I intended to wear them every day of our honeymoon: a fashion-forward but still functional pair of black platform wedges, complete with arch support and a ton of cushioning.
I’d taken the guidebooks as gospel save for the suggestion to invest in a solid pair of slip-on shoes for temples, shrines, and castles. Platform wedges shouldn’t have been on my packing list unless “white woman appropriates Japanese culture via misguided Harajuku cosplay attempt” was on my itinerary…which, mercifully, it wasn’t.
I didn’t consider that the 5k steps around my house would pale in comparison to days of 15-20k steps. Or that flying halfway around the world might have some impact on my circulation and general health function, especially given that I started wearing compression socks on my frequent wedding-planning trips from Phoenix to Charlotte. Or that maybe spending eight hours in my barely-broken-in wedding day wedges might provide ample opportunity for foot fuck-upry.
I overthink or don’t think. Alternately: I’m stressed or I’m screwed.
On day three in Japan, I had a Cheryl Strayed-inspired shit-fit about how stupid, naive, and illogical I’d been to think platform wedges would be remotely feasible. I’d traipsed around most of Matsumoto proper that day, relieved only when we toured the impressive and imposing Matsumoto-jo. Admittance to the castle required removal of footwear, and I hobbled up and down steep, narrow staircases while the shoes banged against my thigh in a thin, plastic bag.
I wanted to hurl my shoes from trailside while emitting a primal scream, but my feet hurt too damn much to hike up a mountain.
Our shoes sat just outside our room, in a tidy row on the floor. I grabbed the pair of wedges, obnoxiously dark and heavy in my hand, and buried them in the bottom of my bag.
Even my stubbornness has its limits.