My next attempt in the VFFs was down in San Jose at a park near my parents' place. The park was an easy choice as it has a half mile dirt path around the perimeter. Taking my lesson from my previous attempt, my plan this time was simple and conservative: walk to the park, run one loop, walk home. I stayed fairly true to that plan. I may have added on an extra .2 miles (because honestly – without some blaring indication that things were going badly, who wants to give up after only ½ mile?), but I consider this a triumph given that I was fighting the temptation to simply run another full loop of the park. My calves reminded me in the first 10th of a mile that this was still something new and different for them and to be nice. Roger that.
Overall, the run was very pleasant. This time, I decided to try the VFFs without the socks. Once again I marveled at the awesome feeling of really sensing the ground beneath my feet - heightened by the lack of extra cushioning from the socks. Given that it was daylight and a less rocky surface, my sesamoids weren’t molested by an unseen stone, and my expectations were much more reined in this time around. The feeling of close contact to the ground was – delightful. Despite feeling like I barely raised my heartrate or formed a single bead of sweat, I made sure to stretch as fully as I do after any more vigorous run. My efforts were rewarded with calves that felt exercised but not crippled in the days following. Success!!
My next attempt in the VFFs happens in Palo Alto near Stanford University. There are a lot of great running trails in this neck of the woods that I have only begun to discover. I love the Bay Area - this time of the year in particular! With the intermittent rain and sun, the surrounding hills have been turning a breathtakingly brilliant green. It makes me feel a little like Dorothy when she first steps into the land of OZ - in "brilliant technicolor." And here I am in my very own pair of "ruby slippers" - granted, they aren't ruby, nor sparkly, but I do think of them as special. I resist the urge to click my heels together and skip off down the road.
Once again, I set my sights conservatively - just 3/4s of a mile to a mile. Unfortunately, my forerunner crapped out before I barely got going, so I didn't have anyway to keep track of the distance. I have discovered that I have a very poor sense of distance. I wonder if this is true for other runners. But isn't this supposed to be one of the things that's great about running? Losing track of time and distance? This time, I ended up running mainly on asphalt. Surprisingly, this was no less comfortable than running on dirt had been. In some ways, it was easier as there were fewer hazards to dodge. I feel light and free.
Once again, I left the injinji socks behind, but, unfortunately, suffered a blister as a result thanks to a less than perfect fit with the VFFs (interestingly, the blister formed on the instep of my foot with the seemingly better, snugger fit). I guess it adds up with the mileage - go figure. Disappointing, though. Perhaps I will have to try some other kind of lubricant on my hot spots, because I definitely prefer the VFFs without the socks.
Near the end of the run, I notice a slight tingling in my calves. Uh oh. I begin walking back to my car immediately and stretch for a solid 10 minutes, hoping I'm not in for another four days of agony. On getting home, I go on WalkJogRun (a great run-planning website that uses google maps) and discover that I ran closer to 1.5 miles. Oops. That's twice as far as the last time I did a VFF run, and nearly twice as long as I planned. Crap. Luckily, however, this time my calves are merely very tight and my ankles only mildly achy for a few days - a massive improvement from my first VFF attempt. Despite only managing to do a VFF run every 10 days or so, my body seems to be responding. 1.5 miles nearly killed me the first time. Now, it was just a slap on the wrist or, errr...calves.
Overall, I am encouraged by my progress, and thrilled to learn that even harder surfaces like asphalt feel fine without a cushy sole. I find that I end up leaving the VFFs on even after I finish a run, just for the pure pleasure of the feeling. It really is like the freedom of being barefoot, but with the insulation and protection of a shoe. I am a fan. Big time.
Next time: New (and somewhat unplanned) adventures in the VFFs...
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Hello, calves!
Okay, enough platitudes and pep talks for now (face it, we all need 'em from time to time) - let's get back down to business.
It is roughly 4:30 in the morning on a Wednesday and the Great Experiment is about to begin. It has now been over a week since I bought the VFFs. They have sat out on display on the dresser ever since I carried them home from the store in triumph, while I wondered if I really knew what I was getting into. Realizing I didn't have the faintest idea of what I was doing or even where to start, I searched the internet for some enlightenment. I was surprised and delighted to discover that there is a plethora of information available on the subject. After skimming through a variety of blogs and various forums on the subject (both VFF and barefoot running) I began to recognize a common theme from the newbs (short for newbies a.k.a. rookies) - if you don't start out short and slow you're going to be in a world of hurt from your calves to your ankles. In response, many of the veterans recommend starting out with as little as a quarter mile. Ha! I think. You can't be serious. A quarter mile? Although I am grateful for the advice, skeptically I think that it probably only loosely applies to me. After all, I am a natural mid-foot - as opposed to heel - striker, and I have good body-friendly form thanks to my encounters with the ChiRunning technique, so I figure I'm way ahead of the pack. Still, I realize that I'd better not overshoot my first attempt until I know for certain. I decide a mile or two is certainly within reason. Only one way to find out!
It takes me a solid 5 minutes - and some deep breaths - to work my way into the injinji socks and the VFFs - getting each toe into each individual hole. It must have really flustered me (again) because somehow I manage to walk out the door without my Forerunner. Let the reader be aware: This NEVER happens. I am almost as addicted to my info-porn as I am to running itself. Somehow the numbers manage to ground these heady (and feety) efforts in reality - providing some benchmark as to my progress, some tangible record that I did in fact make the effort and it was Good. Did I mention the importance of celebrating the little successes?
I fail to realize the absence of the familiar weight on my wrist until I'm already halfway to my destination. "This is not a good omen!" I think, in alarm. "Oh forget about it!" my inner monologue snaps back. "A Real Runner doesn't need that kind of thing. Are you a Real Runner or aren't you? Are you? Are you? PROVE it. Keep driving." But, I'm torn. Aside from my info-porn addiction, the Forerunner has also helped me to rein in my exuberance at critical times, like now, so that I don't set myself up for a disaster. But, I delayed too long in getting out the door and I'm all but out of time to squeeze in even a modest effort before I need to be back home. "Besides," my inner monologue coaxes, "You've run this route dozens of times in the past. You have a rough sense of the distance of the course. All you have to do is think about running slowly - and you're naturally good at that..." I ignore the jab and give in. Forerunner-free it is. I still don't like it, but I'm not about to give up now.
