My shoes are great for walking, perfectly shaped to my foot, low in back so that they don’t rub my heels. I have never had one blister in them. My feet don’t sweat when I wear them as they are aerated with little pin-sized holes. They are perfect, as long as I don’t come into contact with any moisture whatsoever. When I do, the little holes that allow them to breathe turn the shoes into sponges. When they absorb water only, they eventually dry (albeit stinking in the process). But when they encounter mud, they suck that up, too.
I have dried the shoes and aired them and taken a long, moisture-free walk in them to see if they can be rehabilitated. Still their ingenious, treacherous little pores are clogged with caked mud—mud from the hill overlooking the battlefield where Boudica’s army met the Roman forces that defeated her rebellion. Mud from the ground where Governor Suetonius Paulinus might have stood, directing the battle his outnumbered troops won. Mud that I brought through US customs and all the way home.