My father had a simple piece of advice that has stayed with me throughout my life: "Always look after your teeth and feet." There was considerable wisdom packed into those few words. Lose the health of your teeth and eating becomes difficult; lose the health of your feet and much of your independence can disappear with them. The importance of the latter becomes particularly interesting when we look back at people whose lives depended upon their ability to walk enormous distances, and few historical examples are more striking than the Roman legionary.
Roman soldiers were marching machines. Depending upon circumstances, they could cover substantial distances carrying weapons, armour, food, tools and other equipment, then arrive at their destination and perform the physical labour required to establish a fortified camp. Whatever exact figure we attach to the weight carried or the distance marched on a particular day, there is no question that military service placed extraordinary demands upon the feet, ankles, knees, hips and spine.
Yet Roman armies managed to sustain this physical regime for centuries. That fact alone should interest us because modern societies are experiencing enormous burdens from osteoarthritis, back pain, foot problems and loss of mobility. We should be cautious about claiming that Roman legionaries universally possessed better joints than modern people, since archaeological skeletal samples are incomplete and comparisons across populations separated by two thousand years are complicated. Nevertheless, Roman military life raises a fascinating question: how did men repeatedly subjected to such enormous physical workloads remain sufficiently mobile to constitute one of the ancient world's most effective military forces?
One place to look is their feet. The Roman caliga was radically different from most modern footwear. These military sandals were made largely from leather and commonly fitted with hobnails beneath the sole. They did not surround the foot with the elaborate cushioning, elevated heel, arch structures and synthetic materials familiar in modern athletic footwear. Their relatively open construction also allowed ventilation in conditions where a soldier might otherwise spend much of the day with his feet enclosed.
This does not prove that Roman footwear was biomechanically superior to modern footwear. Indeed, caligae had disadvantages, and hobnailed footwear could be hazardous on some hard surfaces. What the comparison does suggest is that the human foot is capable of performing under conditions very different from those created by the modern shoe industry.
The foot is an extraordinarily complicated biological structure containing 26 bones and 33 joints, together with numerous muscles, tendons and ligaments. It is not merely a platform attached to the bottom of the leg. It flexes, rotates, absorbs force, adapts to surfaces and contributes to balance and propulsion. The toes, arches and intrinsic muscles of the foot participate continuously in walking.
Modern footwear inevitably changes some of those mechanics. A thick cushioned sole reduces sensory information from the ground, while rigid structures can restrict particular movements. Elevated heels alter posture and loading. Shoes that narrow towards the toes can constrain natural toe spread. None of this means that modern shoes are inherently harmful, since appropriate footwear can protect the feet from injury and may be invaluable for people with particular medical or biomechanical problems. It does mean that more cushioning and more structural intervention should not automatically be assumed to produce healthier feet.
The modern interest in minimalist footwear arose partly from this observation. Walking barefoot or in relatively minimal footwear requires the muscles of the foot to do work that a highly supportive shoe may partly perform for them. There is evidence that footwear can influence gait and foot strength, although the leap from that observation to claiming that cushioned shoes cause the modern epidemic of osteoarthritis is much greater than the evidence presently permits.
Terrain matters as well. Roman soldiers travelled across dirt, grass, gravel, stone roads and constantly changing natural surfaces. A person walking over irregular terrain continually adjusts foot placement, balance and muscular activity. Contrast that with modern life, where people may spend most of the day sitting and then walk relatively short distances across perfectly flat concrete, asphalt or indoor floors.
This points towards a larger difference between Roman and modern life. The Roman legionary was conditioned for walking because he walked. His muscles, tendons, bones and cardiovascular system were progressively adapted to physical activity. The modern person can move from childhood into middle age while spending extraordinary amounts of time sitting at school desks, office desks, in cars and in front of screens, only occasionally attempting concentrated exercise.
The comparison therefore should not become a simplistic argument that Roman sandals were good and modern shoes are bad. The deeper principle is that human bodies adapt to what they are repeatedly asked to do. Regular movement generally strengthens the systems required for movement, whereas prolonged inactivity permits them to deteriorate. The legionary's great advantage may have been less a magical sandal than an entire life in which physical conditioning was unavoidable.
Diet adds another dimension. Roman military diets varied according to period and location, but grains, legumes, vegetables, olive oil and other relatively simple foods were important components, supplemented by meat, fish and other available foods. Whatever shortcomings ancient diets possessed, Roman soldiers were certainly not living upon the modern combination of ultra-processed snack foods, sugary drinks and highly refined convenience products.