I start out, as always, at a walk and savor my heightened awareness of the ground beneath my feet. A little more gravelly than I thought it would be, I observe. Amazing how many small pebbles and stones I can feel! Since I plan on running less than two miles and I'm short on time, I decide that walking probably isn't very important this morning, so I soon switch over to a slow jog. Again, I find myself on the balls of my feet - no treadmill fluke there! I pay close attention to my posture - legs relaxed, feet under me, slight forward lean. "This is going well" My inner monologue encourages brightly. "This is pretty cool!" I agree. Then, unexpectedly - "Ouch!" I nearly exclaim out loud. Then "OUCH!" again. These "pebbles" are really getting to me! I never noticed them before - but now they seem to be everywhere! What's worse - I can't SEE them because it's so dark out! This might have been less of an issue if it weren't for that little homing-device of sesamoid bone in the ball of my foot which seemed hell-bent on discovering every possible hazard to its barely-recovered self. I made a mental note: "Self - next time, try daylight and some place less - Ouch! - rocky."
I reach the place near the Warming Hut that I judge to be roughly 1 mile from where I started. Probably a good time to turn back for today. Nevertheless, I proceed another hundred feet further to allow a runner going the opposite direction to pass so that there won't be any witnesses to my retreat. I don't care that it's dark and that there is no way this person could recognize me if they even cared enough to notice me in the first place. Not going to give them the slightest opportunity to gloat. This is one of the reasons I prefer to run when no one else is awake. The Beast is much quicker to pounce if I give myself any leeway when there are witnesses around.
I cast a longing glance ahead at Fort Point - my usual destination on this course - before finally turning around to begin the journey back. Shortly, I begin to notice a slight tightening, almost tingling, sensation in my calves and ankles. Recognizing this cue from the barefoot forums, I decide, "Okay, just a little bit further since I'm tight on time as it is, then I'll walk." The soreness starts to increase, and, what's more, my hip flexor (my latest random body ache) starts to chime in. "Okay, okay," I conced. "Enough for now." I begin to walk. I guestimate that I've run maybe one and a quarter miles. Maybe one and a half. "Not a bad effort," My inner monologue observes approvingly. "Very reasonable for a first try." I applaud myself roundly for "listening to my body", ignoring the fact that it took me about a quarter of a mile to do so. After all, that's nearly as good as an instantaneous response in my book. All in all, I consider it a triumph of willpower and reason. I return home, feeling quite pleased with myself and proud of having survived my first true VFF experience! Success!
Three hours later...
"Uh oh" I think to myself. I can feel my calves cramping and tightening. "This is not good." This sort of tightening shouldn't happen for at least 24 hours. When it happens in only 3 hours - you know you're in for a rough ride. And boy was I!
The next four days I could barely walk - my calves were so tight and my ankles were in such pain. "What the hell was I thinking?" I groaned to myself. "You mean, they were serious when they said to start by only doing 'a quarter mile' on those forums? But that's so LITTLE! That's only a fraction of what I would normally do!" I pleaded with my legs. "And you have good form! Shouldn't you get a little more leeway?!" My inner monologue chimed in. "Shutup!Shutup!SHUTUP!" I answered. "Gaarrrrr! So much for running AT ALL for the next several days. Oh yes, that's a REAL success now, isn't it? Trade a measly 1 mile and change for the four miles I had planned for this weekend? Brilliant. STUPID inner monologue." I cursed. "But we were being reasonable!" it protested back. "We stopped as soon as we noticed ANY sign of discomfort." "Yeah, right - 'as soon as', meaning a quarter of a mile later. Meaning, the full length of the maximum recommended starting distance to attempt in VFFs. Hmmm?" I answered. "Uh..." stutters my inner monologue, momentarily lost for words (a rare occasion) "Sorry?"
Lessons learned:
1. That quarter mile rule is really a good idea after all - even if you think you have good form and you're used to running much farther. You never knew you had so many muscles down there that could get their knickers in a twist over a little light jog till you take away that cushy shoe...
2. Pick not only a route you're familiar with, but give yourself the benefit of your eyes so you can avoid the sorts of minute hazards that you would never have give a second glance to with your feet encased in the fortresses of your running shoes.
3. If you wait until you notice that your legs are feeling a bit tingly - you've gone too long. Stretch those lower extremities as if your life depended on it, take some ibuprofen, and plan to catch up on all of those shows sitting around unwatched on your DVR for the next several days.
Next time: Lessons learned = movement forward. Who knew?
It is roughly 4:30 in the morning on a Wednesday and the Great Experiment is about to begin. It has now been over a week since I bought the VFFs. They have sat out on display on the dresser ever since I carried them home from the store in triumph, while I wondered if I really knew what I was getting into. Realizing I didn't have the faintest idea of what I was doing or even where to start, I searched the internet for some enlightenment. I was surprised and delighted to discover that there is a plethora of information available on the subject. After skimming through a variety of blogs and various forums on the subject (both VFF and barefoot running) I began to recognize a common theme from the newbs (short for newbies a.k.a. rookies) - if you don't start out short and slow you're going to be in a world of hurt from your calves to your ankles. In response, many of the veterans recommend starting out with as little as a quarter mile. Ha! I think. You can't be serious. A quarter mile? Although I am grateful for the advice, skeptically I think that it probably only loosely applies to me. After all, I am a natural mid-foot - as opposed to heel - striker, and I have good body-friendly form thanks to my encounters with the ChiRunning technique, so I figure I'm way ahead of the pack. Still, I realize that I'd better not overshoot my first attempt until I know for certain. I decide a mile or two is certainly within reason. Only one way to find out!
It takes me a solid 5 minutes - and some deep breaths - to work my way into the injinji socks and the VFFs - getting each toe into each individual hole. It must have really flustered me (again) because somehow I manage to walk out the door without my Forerunner. Let the reader be aware: This NEVER happens. I am almost as addicted to my info-porn as I am to running itself. Somehow the numbers manage to ground these heady (and feety) efforts in reality - providing some benchmark as to my progress, some tangible record that I did in fact make the effort and it was Good. Did I mention the importance of celebrating the little successes?
