I Tried 6 Pairs of Kids' Shoes. Only One Let Her Run Properly.

Every school morning started the same way: me on my knees in the hallway, wrestling with laces while she wriggled and the clock ran down.

These have a wide opening and a single strap. She steps in, pulls it shut, done. The first morning she did it without me I stood there like an idiot, genuinely pleased.

Take a look at a child's bare foot, then at the shoe you just bought. The foot is widest at the toes. Almost every shoe is narrowest there.

A wide toe box lets toes spread instead of folding over each other. Her feet stopped looking pressed together at the end of the day.

I used to think she was just clumsy. Then I bent one of her old shoes: it barely moved. She was walking on a plank.

A thin, flexible sole lets her feel the ground and adjust. Kerbs, wet grass, playground bark. She reads the surface instead of fighting it.

The raised heel on a normal kids' shoe tips the whole body forward. Small legs then compensate all day long.

A zero-drop sole keeps the heel and the ball of the foot level, the way she stands barefoot. We now get round the whole park without the sit-down protest.

Her old winter shoes felt like small bricks. By the afternoon she wanted to be carried.

These weigh a fraction of that. On the walk home she is still running ahead instead of hanging off my arm.

Mud, puddles, sandpit, a scooter crash. I fully expected to replace them by February.

They wiped clean and the sole is still intact. That matters more than the sticker price, which brings me to the last point.

Two big-brand sneakers, a pair of stiff "supportive" school shoes, supermarket trainers and two pairs of sandals she refused to wear after a week. None of it was cheap and none of it lasted a season.

One pair that works costs less than the pile that does not.