Joe Rooney

They call him Barefoot Ted, an American hero who has run marathons all over the States on all kinds of terrain in his bare feet.

Ted says the first time he ran without shoes, it was like his feet were fish jumping back into the water after being held captive.

I read about him in Born to Run, a book that anyone who hangs around running clubs will hear about sometime.

Ted may be the reason I'm sat here in the car, in my running top and shorts, by the Mornington Dunes.

I don't want to get out.

I sit for a while, procrastinating, the car a cradle gently rocking in the breeze.

I check Instagram, Twitter, Gmail.

Finally, I get out and feel the angry breeze on my legs, goose pimpled and complaining.

I take my runners off and throw them in the back seat and step barefoot through the vast sand dunes.

On the strand, I twist the creaks from my ankles and start to run.

Running barefoot, I feel the slap of my feet against the million minuscule grains of sand, the textures beneath my soul.

This is my foot striking off of the land.

No uncertainty.

No millimetres of rubber insoles or air bubbles masking the impact.

Why do we need shoes when our feet are ready-made?

I first walked barefoot in these dunes when I was suffering from plantar fasciitis, a tightness of the muscles in the legs and feet that causes severe pain in the soles.

It made running impossible.

I tried rolling my feet over rubber balls and empty bottles, but nothing was making them better.

I couldn't run.

The frustration of not being able to run is known to every injured runner.