I fail to realize the absence of the familiar weight on my wrist until I'm already halfway to my destination. "This is not a good omen!" I think, in alarm. "Oh forget about it!" my inner monologue snaps back. "A Real Runner doesn't need that kind of thing. Are you a Real Runner or aren't you? Are you? Are you? PROVE it. Keep driving." But, I'm torn. Aside from my info-porn addiction, the Forerunner has also helped me to rein in my exuberance at critical times, like now, so that I don't set myself up for a disaster. But, I delayed too long in getting out the door and I'm all but out of time to squeeze in even a modest effort before I need to be back home. "Besides," my inner monologue coaxes, "You've run this route dozens of times in the past. You have a rough sense of the distance of the course. All you have to do is think about running slowly - and you're naturally good at that..." I ignore the jab and give in. Forerunner-free it is. I still don't like it, but I'm not about to give up now.
I start out, as always, at a walk and savor my heightened awareness of the ground beneath my feet. A little more gravelly than I thought it would be, I observe. Amazing how many small pebbles and stones I can feel! Since I plan on running less than two miles and I'm short on time, I decide that walking probably isn't very important this morning, so I soon switch over to a slow jog. Again, I find myself on the balls of my feet - no treadmill fluke there! I pay close attention to my posture - legs relaxed, feet under me, slight forward lean. "This is going well" My inner monologue encourages brightly. "This is pretty cool!" I agree. Then, unexpectedly - "Ouch!" I nearly exclaim out loud. Then "OUCH!" again. These "pebbles" are really getting to me! I never noticed them before - but now they seem to be everywhere! What's worse - I can't SEE them because it's so dark out! This might have been less of an issue if it weren't for that little homing-device of sesamoid bone in the ball of my foot which seemed hell-bent on discovering every possible hazard to its barely-recovered self. I made a mental note: "Self - next time, try daylight and some place less - Ouch! - rocky."
I reach the place near the Warming Hut that I judge to be roughly 1 mile from where I started. Probably a good time to turn back for today. Nevertheless, I proceed another hundred feet further to allow a runner going the opposite direction to pass so that there won't be any witnesses to my retreat. I don't care that it's dark and that there is no way this person could recognize me if they even cared enough to notice me in the first place. Not going to give them the slightest opportunity to gloat. This is one of the reasons I prefer to run when no one else is awake. The Beast is much quicker to pounce if I give myself any leeway when there are witnesses around.
I cast a longing glance ahead at Fort Point - my usual destination on this course - before finally turning around to begin the journey back. Shortly, I begin to notice a slight tightening, almost tingling, sensation in my calves and ankles. Recognizing this cue from the barefoot forums, I decide, "Okay, just a little bit further since I'm tight on time as it is, then I'll walk." The soreness starts to increase, and, what's more, my hip flexor (my latest random body ache) starts to chime in. "Okay, okay," I conced. "Enough for now." I begin to walk. I guestimate that I've run maybe one and a quarter miles. Maybe one and a half. "Not a bad effort," My inner monologue observes approvingly. "Very reasonable for a first try." I applaud myself roundly for "listening to my body", ignoring the fact that it took me about a quarter of a mile to do so. After all, that's nearly as good as an instantaneous response in my book. All in all, I consider it a triumph of willpower and reason. I return home, feeling quite pleased with myself and proud of having survived my first true VFF experience! Success!
Three hours later...
"Uh oh" I think to myself. I can feel my calves cramping and tightening. "This is not good." This sort of tightening shouldn't happen for at least 24 hours. When it happens in only 3 hours - you know you're in for a rough ride. And boy was I!
The next four days I could barely walk - my calves were so tight and my ankles were in such pain. "What the hell was I thinking?" I groaned to myself. "You mean, they were serious when they said to start by only doing 'a quarter mile' on those forums? But that's so LITTLE! That's only a fraction of what I would normally do!" I pleaded with my legs. "And you have good form! Shouldn't you get a little more leeway?!" My inner monologue chimed in. "Shutup!Shutup!SHUTUP!" I answered. "Gaarrrrr! So much for running AT ALL for the next several days. Oh yes, that's a REAL success now, isn't it? Trade a measly 1 mile and change for the four miles I had planned for this weekend? Brilliant. STUPID inner monologue." I cursed. "But we were being reasonable!" it protested back. "We stopped as soon as we noticed ANY sign of discomfort." "Yeah, right - 'as soon as', meaning a quarter of a mile later. Meaning, the full length of the maximum recommended starting distance to attempt in VFFs. Hmmm?" I answered. "Uh..." stutters my inner monologue, momentarily lost for words (a rare occasion) "Sorry?"
Lessons learned:
1. That quarter mile rule is really a good idea after all - even if you think you have good form and you're used to running much farther. You never knew you had so many muscles down there that could get their knickers in a twist over a little light jog till you take away that cushy shoe...
2. Pick not only a route you're familiar with, but give yourself the benefit of your eyes so you can avoid the sorts of minute hazards that you would never have give a second glance to with your feet encased in the fortresses of your running shoes.
3. If you wait until you notice that your legs are feeling a bit tingly - you've gone too long. Stretch those lower extremities as if your life depended on it, take some ibuprofen, and plan to catch up on all of those shows sitting around unwatched on your DVR for the next several days.
Next time: Lessons learned = movement forward. Who knew?
Sunday, March 28, 2010
An Aside: Taming the Beast, or "Just EnJOY the Ride"
Today, I was talking to a friend who has been battling her own inner demons about this thing called running and her perceived inability to succeed with it. In my effort to help her talk the Beast down, I was reminded that, at the end of the day, it all comes down to joy.
Why do we run? There are so many reasons. Many of us take up running because we perceive runners to be skinny lanky people and we would very much like to join that crowd ourselves (guilty). Others, because we've heard about that elusive "runner's high" and about the people who run not because the "have" to (in the negative mandatory sense) but because they - mysteriously - want to (guilty again). Still more see it as a more attractive (and affordable) alternative to the feeling of being cooped up in a gym working their butts off and getting literally no-where with a bunch of other self-conscious people also trying to climb the latter of physical self-esteem and also going no where (guilty times three). And there are those who do it because they feel they have something to prove, if only to themselves (umm...guilty?).
However, regardless of our reasons for starting, if we're lucky or simply persistent enough and we stick with it long enough, we just might discover that there is so much more to be had. That at the end of the day, we'd rather do it than not - even without all of the other reasons. It comes down to the pleasure of putting one foot in front of the other and seeing just how far that can take you (and I don't just mean distance). It's about reveling in this thing we call the human body and the way it interacts with the world around us. If you haven't gotten there, don't fret. You will. Give it a chance.
