Cotton Is a Mistake: Socks and Shoes
I'll say the sock thing right up front because I want to get it out of the way before anybody argues with me. Cotton is a mistake. I'm not going to be moved on this.
Here's what happened. A while back, cold morning, I wore my regular cotton socks up the canyon. Hit a wet patch near the creek, soaked through before I even noticed, and walked the last mile with feet like two blocks of ice. Cotton holds water. It doesn't dry out on the trail, it just sits there against your skin getting colder. That afternoon I bought wool socks. I now own eleven pairs. Maria thinks that's excessive. She's not wrong, but I haven't had cold wet feet since, so I consider it money well spent.
Wool wicks moisture away and it keeps some warmth even when it's damp. You don't need the expensive merino everything. A basic wool-blend hiking sock from a sporting goods aisle at Costco or wherever you shop is fine. Just not cotton. Not the tube socks in your drawer.
Shoes: what actually matters
You don't need trail runners with a name I can't pronounce. You need three things.
Ankle support or at least a stable sole. The canyon trails around here have loose rock, especially on the descents, and your ankle needs a shoe that doesn't let your foot roll sideways when you step wrong. Low-top trail shoes are fine if the sole is firm. Your everyday walking sneakers from ten years ago, worn thin in the heel, are not.
Tread that actually has tread. Look at the bottom. If it's smooth or the pattern is worn flat, that shoe has given what it had to give. On dry, dusty trail that's slick under a thin layer of loose dirt, you want grip. This matters more going down than going up, and going down is where people get hurt. I say that a lot because it's true a lot.
Room to swell. Feet swell on a long walk, more at altitude, more in heat. If your shoes feel snug in the store, they'll feel tight three miles in. Buy a half size up from your dress shoe size if you have to. Nobody's grading you on looking sharp out here.
Break them in before you need them
Do not wear brand new shoes on your first real trail day. Wear them around the house for an evening. Wear them on a flat neighborhood walk. Wear them to the grocery store. You're checking for hot spots, rubbing, anything that pinches. A blister that shows up at mile four on a trail you can't shortcut is a bad time. A blister that shows up walking to your mailbox is just information.
I'll be honest, I'm not the guy to ask about blister care beyond the basics. If you get one, cover it, keep it clean, and if it's bad enough to change how you walk, that's worth mentioning to someone who knows more than I do about feet. I know socks and I know trails. I don't pretend past that.
What I actually wear, since you'll ask
Wool socks, obviously. A trail shoe with a low ankle, not a boot, because a boot is more than I need for the trails we walk in this class. Nothing fancy. I've had the same two pairs of shoes for three years and rotate them so one always has time to dry out between walks, which matters more than people think in dry air like ours. Sweat still happens even if the air pulls moisture out of everything else.
You don't need gear, you need consistency. I'll say that more than once this course. A person in a ten-dollar wool sock and a decent pair of shoes who walks three times a week will do better than a person in five hundred dollars of gear who walks once.
A small story, since we're on the subject of pride and feet
Second week Maria and I started walking together, we did a ridge trail, and she beat me to the top. Sat down on a rock and pretended to read her phone until I caught up, like she'd been there for ages, casual as anything. She had not been there for ages. I know exactly how many minutes behind I was because I checked my watch out of spite. She has never apologized and I have never let her forget it. I tell you this because the two of us were wearing the wrong shoes for months before either of us fixed it, and neither of us admitted that was slowing us down until we finally did something about it. Pride doesn't care what's in your sock drawer. Check your gear before you blame the mountain.
Before next time
Look at the socks in your drawer and pull out anything cotton, then check the tread on your walking shoes by looking at the sole straight on. If it's smooth, that's useful to know before we're three miles in and it's too late to matter.