of your foot is forcing function from below, and the cueing is encouraging conscious compensation.
And yet, lunges are said to be great for everything under the sun.
I’m not suggesting that you don’t perform a lunge.
All I’m saying is, before you head off to the realm of the superficial, press the invisible pause button.
Because in most cases, there’s more to an exercise than what meets the eye.
Before we go any further, remember, I’m coming at this from a place where I can’t make up my mind.
(Perspective)
I have no way of knowing what lying in a coffin feels like. But I can tell you that MOST running shoes are overly supportive.
Not only that, the toe box of most athletic shoes are tapered. Because of that, they don’t resemble my shape.
Although I can’t make up my own mind, if I had to guess, I would say the tapered toe box is more than likely driven by something other than function.
Given the clues I have to work with, I’m guessing the categories of overly supportive running shoes are also driven by something else.
“The amount of information flooding in on Joe from the outside is staggering. How can I cope with it all? I simply select what is important, and Joe ignores the rest.”
— J.D. Ratcliff, I’m Joe’s Body, Reader’s Digest
The tapering that’s consistent with athletic shoes forces my biggest toe to function from a position that decreases the amount of leverage that I have available to me.
Avoid a tapered toe box with your athletic shoes, and you’ll decrease the chances of a bunion.
(Prevention)
You’ve reached the point in my story where I feel it’s necessary to shine a little light on perception.
It’s impossible for your mind to perceive that which it can’t remember being exposed to.
When you first put your foot down on planet Earth, no one was feeding you false information about your feet.
For a period of time, going barefoot was all you knew. Back then, much of your focus and effort was aimed at standing on your own two feet without assistance.
Once the balance and strength were there, you performed a squat without anyone telling you where your knees should be.
When you started to run, no one was cueing you to change your form. You just ran for the fun of it.
For this was a time of discovery. In a profound way, it was a time to fill a curious mind.
Beyond your conscious awareness, your barefoot was capable of taking in a cornucopia of sensory input.
That, and the pull of gravity was contributing to how muscles throughout your foot developed.
It was around this time that the height of your arch was gradually taking on its own form.
Narrow conventions of thinking and wearing shoes that are overly supportive hadn’t crossed your mind.
For the most part, there is no comparison between the height of your arch to an arch that’s seen as normal.
Since I’m giving it to you straight: I’m not sure what a normal arch looks like.
I will tell you that every arch has skin in the game.
I’ll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind: arches of all shapes and sizes prefer strength and stability over the support that comes from outside of your body.
THE END.
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Book Mentioned: I’m Joe’s Body, Reader’s Digest by J.D. Ratcliff
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I have held a license to practice massage therapy for thirty years. For eighteen of those years, I was a nationally certified personal trainer. During that time, I completed thousands of one-on-one personalized fitness training sessions. I went on to teach the biomechanics of exercise to personal trainers, group exercise instructors, and physical therapists throughout New England. Teaching exercise biomechanics led to consulting for The Greenbrier, Canyon Ranch, and ESPN, which evolved into providing deep tissue and sports massage for four years at ESPN.
Rick, I had the unique opportunity to work with you when you did a seminar at Desoto Dance and Karate. I was already an anatomy nerd, your seminar fueled incredibly different and out of the box questions that have led to consistent and rewarding discoveries! We moved to Salt Lake City almost 4 years ago, I continue to work in the dance field teaching body mechanics mostly through ballet. I appreciate your perspective and the articles that you publish. Thank you. =)
Hi Tiffany, I remember showing my work and answering quite a few great questions at Desoto Dance and Karate. Many years ago, an assistant pointed out that my best classes are when there’s a lot of questions. Throughout the years, a big part of my process has included reflecting on what I covered and how well I answered questions. I appreciated the depth of questions that day. Because my work is so unique, and my thought process is far from the norm, I’m never quite sure how the information is received. So, thanks for taking the time to leave a comment. I appreciate it!