As children, we run for the joy of it - because it's FUN! Somewhere between childhood and adulthood it seems that many of us lose sight of that basic principle. Movement becomes more about "must" than "want." Whether it's the general "running around" of everyday life filled with jobs, chores, errands, children, obligations, etc, or if it's another round in the "battle of the bulge" - somewhere in there, movement - for most - has simply lost it's appeal. Other times, movement becomes about hierarchy and proving ourselves to one another: how fast can you go? how far can you go? How many reps can you do? How many hours a day do you do? People - get OVER it!
It's true: running isn't easy - and I think that's because ours is a culture that has become largely disconnected with the idea of finding joy from movement. And yet, the fact that it isn't easy for most is - to many of us - all part of the appeal. It's because, yeah, we might only be able to keep up a shuffling jog for a minute or two before we need a walk break to catch your breath, but we're still WAY ahead of the millions of other people who wouldn't even consider stepping out their front door to go running to begin with. We're testing our limits. We're taking it to the next level. We're seeing what we're made of. The Beast can be a very powerful ally in these endeavors.
I have come to believe that being a Runner is about heart more than it is about PRs, records, splits, and races. It's the heart that keeps us all coming back for more. Running is the perfect endeavor to lend itself to the saying: "one step at a time." Don't worry about who's ahead of you - there will always be someone. Even the world's greatest athletes know that records are made to be broken. It doesn't matter how slow you are, how short your runs, how short your running efforts. Every time you put your feet to the pavement at something above a walk and that isn't demanded out of any other necessity, you're a Runner in my book - because you had the heart to try. You had the heart to test your limits and to test them again.
The only time you lose is when you let the Beast take over and talk you into a corner: "if I can't last x many minutes/miles, I'm a failure"; "if I don't finish, I'm a failure"; "if I don't finish in x amount of minutes, I'm a failure"; "if so and so beats me, I'm a failure"; "if it was that hard to do, it must be because I'm a failure." If this is you, tell your inner monologue to "SHUT the F#%K UP and mind your own damn business. Please!" On second though, omit the "please". The Beast does not understand niceties. I say this on good authority, as someone whose inner monologue is largely responsible for drowning out her body's inherent wisdom and talking her into her latest set-back. Trust me, it's good advice. Oh yes, to inner monologue, it's "Knee" and "Shins" and "Foot" who are the Enemy. They are Weakness that signify Failure and which must be Dominated and Conquered (just like "please")! But, maybe it's time to sing a new tune, or to at least tame the Beast.
The first step to taming the Beast? Remember why you take on the challenge in the first place (repeat after me: "joy," "fun," "because I like it").
Step 2: Remember that every step forward is a success. Losing is just an illusion. Losing is giving up without ever having tried.
Step 3: Sometimes, stopping is a success too (inner monologue, I'm talking to You). Learning to listen to your body and care for it? Yep, that's a success - because if you don't learn to listen to and care for your body, you ain't gonna be running for long!
Successes are everywhere to be had if you stop and take a look. Could've stayed at home and watched TV but went out for a run? Success. Ran an extra minute longer than I thought I could? Success. Slowed down when my knee starting to bother me a bit - SUCCESS. Allow yourself to applaud every last one of them and you will have come a long way on the road to taming the Beast.
Face it, most of us are not out there to win races or to medal or even win our age groups in small local events. Most of us will never take home anything more than a finisher's ribbon or medal from any given event. Perhaps more still will never so much as enter a race. Extremely few of us are world class olympic athletes endeavoring to break records and stand atop the world for a few brief minutes of glory, or even everyday champions and medalists seeking to break a hometown record. Unless you're trying to earn a living by your feet, you have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself. Anyone who is truly passionate about running will tell you that. We love and admire and applaud any fellow runner who gets that too, who has to run, because life just isn't life without it. We're in it for the joy. You don't have to go far or fast to get there - you just have to enjoy the ride.
And part of being able to enjoy the ride is learning how to tame the Beast so that it works for - and not against - you. So, if you're just starting out, be patient with yourself. Listen to your body - it's surprisingly intelligent. If you're just starting over after an injury, be patient with yourself. Listen to your body (paying attention, inner monologue?). Because, once the running bug has bit, you're not just in it for the short haul. Take it from a former Non-Runner, Anti-Runner, No-Way-No-How-Not-If-You-Beat-Me-With-A-Very-Big-Stick-Runner. Once you let go enough to realize how much running has to offer beyond whatever short terms goals you might have in mind, there's no limit to where it might take you. You realize that you have all the time in the world to get where you're going. And, if you remember that where you're going is really fun and joy, chances are, you're already there.
As John "the Penguin" of Runner's World fame would say, Waddle on friends.
Why do we run? There are so many reasons. Many of us take up running because we perceive runners to be skinny lanky people and we would very much like to join that crowd ourselves (guilty). Others, because we've heard about that elusive "runner's high" and about the people who run not because the "have" to (in the negative mandatory sense) but because they - mysteriously - want to (guilty again). Still more see it as a more attractive (and affordable) alternative to the feeling of being cooped up in a gym working their butts off and getting literally no-where with a bunch of other self-conscious people also trying to climb the latter of physical self-esteem and also going no where (guilty times three). And there are those who do it because they feel they have something to prove, if only to themselves (umm...guilty?).
However, regardless of our reasons for starting, if we're lucky or simply persistent enough and we stick with it long enough, we just might discover that there is so much more to be had. That at the end of the day, we'd rather do it than not - even without all of the other reasons. It comes down to the pleasure of putting one foot in front of the other and seeing just how far that can take you (and I don't just mean distance). It's about reveling in this thing we call the human body and the way it interacts with the world around us. If you haven't gotten there, don't fret. You will. Give it a chance.
As children, we run for the joy of it - because it's FUN! Somewhere between childhood and adulthood it seems that many of us lose sight of that basic principle. Movement becomes more about "must" than "want." Whether it's the general "running around" of everyday life filled with jobs, chores, errands, children, obligations, etc, or if it's another round in the "battle of the bulge" - somewhere in there, movement - for most - has simply lost it's appeal. Other times, movement becomes about hierarchy and proving ourselves to one another: how fast can you go? how far can you go? How many reps can you do? How many hours a day do you do? People - get OVER it!
It's true: running isn't easy - and I think that's because ours is a culture that has become largely disconnected with the idea of finding joy from movement. And yet, the fact that it isn't easy for most is - to many of us - all part of the appeal. It's because, yeah, we might only be able to keep up a shuffling jog for a minute or two before we need a walk break to catch your breath, but we're still WAY ahead of the millions of other people who wouldn't even consider stepping out their front door to go running to begin with. We're testing our limits. We're taking it to the next level. We're seeing what we're made of. The Beast can be a very powerful ally in these endeavors.
