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"I haven't tried them with golf," he says, warming to the idea. "The only thing [golf courses] restrict are metal spikes."

In touch with the trail

Without so much as a smirk, Matt Chvatal explains that he's just bought a pair of shoes for his job at the Pets Supermarket in Cary.

"We have to wear either brown or black shoes," he says.

But his new "work shoes" are from Great Outdoor Provision Co., which he's just walked out of and where Michael Todd is finishing his shift before heading off for a shoeless vacation piloting a personal watercraft on Lake Burton in Georgia. Yep, he confesses, they're Five Fingers. OK, now he flashes a quick smirk.

Chvatal, who is 21, grew up in cold Ohio and didn't have much occasion to go barefoot. That changed when he moved here to go to school three years ago.

"When I started going to college, I was always barefoot," says Chvatal. About that time, he started becoming more active as well, gravitating toward activities that accommodated his barefootedness: swimming, yoga, martial arts -- and running.

"I run five to 10 miles on the greenway," says Chvatal. "After a while, I really notice the biofeedback I get. It also helps strengthen my feet and lower leg muscles, helps my balance and stability."

Chvatal makes mention of the "underground barefoot running community," but it's a community with increasing visibility. Not long ago, runners without shoes were a novelty (remember 1984's 5,000-meter phenom Zola Budd from South Africa?). Today, barefoot runners are present in most marathons and are popping up in longer endurance runs.

Perhaps even more ambitious are hard-core barefoot hikers, who take on all sorts of rugged terrain minus sturdy, protective boots. Various Web sites are devoted to the subject and there's even a book -- "The Barefoot Hiker," by Richard Frazine, cited as gospel by barefoot aficionados.

Extreme as those barefoot pursuits might seem, Chvatal has a more daunting task ahead.

Clutching his brown Five Fingers as he exits Great Outdoors, he says:

"We'll see if I can get away with it."

Slow Southerners

Tracy Lutz had a long way to go to become an advocate for bare feet.

Growing up, she and her four siblings spent the summers at her dad's house in Trenton, near the coast. It was the perfect environment for going barefoot, despite her dad's constant fussing.

"He was the only doctor for two counties, so he was constantly seeing people who'd cut their feet up or chopped themselves up with an ax," says Lutz, a psychiatrist who now lives in Mooresville. "'You kids step on a rusty nail and you won't be able to open your mouth,'" she says, recalling one of his more popular tetanus-related rants.

Later, in graduate school at Georgetown University she had a microbiology instructor who once told the class that all Southerners were "naturally lethargic and slow" because of having contracted so many parasites by going barefoot from childhood to young adulthood.

"He even went so far as to say that was likely the cause of the South losing to the North during the Civil War," she says, the benefit of time allowing a chuckle.

Lutz knew better. In fact, years earlier she had become aware of the recuperative value of foot freedom.

"My sister, when I was a senior in high school, was studying shiatsu, acupressure, reflexology," says Lutz. "She used me as her guinea pig."

The reflexology, in particular, got her attention.

"Reflexology," according to Kevin Kunz, co-author of "Complete Reflexology for Life," "is the technique of applying pressure to specific reflex points on the hands and feet to stimulate the body's own healing powers."

Reflexology suggests that certain parts your feet and hands are directly connected to specific parts of your body. For instance, the lower third of your toes are hot-wired to your brain, your arch and heels to your lower back, the bottom center of your big toe to your pituitary gland. Manipulate the appropriate part of your foot and you can address a range of woes.

Lutz became more of a believer after graduating from med school at Wake Forest University. Determined to have an open mind about healing, she explored a variety of alternatives, from acupressure to color and sound therapy to near-death encounters to reflexology. Today, she's more convinced than ever that going barefoot is a good thing. Most of the time, at least.

Talking by phone, barefoot, from her backyard on Memorial Day, she takes a moment to admonish her son, who is playing basketball nearby. Returning to the phone, she acknowledges:

"I'm not crazy about them doing it in the driveway."

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