Last month, Claire Woodall's boyfriend asked me if I could teach him to barefoot ski.

It might not have been the oddest request I've ever heard, but it was definitely not something I was expecting. I hardly ever see anybody ski anymore, much less barefoot. Part of that is because nice, calm, perfect-for-skiing water is hard to find these days, part of it is because so many people have started to wakeboard instead of ski (but so few of them are doing it well! Don't get me started…) and part of it is probably because there is a video game out there that has replaced skiing.

It has been a long time since I barefooted; not twenty years, but not far from it. I still know how to do it; I can feel it in my muscle memory, just like riding a bike. Whether or not my body could take it is another story; I'm older, heavier, weaker, and one of these days I'm going to try to lift something heavy and my arms are going to come apart at the elbows; none of those fit the criteria of an ideal barefooting body.

But teaching is another story, so I've decided to give it a try. After all, I taught myself to barefoot.

Well, truthfully, my friend Darryl and I taught each other, and for a while it was the comedy of errors you might expect. After yet another spectacularly unsuccessful attempt, one of us would have some helpful info for the other, although it was always info of the "well, that didn't work" or "for God's sake, don't try that" variety. But little by little we learned all of the things NOT to do, and eventually there was nothing left to do but the stuff that worked.

If you look up "How to Barefoot Ski" in The Big Book of Hurting Yourself While Having Fun, there will be a few essentials mentioned: a specially-padded barefoot suit, a longer-than-normal ski rope, a powerful boat, a "barefoot boom" (maybe not essential but highly recommended) and feet. We had feet, but that was about it.

We also had determination, grit, a high threshold of pain, and the sort of ingenuity that those less fortunate often label "insanity." What we didn't have we made, and what we couldn't make we decided was not essential after all.

For instance, we didn't have the required extra-long ski rope, but we had an ordinary ski rope and plenty of old, frayed rope pieces. With a few strong knots and a lot of "that looks about right" measurements, we had created the longest and ugliest ski rope on the lake. (It wouldn't be long before our "bigger and uglier" concept was used as the blueprint for many new houses on the lake; that was NOT our intent.)

Now that we had the rope, we needed a plan. After some discussion (and some painful research) we decided that the best method for barefooting was the "kneeboard" method, where we would sit on a kneeboard until the boat reached the proper speed, at which point we would plant our feet on the water and be 'footing! This had to be easier than the "step off of a ski" method (which we never came close to mastering; truthfully, we never came close to coming close) and the "get dragged behind the boat until you manage to stand up" method (which we were happy to just survive.)

After attempting the kneeboard method a few times, we decided to try the "barefoot boom" method. Barefoot booms are long aluminum poles that attach to the center ski pole and stick out from the side of the boat; instead of hanging onto a ski rope, you just hang onto the boom.

The problem was that we had no long aluminum pole, and no center mounted ski pole to hook it to even if we had one. But that didn't stop us from calculating how many broomsticks we needed to lash together, and if we had ever figured out a way to tie them to the boat, we would have tried our makeshift boom out. But that was one problem we never could overcome, which in retrospect was probably a good thing. We decided that booms were for sissies, and went back to the kneeboard.

After a few days, we got to the point where we could actually sit on the board as the boat approached barefoot speed (about 38 mph, we decided; it was also as fast as the boat could go while dragging a body); it was when we attempted the transition from sitting to standing that things fell apart. Maybe "things fell apart" isn't the best term to use; "we fell, and our bodies were almost ripped apart" is better. Or at least more accurate.

Eventually, though, we began to get the hang of it. Darryl was first; one time he planted his feet, and though we couldn't actually see him through the spray, when he finally let go of the rope, he was several yards ahead of the kneeboard, and he insisted that he covered the distance while standing on the water. And sure enough, he had; before long, we were both able to barefoot for a significant distance. ("Significant" meaning that it was easier to catch a ride back to the kneeboard than swim to it.)

I have a picture of Darryl taken moments after that initial ride ended (with a tremendous wipeout, of course) and his smile is huge. During our attempts at learning to barefoot, the most encouraging thing we had been told was along the lines of "You'll probably give up before you're killed." So to accomplish our goal was a joy unlike any we had ever felt.

Of course, I hadn't really accomplished anything, though I could not have been happier for Darryl. But now that he had done it, I had no choice; it was time to barefoot, or die trying. And, obviously, I didn't die.

There was a problem, though, and it was significant: barefooting hurt. It didn't hurt our feet, surprisingly, but every other square inch was somehow in pain following a barefoot run. ("Barefoot crawl" was probably a more accurate term, but it didn't sound as cool.) We were beginning to understand why barefoot suits were listed as one of the "Things You Must Have."

A barefoot suit is basically a wetsuit with extra padding sewn in where you need it. (And believe me, you only have to 'foot once without the suit to know exactly where you need that extra padding.) A barefoot suit is also expensive, which meant that we weren't going to be getting one anytime soon. So once again, we began to improvise. I dug around and found an old pair of blue jeans (why I had a pair of long pants at the lake I'll never know), and this was the basis of our barefoot suit. Real barefoot suits have cinches on the bottom, to keep water from shooting up the legs and into wherever you don't want it. To simulate this, we rolled the cuffs of the jeans up until they were tight against our calves. Barefoot suits also have built-in athletic cups, because when a high-pressure stream of water is directed straight up between your feet, it seeks out the most sensitive areas.

Eventually I rooted around in my hockey equipment bag and found a cup, but until then we used rolled up socks. Lots of them. Finally, barefoot suits have a thick pad sewn into the seat, because after bouncing on the kneeboard, bouncing on the water, and the inevitable wipeout, sitting down can become quite painful.

We never did successfully simulate that pad. We didn't do a lot of sitting down that summer, anyway; not even when we wanted to.

While not officially sanctioned, and while far from perfect, our makeshift barefoot suit was serviceable, even though we looked like "The Beverly Hillbillies Go Skiing" every time we wore it. (To this day I can't picture us 'footing in those jeans without adding in some banjo music.) And we wore it a lot; by the end of the summer we could both barefoot for a couple of miles at a time; we could cross the wakes, ski on only one foot, and (most importantly) fall without breaking our necks. And through it all, the only official piece of equipment we used was our feet.

Eventually, we got a wetsuit; it wasn't an official barefoot suit but it did the trick, and we were able to retire the blue jeans with honor. (We had to keep using the cup, though.) I outgrew that suit about 25 pounds ago, but I still have it. But I'm not sure if I'm going to let Claire's boyfriend use it. After all, if rolled-up jeans were good enough for me, they should be good enough for him, too. Let him get good enough to earn the wetsuit; if a few more people get a good laugh because he looks like Cousin Jethro on skis, so much the better.

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