I have come to believe that being a Runner is about heart more than it is about PRs, records, splits, and races. It's the heart that keeps us all coming back for more. Running is the perfect endeavor to lend itself to the saying: "one step at a time." Don't worry about who's ahead of you - there will always be someone. Even the world's greatest athletes know that records are made to be broken. It doesn't matter how slow you are, how short your runs, how short your running efforts. Every time you put your feet to the pavement at something above a walk and that isn't demanded out of any other necessity, you're a Runner in my book - because you had the heart to try. You had the heart to test your limits and to test them again.
The only time you lose is when you let the Beast take over and talk you into a corner: "if I can't last x many minutes/miles, I'm a failure"; "if I don't finish, I'm a failure"; "if I don't finish in x amount of minutes, I'm a failure"; "if so and so beats me, I'm a failure"; "if it was that hard to do, it must be because I'm a failure." If this is you, tell your inner monologue to "SHUT the F#%K UP and mind your own damn business. Please!" On second though, omit the "please". The Beast does not understand niceties. I say this on good authority, as someone whose inner monologue is largely responsible for drowning out her body's inherent wisdom and talking her into her latest set-back. Trust me, it's good advice. Oh yes, to inner monologue, it's "Knee" and "Shins" and "Foot" who are the Enemy. They are Weakness that signify Failure and which must be Dominated and Conquered (just like "please")! But, maybe it's time to sing a new tune, or to at least tame the Beast.
The first step to taming the Beast? Remember why you take on the challenge in the first place (repeat after me: "joy," "fun," "because I like it").
Step 2: Remember that every step forward is a success. Losing is just an illusion. Losing is giving up without ever having tried.
Step 3: Sometimes, stopping is a success too (inner monologue, I'm talking to You). Learning to listen to your body and care for it? Yep, that's a success - because if you don't learn to listen to and care for your body, you ain't gonna be running for long!
Successes are everywhere to be had if you stop and take a look. Could've stayed at home and watched TV but went out for a run? Success. Ran an extra minute longer than I thought I could? Success. Slowed down when my knee starting to bother me a bit - SUCCESS. Allow yourself to applaud every last one of them and you will have come a long way on the road to taming the Beast.
Face it, most of us are not out there to win races or to medal or even win our age groups in small local events. Most of us will never take home anything more than a finisher's ribbon or medal from any given event. Perhaps more still will never so much as enter a race. Extremely few of us are world class olympic athletes endeavoring to break records and stand atop the world for a few brief minutes of glory, or even everyday champions and medalists seeking to break a hometown record. Unless you're trying to earn a living by your feet, you have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself. Anyone who is truly passionate about running will tell you that. We love and admire and applaud any fellow runner who gets that too, who has to run, because life just isn't life without it. We're in it for the joy. You don't have to go far or fast to get there - you just have to enjoy the ride.
And part of being able to enjoy the ride is learning how to tame the Beast so that it works for - and not against - you. So, if you're just starting out, be patient with yourself. Listen to your body - it's surprisingly intelligent. If you're just starting over after an injury, be patient with yourself. Listen to your body (paying attention, inner monologue?). Because, once the running bug has bit, you're not just in it for the short haul. Take it from a former Non-Runner, Anti-Runner, No-Way-No-How-Not-If-You-Beat-Me-With-A-Very-Big-Stick-Runner. Once you let go enough to realize how much running has to offer beyond whatever short terms goals you might have in mind, there's no limit to where it might take you. You realize that you have all the time in the world to get where you're going. And, if you remember that where you're going is really fun and joy, chances are, you're already there.
As John "the Penguin" of Runner's World fame would say, Waddle on friends.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
First encouter with the VFFs a.k.a. Vibram FiveFingers, or Very Freaky Footwear
It was late December that I was finally able to go out on my first run since my surrender to The Enemy. I decided to aim for a conservative two miles on a rubberized track (my husband's idea), with a walking break in between. I wasn’t taking any chances. Still smarting from the kick in the pants of being unable to run, let alone even go for a long walk, for more than 10 weeks, I was not prepared to shoot Hope in the foot (or Foot in the hope?) by bursting out of the gate too quickly. Much as I was itching to go buy a pair of VFFs (Vibram FiveFingers) to try out this near-barefoot running thing for myself, I concluded that with my injury spot being a bone on the bottom of my foot, I’d best not get rid of all of the protective cushioning too quickly. At least not until I was certain that all was well. Occasionally I do demonstrate a little common sense when it comes to my physical well-being and my running ambitions. Aside from an unanticipated hot spot threatening to form a blister from my new insoles which caused me to cut my first attempt short, the run itself was a success.
Still, it wasn’t until mid-January that I knew my time had arrived. My runs were getting steadily longer without issue (much issue, anyway), and my wonderful husband had just discovered (by way of an ultra-running friend and his ultra-running wife – my idols – who were also giving the VFF thing a try) an actual physical store right here in the Bay Area that stocked them! Hot damn! I’m finally gonna get to buy me some non-shoes!
Trying VFFs (I opted for the KSO model) on for the first time is, well…a challenge. The salesguy measured my foot and decided that I should be in a size 39, whereas, by my own measurements at home and using the VFF website’s guidelines, I had come up with a size 38. At the salesguy's insistence, I tried the 39s first. I had no idea what I was in for. Putting the VFFs on for the first time was an awkward struggle, given that my second and third toes were trying to cohabit one toe, while my third and fourth toes were trying to cohabit another (and it's not like there’s much room for you to squeeze a helpful, guiding finger in there to set them straight), meanwhile the other hand is preoccupied, trying to work the rear opening over your heel. This may be due to the KSO's design, which features a “thin, abrasion-resistant stretch nylon and breathable mesh upper that wraps your entire forefoot to ‘Keep Stuff Out.’” This feature, no doubt a benefit once the VFFs are actually on your feet and in use, was really getting on my nerves for the putting-on part.
Despite the effort, once on, there was actually a lot of extra room in the toes, particularly from my third toe on down (my pinkie barely even reached the toe hole!). This lead me to two possible conclusions: 1) either my toes are stumpy or 2) these VFFs are too big. Opting for the "these VFFs are too big theory," I decided to give the 38s a try.
