I remember standing behind Carol Mahoney in high school gym class. She was supposed to run and spring off a board, as is the method for encountering what is called a “pommel horse”. Two spotters stood impotently on either side of the large, ugly, leather thing that reminded me of a huge meat loaf and stood approximately three or four feet from the safety of the shiny, wooden floor. Two iron handles jutted from the top at both ends of the thing. We were each, in turn, supposed to spring from the board, grasp the handles, and swing our legs, (stuck firmly together), sideways, with toes pointed, over the monstrosity.
Carol gave one of those little hopping starts, ran towards the meat loaf, sprang from the board, and promptly broke her leg. We’re talking exposed bone jutting from flesh.
I was so relieved. The chaos that ensued assured that I would NOT have to be next.
I failed gym. I did not see the value of such things as flinging oneself through the air on hanging rings or parallel bars, (uneven or otherwise), or doing a flip on top of a beam that was about six inches wide. So I flat-out refused to participate. I believe I told Mrs. Saunders, “There’s NO fucking WAY I’m doing that shit.”
I spent a great deal of time visiting with the principle, a well-respected man who was also the football coach, and who, years later, was busted for child porn on his computer.
I know there are people who can do all kinds of amazing, totally unnatural things with their bodies. God Bless those people. I have the utmost respect for folks who are compelled to climb high, treacherous, mountains of rock even though there is an excruciatingly high mortality rate.
The last year I went to Camp Whitewood, we’d been hiking on a trail that required scaling a flat rock approximately six feet high. The counselors stood at the top, grasped our hands, and pulled everyone up…except me. They tried. But the idea of being pulled up a piece of flat rock scared me half to death. They had both of my hands, but I let go with one so I could cover my eyes. I spun around and slammed my back against the rock and hung there, grasped by one arm, and cried. The counselor, I think his name was Tom, finally had to let me go. I slid about a foot to the mossy forest floor.
A similar thing happened on a camping trip to Cooks Forest in Pennsylvania. My parents took a large portion of the immediate family to the beautiful primordial forest in our Banner trailer. I brought my friend Diane, and my sister’s father–in-law, who was about 80, came with us too. We decided to walk the River Trail, a pleasant walk along the gorge.
Someone decided that it would be funny to turn the rustic sign to the left, basically sending people down the side of the hill towards the raging river gorge rather than along the smooth path that ran along safely, (and levelly), above. Everyone …my parents, the 80 year old man, and my friend Diane, took it all in stride and climbed down the hill. My father had a stiffened leg so was basically operating only on one good one. My mother, who was even less athletic than me, climbed down the hill as if she was going to the mall to buy shoes.
I clung to a small sapling that had grown from the side of the hill … and cried. My friend Diane sprinted up and down the hill to show me how easy it was. My Dad invoked the name of Jeezus H. Crist while yelling up at me to pull myself together, let go, and slide down the hill on my butt.
This brings me to the purpose of this story. High Heels.
I truly, TRULY, do not know how women walk in heels. To me, they may as well climb Mt. McKinley. Why would anyone place themselves in such peril? There are stones, rocks, gaping wooden slats, slippery tiles, sand, dirt, and curbs. How is it possible to walk in shoes that are not only made with a skinny, six inch stiletto, but the toe is also built on a three inch platform? How do women walk in these? WHY do they walk in these??
Let’s examine the similarities of climbing mountains and walking in high heels.
Climbing at a high altitude can be nauseating, dizzying, and it can kill you. Eyelids can swell and ooze.
You can experience red, tender, or cracked, scabbed, and bleeding skin.
You can develop intense cramps (with diarrhea).
The lower calf can become swollen and painful with a pale, or even bluish, cast. This could be indicative of a clot (or thrombophlebitis). You can fall to your death.
In heels, the air is thinner too.
Bones can shatter like toothpicks when the ankle juts to the side after an encounter with a curb.
The stress of wearing heels will cause diarrhea.
I have read that for every fraction of an inch you add to the heel, the rest of your body has to compensate in order to remain upright. Bone structure, posture, and core muscle strength have everything to do with how a body reacts to stilettos. Based on this, it stands to reason that permanent disfigurement also occurs in heels. One begins to resemble the Elephant Man by the time she reaches sixty.
Physicians have found that wearing high heels for any length of time increases the normal forward curve of the back and causes the pelvis to tip forward in an ABNORMAL way.
Ooooooo, SEXY.
High heel wearers’ muscle fibers are 13% shorter than those of women who wear flat shoes. Women and drag queens have to have their calves stretched on a primitive rack prior to going to the beach in flip-flops.
Physicians also say that the pounds of pressure placed on the ball of a foot in a high-heeled shoe is about the same as carrying a baby elephant around on your shoulder. I would gladly carry a baby elephant if it needed a ride, but I’m pretty sure it’s physically impossible. Yet, heel wearers are essentially doing that very thing. I’m thinkin it’s easier to climb Mt. McKinley.
I’ve tried wearing heels and can’t make it from point A to point B. I’m sure as hell not going to attempt to climb a mountain in them.
But I do have to recognize and laud people who are capable of such amazing feats. Kudos to the folks who have climbed Mount McKinley … or a rock wall at the gym, or even the mound of gravel down by the railroad tracks. And Kudos to the people who can maneuver the wooden slats at the Palm Pavilion on a Saturday night in their six inch stilettos.
Better you than me babe.
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