Modern metabolic health matters to joint health because body weight, inflammation, muscle strength and general physical condition affect the loads placed upon joints. Obesity in particular increases the mechanical burden upon knees and hips, while metabolic factors may also contribute to osteoarthritis. The modern joint problem consequently cannot be separated completely from the modern diet and the increasingly sedentary lifestyle accompanying it.
There is also something wonderfully practical about the openness of Roman military footwear. Anyone who has spent an entire day in enclosed shoes knows what heat and moisture can do to the feet. Modern footwear can provide superb protection, but a warm and damp enclosed environment can also encourage problems such as fungal infection. Roman sandals allowed substantially more airflow, although ancient soldiers undoubtedly suffered their own catalogue of blisters, wounds, infections and other foot problems.
That qualification matters because we should not romanticise antiquity. Roman soldiers were not supermen living in perfect harmony with nature. They suffered injuries, arthritis, infections, nutritional deficiencies and occupational wear just as human beings always have. Archaeological remains frequently reveal the considerable physical stresses endured by ancient populations. Life expectancy and medical treatment were vastly inferior to those available today.
Nevertheless, there is an important lesson hiding inside the comparison. Modern technology has a tendency to assume that every natural biological function can be improved by adding another layer of engineering. Sometimes it can. Eyeglasses, artificial joints, antibiotics, modern dentistry and countless other innovations have transformed human life for the better. But intervention can also create dependence when it substitutes unnecessarily for biological functions that remain capable of doing the work themselves.
Feet provide an excellent example because they respond to use. Muscles can strengthen, balance can improve and walking capacity can be maintained far into later life. Conversely, inactivity can produce a vicious circle in which weakness makes movement uncomfortable, reduced movement creates further weakness and eventually ordinary walking becomes difficult.
This is where my father's advice acquires greater significance. "Always look after your teeth and feet" sounds almost comically simple compared with modern health advice involving biomarkers, supplements, pharmaceuticals, exercise technologies and elaborate dietary programs. Yet it identifies two of the physical foundations of independence.
Good teeth allow us to eat properly. Good feet allow us to move. Movement helps preserve muscle, balance, cardiovascular health, metabolic health and independence. Once mobility disappears, a cascade of other problems can follow.
Looking after the feet therefore means more than buying expensive shoes. It means keeping them strong enough to perform their natural function. That can involve walking regularly, maintaining healthy body weight, strengthening the lower legs and feet, wearing shoes that fit properly and allow adequate room for the toes, and avoiding the assumption that maximum cushioning is necessarily appropriate for everyone.
People interested in minimalist footwear should nevertheless transition cautiously. Someone who has spent decades wearing highly supportive shoes cannot sensibly throw them away on Monday and undertake a Roman legionary's march on Tuesday. Muscles, tendons and bones adapt gradually, and abrupt changes in loading can produce precisely the injuries one is attempting to avoid. People with diabetes, neuropathy, significant arthritis, foot deformities or other medical problems have additional reasons to obtain professional advice before experimenting with barefoot or minimalist walking.
The Roman legionary ultimately provides a useful corrective not because we should all start wearing caligae, but because his life reminds us of what the human body is capable of doing when it is conditioned to move. Men marched enormous distances without gel-filled soles, electronic step counters or sophisticated sports shoes because walking was not an exercise program added to their lives. It was part of life itself.
Modern civilisation has given us extraordinary comforts, but comfort has a biological price when it removes the need to use capacities that evolved through use. We drive distances our grandparents walked, sit for work that once required movement and purchase technologies designed to eliminate physical effort. Then we construct specialised exercise programs attempting to replace the movement we engineered out of everyday life.
Perhaps the old lesson is the better one. Walk while you still can. Keep the feet strong, give the toes room to move, maintain the muscles that support the joints and do not surrender ordinary physical functions prematurely to technological substitutes.
Above all, remember the wonderfully uncomplicated wisdom of an earlier generation: look after your teeth and look after your feet. You will miss either of them terribly when they are gone. Avicii (Tim Bergling 1989-2018), put these sentiments in music before his tragic death. "The Nights" turns that sort of fatherly advice into something larger: your body eventually wears out and your time is finite, so look after yourself, but also make something worthwhile of the time you have.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtF6Jej8yb4 https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1SqP7_RfOC9Jf9L_GRHANg