The Dirty Truth About Leadership: Why Muddy Shoes Mean You’re Doing It Right

There’s something both poetic and ridiculous about trudging into one of the world’s most historic cities covered in mud. On my final day walking the Italian Camino, from Campagnano di Roma into Rome, I found myself facing two long, open paddocks that looked deceptively innocent from afar. But the closer I got, the clearer it became that there was no avoiding what lay ahead: puddles. Not the polite kind that invite you to skip through them, but deep, swampy, boot-swallowing puddles that stretched across the entire path like nature’s own obstacle course.

And here’s the kicker: that was the one day I decided not to wear my trusty hiking boots. They’d done their service over 125 kilometres and were now about as supportive as soggy toast. So, I slipped on my bright white walking trainers, light, breathable, and utterly unprepared for the impending chaos. I took one look at those paddocks and thought, “Surely there’s a way to dance around this.” Spoiler: there wasn’t.

Within minutes, my once-white trainers had taken on the hue of Roman soil. My ankles were coated, my socks were squelching, and the smell of wet earth clung to me like a loyal companion. But strangely, I didn’t mind. Rome was almost in sight - metaphorically and literally, and I could almost taste the victory waiting for me at the end.

That moment, somewhere between frustration and acceptance, felt like leadership distilled into a single, muddy stride.

Because here’s the truth: leadership isn’t about walking on dry, well-paved roads. It’s about knowing when to accept the puddles, when to wade through them, and when to laugh at yourself as your pristine white shoes turn brown.

We often equate strong leadership with control, with having a perfect plan, clean outcomes, and the foresight to avoid mess. But real leadership, like that final stretch into Rome, is about agility. It’s about facing the unforeseen with curiosity instead of complaint. The puddles on the path are the unexpected crises, the difficult conversations, the uncomfortable decisions. You can’t always sidestep them, sometimes, the only way forward is through.

There’s also something to be said for adaptability. As I trudged through those fields, I found myself instinctively testing new paths, stepping sideways, hopping between tufts of grass, sometimes just ploughing straight through. Each decision was small, but it was also a lesson in flexibility: in how leaders adjust when conditions change, and how they maintain their direction even when the ground beneath them shifts.

And yes, I ended that day filthy, blistered, and exhausted. But I also crossed the threshold into Rome feeling oddly triumphant. The mud became a kind of badge of honour, proof that progress sometimes looks messy, but it’s still progress.

In leadership, as on the Camino, the journey rarely ends with clean shoes. But if you can keep walking, keep adapting, and find joy in the splashes along the way, then the mud isn’t a setback. It’s just evidence that you had the courage to take the harder path, and to keep going, no matter how squelchy it gets.