On so doing, I was quickly reminded why the word “overheated” is used to describe not just a temperature condition, but also a temper condition. In my fight to get the blasted things on my feet, I not only broke a sweat but nearly resorted to throwing the damn thing out the store front with some choice words! It just wasn’t going to happen. I was forced to conclude that my toes were, in fact, stubby - at least as compared to the KSO's primary demographic. In retrospect, perhaps one of the other models, such as the Classic, or the Performa or the Sprint would have solved my problems, but I was too tunnel-visioned to think of that at the time. I concluded that having the toe boxes be a little roomy wasn’t a fatal flaw - the hell if I was going to walk out of that store without my own pair of VFFs today! – so I settled on the 39s.
Now, let’s be straight. This is not the footwear for the fashionably self-conscious. I say “Very Freaky Footwear” for a reason. The image that first springs to mind is that one has suddenly grown a pair of multi-
colored hobbit feet (all you fellow die-hard Tolkien/LOTR fans might appreciate that). 
Nevertheless, and maybe even as a result, they do possess a certain je ne sais quoi appeal. I, personally, was enamored. Aside from the unusual sensation of so much unfamiliar material between my toes, they were remarkably comfortable and my senses quickly adapted to the new sensation. I took them for a test run on the store’s treadmill and immediately noticed that, without trying, I was running on the balls of my feet. I don't think I could have run on my heels if I wanted to (at least not without giving the other shoppers some unexpected entertainment when I subsequently ate treadmill)! While I am a proud mid-foot striker, this forefoot strike thing was a new and rather pleasant feeling. I felt a little like I was prancing (and my inner child loves to prance). Fun! I was sold.
Only a few short minutes later, with a spring in my step and a big, goofy grin sweeping my face, I departed the store a proud new owner of my first pair of Vibram Five Fingers. Boo-yah!
Enthusiasm is a great thing; it's my personal high of choice. But, as with any drug, too much of a good thing can sometimes really bite you in the bum…
Sunday, March 21, 2010
An old Enemy and a new Hope
"This...is not...good. This is not good. Thisisnotgood. THIS IS NOT GOOD!" proceeded my inner monologue on the morning of Thursday, October 16, 2010. It was only a couple of days after returning from my honeymoon up in Mendocino (and the awe-inspiring Avenue of the Giants - which also happens to be the half marathon I have had my heart set on for nearly a year now) and I knew that I could no longer pretend that there wasn't a real problem.
I don't remember exactly when it started, but I know it was somewhere in the last few weeks leading up to the wedding. There was that one run when I came home and something didn't feel good. Something felt...wrong. Off. There was an unfamiliar pain in my foot. "It will go away," I told myself. "It was probably just the strain of the hills I overambitiously tackled today. A little ice and all will be well." There was no acceptable alternative. I was averaging around six to six and a half miles per run at the time and feeling pretty darn proud of myself. Things were going too well for something to come up now. But this "something" was rather vexing. I didn't like it. Nevertheless, I was not prepared to focus on it. There were too many other concerns - wedding, move, and job related - clogging my mind for my one source of escape to jump on board as well. It was simply Not Allowed.
It was only three days before the wedding that the pain really got to me. I wasn't even halfway through my run before my foot really started to hurt badly enough to worry me. "This is not fun. This really is not fun," I thought, about two miles in. "Something's wrong. Something's definitely wrong." I have a theory that my inner monologue gets repetitious in these circumstances because it's the only way to get my brain to pay attention. So, like any sensible running-addict, I decided that since walking didn't feel any better, I might as well keep on running since that would get me home faster. Of course, that wasn't until after I had gone another mile in the wrong direction refusing to accept the situation, so, I really had no choice but to finish the full 6 miles as planned. Every...ouch!...damn...agh!...last...eesh!...oneofthem. Call it a stubborn streak. Mind over matter sort of thing. I will do as I damn well please, thank-you-very-much. I have paid dearly for it more than once, but the lesson rarely sticks.
Reluctantly, I decided that it would probably be smarter not to put in my final run the day before the wedding on the logic that it would look (and feel) really stupid if I couldn't walk down the aisle at my own wedding because I just HAD to do that last run. No, no...that wouldn't do. I had invested as much or more time into planning this wedding as I had in my running to date and, for once, I knew my priorities. I can worry about running again after the wedding, I decided. I'll have plenty of time on my honeymoon.
Ri-i-i-i-i-ght.
But, Foot wasn't any closer to giving me a break by the honeymoon. "Oh, it'll be fine," my inner monologue soothed. "Besides which, wouldn't it be selfish of you to leave your new hubby in the lurch to go bond with...yourself...on a run? Surely, you can wait another week..." It was a persuasive argument, but the nagging suspicion that this was more than a short-term inconvenience hung around in the back of my mind. I knew that every day I wasn't running I was losing my hard-won conditioning. My only hope at this point seemed to be that given just a little more time, everything would be fine. Just a bad spell. Easily recovered. So, I played it easy - minus a 9 mile hike - hopeful that I could pick up more-or-less where I left off after we got back home. But hiking didn't count, right? It was hiking. Not running. Foot should know the difference. I was even prepared to be generous. When we returned, I would back my mileage down to just five miles at first and go from there. Maybe even four. Somewhere between four and five, definitely. That was a fair compromise, right? Two whole weeks off from running, and a decrease in mileage. Deal of the year, Foot. Take it or leave it.
Fat chance.
Back to the morning of October 16th. I had only just begun the half block walk up to the top of my street to begin my official warm-up and already Foot had made its position clear. I knew I wasn't going running - today or tomorrow. I stormed back up to our apartment where my husband looked up at me in surprise and asked me if I had forgotten something. "Foot!" I sputtered, attempting to drown the rising sense of panic with my fury. The Enemy had once again reared its ugly head, and this time it was called Foot. Previously, it had gone under the name "Knee". And before that, "Shins." No coincidence, in my mind, that this time it went by a 4-letter word beginning with the letter "F".
A few days later, the sports medicine doctor confirmed my worst fears: a stress fracture. "But don't worry," she assured me, "you should be able to resume training for your half marathon by January." "Don't worry? Don't worry?!" my inner monologue raged, "That's nearly 3 MONTHS in which I can't do the one thing that's keeping me sane in the midst of all of this change, this turmoil, this uncertainty, and you're tell me 'Don't Worry'?! Oh yes, well, while you're at it, why don't you just take my heart and my brain for the meanwhile too. I won't be needing them either. Don't worry." My inner monologue can be somewhat of a drama queen. I limped home - still too stubborn to call for a ride to go the mere 8 blocks between the clinic and my own front door - and broke down into bitter tears on sharing the news with my husband.
