Heels are not my friend. We have a love/hate relationship in that I love them and they hate me. So every time I wear a pair, they break up with me by trying to break one or both of my ankles.
The one night I succeeded in spending an entire night in heels was on New Year's Eve about 4 years ago. I was in so much pain that I had to call and wake up my mum at 5am to get her to pick me up from the station. It was before the days of lifts in train stations so I had to crawl up the concrete steps on all fours. Thanks to the festive season, I just blended in with the drunks who also struggled to put one leg in front of the other. As my feet continued to hurt for another two days, I considered demanding an X-Ray from a hospital. Unfortunately, this wasn't possible as I could neither drive nor walk in my condition.
When I was little, all I wanted to do was wear heels. Then when I was old enough for this to be appropriate, I discovered I could hardly stand in them. The irony! I'm like a baby giraffe taking it's first steps.
I wanted Louboutins so much that I took to spray painting the soles of my shoes. I was so embarrassed by the trail of red footprints following me that I let people believe that I had fled from a murder scene rather than admit my fashion faux pas.
As much as I want a pair, I would be so precious about the soles that I wouldn't actually let them touch the ground, lest they get scuffed. So I'd be the kind of person to walk into the restaurant in run down kicks and change into shoes. Which would defeat the objective of wearing the shoes as they will be hidden by a table for the rest of the night. Luckily for me, by this time I would probably only be able to afford KFC and therefore it's likely that I wouldn't be told off if I put my feet up on the table.
I am the opposite of my brother when it comes to trainers. I had a pair of white converse trainers that I lost after only a few wears. That, or they could account for the grey and black pair that mysteriously appeared in my cupboard.
For the last year I've developed problems with my Achilles (amongst other injuries) because I wasn't changing my trainers regularly enough to compensate for the high impact workouts I do. I would rather hobble everywhere I had to go than part with more than £30 on a pair of trainers. In the meantime, I spent much more than that on shoes that were so thin I could feel the ground beneath them, and only served to exacerbate my mobility issues.
In the end, my sister bought me a pair after a gym instructor made her 257th announcement about my footwear over the microphone to the entire class. I sheepishly purchased myself an additional pair (when Sportsdirect did a 75% offer) of trainers so I can alternate between the two and hopefully make them last a bit longer.
Anyone would think I'm a cheapskate when it comes to footwear. I am, but only in respect of trainers. With shoes (handbags and clothes) I am quite the opposite. Under my bed, I have 10 x 32 litre plastic containers filled with shoes. I have another 80 litre and 45 litre plastic storage boxes in my closet. There are some shoes with the tags still on and some that I have only ever worn once. Despite having enough heels to make me taller than a mountain, I live in flats. Which I have bought in every possible colour (some more than once) just to make life a bit easier.
But what if the shoes don't fit but they are really cute?! I decided to practice my own form of binding when I squeezed my feet into shoes that were a size too small. Okay, so I did this with two pairs of shoes on more than one occasion. For the remainder of the week, I'd have to walk on the outsides of my feet but the point was, I looked good. On another occasion, I went a size too big thinking that a pair of insoles should do it. That was the day I discovered that my left foot is half an inch smaller than my right one. The right shoe just about stayed on but I would frequently find myself with one bare foot and would turn to locate my left shoe behind me in the distance. Don't let Cinderella fool you, there's nothing glamorous about hobbling and looking like you can only afford one shoe. And there is no Prince Charming, only a tramp trying to use your wandering shoe as a she-wee.
With all these experiences, it's no wonder that I gave up on wearing heels (but not on buying and hoarding them). I wear flats so much that my nephew bought me a lovely pair of high heeled shoes for Christmas last year just to encourage me to wear them. Needless to say, they are yet to be worn.
My training heels have taught me one thing. I'd rather live in flats than end up flat.