HUMAN. NATURE.

I climbed Mt. Katahdin barefoot once. Backpacked in to the Chimney Pond campsite — a few miles. And the next day, climbed to the summit. For some reason my Dad didn’t notice until we were up there. Maybe it was snowing or something. He made me put on the shoes I’d tied to my pack — plain old leather shoes. I promptly sprained my ankle. I told you, Dad! Humans work better barefoot.

Yep, the "Knife Edge" too: Barefoot.

Years later I debated climbing Katahdin in heels, just for the heck of it. And according to new research from one of my favorite scientists, it might be a good idea.

Daniel Lieberman, a Harvard evolutionary biologist, looks at the human body in context — the context of millions of years of evolution. And when he compared barefoot running and running-shoe running, his conclusion was stunning. The forces on your body are two or three times heavier in shoes than barefoot.

That assumes you land on your heel when you run in shoes. And running shoes are designed for that stride. Lieberman’s work suggests there ain’t enough foam or gel or air in the world to make a running shoe safer for your joints than going barefoot.

How can this be?

Well, the running shoe was invented about 1.5 human generations ago. In the millions of years prior to that humans ran barefoot or in minimal footwear. And we got really good at it. Humans are the best endurance runners alive, better on the long haul than even a horse. And the foot is a huge part of the reason. The arch in particular.

Answer this: How do you run when you’re chasing the dog barefoot, or running down the beach on hard sand? Not on your heels.

Lieberman wired up humans to measure the forces on their bodies during running. He found that people who run in shoes hit heel first, which almost totally wastes the spring potential of the arch. They get a boost when they roll forward off the toes, but they miss the shock absorbing work the arch does if you land on the forefoot.

This explains a bunch of things to me:

• When I (used to) run in shoes, I strive to flex my toes up to get the most out of that gel. It feels inefficient and unnatural. I feel better landing on the outer ball of my foot.

• When I try to sneak up on someone at a run, I go on “tiptoe.” What’s the connection? Lower impact makes lower noise. Good hunting tactic, if you’re counting on your speed to approach prey.

• Because I thought I was SUPPOSED TO run on my heels, I probably tore the crap out of my malformed hip socket long before necessary. Had I run barefoot, I would have greatly reduced the wear on that joint, and perhaps be running — and titanium free — today. Rats. I wonder if I’d be allowed to run with hip replacement if I promised never to land on my heel?

• It might be safer to climb Mt. Katahdin in heels than in regular shoes. In heels, you’re forced onto your forefoot. Descending would be a bear, but you could just take them off and go nature-girl.

Old memory: I just remembered how, when our uncle circled the hayfield on his tractor, mowing or tedding, my teenage sister would run steadily behind, barefoot. We all had very calloused feet, which you need if you’re going to run barefoot.

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