Must it always be something?
I was really depressed. It didn't matter that the doctor was right: a mere 10-12 weeks was not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. I would still be able to run my race in May if I played nice. But, I had lost my anchor, my joie de vivre. It was a difficult time for both my husband and I on the other side of a huge move, a marriage, a career change/loss, a lack of financial stability, and a grim job market. From someone who once thought anyone who ran for "pleasure" was certifiably insane, I had become someone who depended on running for sanity. And I had lost it.
Unable to pursue my passion, I couldn't even bear to touch the subject. I put away all of my running books. The next three issues of Runner's World were left untouched in their protective plastic wrap and shunted out of sight. Even the sight of other runners around town was enough to make my eyes slant and my lips purse in a bitterly jealous scowl. The beauty of the brilliantly crisp, clear and warm San Francisco autumn was lost on me because all I could think of was about how I was missing out on getting to run in such perfect weather. I became a regular Scrooge. "Christmas? Ba Humbug!" my inner monologue scorned. "Just means I have to go buy a bunch of crap that I can't afford right now and then figure out a bunch of other crap to ask other people for when I already know I can't have the only thing I want. Oh - and then there's all that cookie-baking crap which is just going to make me fat because I can't freakin' run it off! Crap! Crap! Crap! And MORE Crap! Merry Flippin' Christmas to you too."
I think it's true that running awakens the inner child to come out and play and dance and feel the sheer joy of the ground beneath our feet and the wind in our hair. Regrettably, I found that when I don't have running to give that inner child an outlet, she apparently throws a tantrum.
Seven long weeks later, I received my first real glimmer of Hope. My doctor prescribed me some new insoles and was sending me to see the in-house physical therapist for some basic exercises I could do to help strengthen my foot muscles in preparation for being able to Get Back Out There. "The end is in sight!" my inner monologue cheered, "I can finally do something proactive to aid in my own healing process! Hallelujah!" I was so encouraged by this news that I immediately launched into my newest running read, Chris McDougall's "Born to Run" about the almost mythical Tarahumara - "running people" - of Chihuahua, Mexico and deconstructing the myth of the modern running shoe. BTR supplied the long-awaited answer to my recurrent question, "must it always be something?" The sage reply was, "No, grasshopper. There is a better way and it comes down to getting back to the basics." My interior monologue supplied the grasshopper bit - one too many cheesy martial arts movies, I guess.
Because I'm not in the mood to write a book report, particularly when so many others who get paid to do it and do it well have already done so before me, I encourage you to read a synopsis of BTR elsewhere. Suffice it to say that this book was for me, like so many others, a light bulb going off in my brain. It was a strike against the naysayers who decree that running is harmful to the body and will leave us crippled before our time, that we're doomed to injure ourselves again and again if we keep up with this madness we call running.
Happily, I say to all such naysayers - poo on you.
With BTR supplying fresh, electrifying inspiration, thus began my explorations into the world of barefoot/minimalist running.
Next time: first encounters with the "VFF"s a.k.a. "Vibram FiveFingers", or, "Very Freaky Footwear"...
I don't remember exactly when it started, but I know it was somewhere in the last few weeks leading up to the wedding. There was that one run when I came home and something didn't feel good. Something felt...wrong. Off. There was an unfamiliar pain in my foot. "It will go away," I told myself. "It was probably just the strain of the hills I overambitiously tackled today. A little ice and all will be well." There was no acceptable alternative. I was averaging around six to six and a half miles per run at the time and feeling pretty darn proud of myself. Things were going too well for something to come up now. But this "something" was rather vexing. I didn't like it. Nevertheless, I was not prepared to focus on it. There were too many other concerns - wedding, move, and job related - clogging my mind for my one source of escape to jump on board as well. It was simply Not Allowed.
It was only three days before the wedding that the pain really got to me. I wasn't even halfway through my run before my foot really started to hurt badly enough to worry me. "This is not fun. This really is not fun," I thought, about two miles in. "Something's wrong. Something's definitely wrong." I have a theory that my inner monologue gets repetitious in these circumstances because it's the only way to get my brain to pay attention. So, like any sensible running-addict, I decided that since walking didn't feel any better, I might as well keep on running since that would get me home faster. Of course, that wasn't until after I had gone another mile in the wrong direction refusing to accept the situation, so, I really had no choice but to finish the full 6 miles as planned. Every...ouch!...damn...agh!...last...eesh!...oneofthem. Call it a stubborn streak. Mind over matter sort of thing. I will do as I damn well please, thank-you-very-much. I have paid dearly for it more than once, but the lesson rarely sticks.
Reluctantly, I decided that it would probably be smarter not to put in my final run the day before the wedding on the logic that it would look (and feel) really stupid if I couldn't walk down the aisle at my own wedding because I just HAD to do that last run. No, no...that wouldn't do. I had invested as much or more time into planning this wedding as I had in my running to date and, for once, I knew my priorities. I can worry about running again after the wedding, I decided. I'll have plenty of time on my honeymoon.
Ri-i-i-i-i-ght.
But, Foot wasn't any closer to giving me a break by the honeymoon. "Oh, it'll be fine," my inner monologue soothed. "Besides which, wouldn't it be selfish of you to leave your new hubby in the lurch to go bond with...yourself...on a run? Surely, you can wait another week..." It was a persuasive argument, but the nagging suspicion that this was more than a short-term inconvenience hung around in the back of my mind. I knew that every day I wasn't running I was losing my hard-won conditioning. My only hope at this point seemed to be that given just a little more time, everything would be fine. Just a bad spell. Easily recovered. So, I played it easy - minus a 9 mile hike - hopeful that I could pick up more-or-less where I left off after we got back home. But hiking didn't count, right? It was hiking. Not running. Foot should know the difference. I was even prepared to be generous. When we returned, I would back my mileage down to just five miles at first and go from there. Maybe even four. Somewhere between four and five, definitely. That was a fair compromise, right? Two whole weeks off from running, and a decrease in mileage. Deal of the year, Foot. Take it or leave it.
Fat chance.
Back to the morning of October 16th. I had only just begun the half block walk up to the top of my street to begin my official warm-up and already Foot had made its position clear. I knew I wasn't going running - today or tomorrow. I stormed back up to our apartment where my husband looked up at me in surprise and asked me if I had forgotten something. "Foot!" I sputtered, attempting to drown the rising sense of panic with my fury. The Enemy had once again reared its ugly head, and this time it was called Foot. Previously, it had gone under the name "Knee". And before that, "Shins." No coincidence, in my mind, that this time it went by a 4-letter word beginning with the letter "F".
A few days later, the sports medicine doctor confirmed my worst fears: a stress fracture. "But don't worry," she assured me, "you should be able to resume training for your half marathon by January." "Don't worry? Don't worry?!" my inner monologue raged, "That's nearly 3 MONTHS in which I can't do the one thing that's keeping me sane in the midst of all of this change, this turmoil, this uncertainty, and you're tell me 'Don't Worry'?! Oh yes, well, while you're at it, why don't you just take my heart and my brain for the meanwhile too. I won't be needing them either. Don't worry." My inner monologue can be somewhat of a drama queen. I limped home - still too stubborn to call for a ride to go the mere 8 blocks between the clinic and my own front door - and broke down into bitter tears on sharing the news with my husband.
Must it always be something?
I was really depressed. It didn't matter that the doctor was right: a mere 10-12 weeks was not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. I would still be able to run my race in May if I played nice. But, I had lost my anchor, my joie de vivre. It was a difficult time for both my husband and I on the other side of a huge move, a marriage, a career change/loss, a lack of financial stability, and a grim job market. From someone who once thought anyone who ran for "pleasure" was certifiably insane, I had become someone who depended on running for sanity. And I had lost it.
Unable to pursue my passion, I couldn't even bear to touch the subject. I put away all of my running books. The next three issues of Runner's World were left untouched in their protective plastic wrap and shunted out of sight. Even the sight of other runners around town was enough to make my eyes slant and my lips purse in a bitterly jealous scowl. The beauty of the brilliantly crisp, clear and warm San Francisco autumn was lost on me because all I could think of was about how I was missing out on getting to run in such perfect weather. I became a regular Scrooge. "Christmas? Ba Humbug!" my inner monologue scorned. "Just means I have to go buy a bunch of crap that I can't afford right now and then figure out a bunch of other crap to ask other people for when I already know I can't have the only thing I want. Oh - and then there's all that cookie-baking crap which is just going to make me fat because I can't freakin' run it off! Crap! Crap! Crap! And MORE Crap! Merry Flippin' Christmas to you too."
I think it's true that running awakens the inner child to come out and play and dance and feel the sheer joy of the ground beneath our feet and the wind in our hair. Regrettably, I found that when I don't have running to give that inner child an outlet, she apparently throws a tantrum.
Seven long weeks later, I received my first real glimmer of Hope. My doctor prescribed me some new insoles and was sending me to see the in-house physical therapist for some basic exercises I could do to help strengthen my foot muscles in preparation for being able to Get Back Out There. "The end is in sight!" my inner monologue cheered, "I can finally do something proactive to aid in my own healing process! Hallelujah!" I was so encouraged by this news that I immediately launched into my newest running read, Chris McDougall's "Born to Run" about the almost mythical Tarahumara - "running people" - of Chihuahua, Mexico and deconstructing the myth of the modern running shoe. BTR supplied the long-awaited answer to my recurrent question, "must it always be something?" The sage reply was, "No, grasshopper. There is a better way and it comes down to getting back to the basics." My interior monologue supplied the grasshopper bit - one too many cheesy martial arts movies, I guess.
Because I'm not in the mood to write a book report, particularly when so many others who get paid to do it and do it well have already done so before me, I encourage you to read a synopsis of BTR elsewhere. Suffice it to say that this book was for me, like so many others, a light bulb going off in my brain. It was a strike against the naysayers who decree that running is harmful to the body and will leave us crippled before our time, that we're doomed to injure ourselves again and again if we keep up with this madness we call running.
Happily, I say to all such naysayers - poo on you.
With BTR supplying fresh, electrifying inspiration, thus began my explorations into the world of barefoot/minimalist running.
Next time: first encounters with the "VFF"s a.k.a. "Vibram FiveFingers", or, "Very Freaky Footwear"...
In the beginning...
...she did not run with joyful feet. In fact, she did not run. Period.
My husband jokes now about when we were first dating and he proposed that I consider running as an alternative to the gym for exercise. He claims my resulting expression suggested that he had suddenly grown three heads. "Why would anyone want to run?", I reportedly responded in a voice saturated with a mixture of incredulity and revulsion. "I mean, aside from circumstances of unavoidable necessity - what's the point? What are you running to or from? Nothing! It's futile!" I would not be persuaded otherwise. It was this same former self who would also resentfully crack an eyelid and grumble about the light in the hallway when he came to kiss me goodbye at 5:45 in the morning. The same person who considered the idea of waking up early in the morning - particularly for the purpose of physical activity - to be an idea stupid enough to rival that of running. I was the Non-Runner. The Anti-Runner. The No-Way-No-How-Runner...with a deeply buried, seldom acknowledged, never-admitted streak of Runner-Envy.
Flash forward three years.
I have caught "the Bug". I am getting up at 3:30/4:00 in the morning three days a week during the dead of winter in New Jersey because I "have" to run. And I like it. No, I LOVE it. I cannot get enough of it. I tear ravenously through each issue of Runner's World the day it arrives in our mailbox. I pore over my previous run's stats (thanks to my you'll-never-catch-me-without, info-porn-of-choice Garmin Forerunner) on the computer after each and every run (and occasionally in between) to bask in my latest achievements, analyze my progress (or scowl at my lack-thereof), and plot my next feat. I pester friends and family, runners and non-runners alike with my effusive ramblings about all things running. I buy book after book on the subject: How Running Changed My Life; ChiRunning; Running Through the Wall; The Runner's Diet... seeking in part to feed the Bug, and in part a sense of communion with others similarly afflicted.
Here I feel I should confess, despite my huge enthusiasm for the sport, I have no major running feats to my credit. Up until a week ago (when I ran my first 5k), I had never run a race. I am by no stretch of the imagination a fast runner (I ran my 5k at a grueling-for-me 9:31 pace - finishing in 29:34, but my longer runs are typically done at an underwhelming 11:15/mile pace). My weekly mileage is nothing special (so far, I’ve topped out at just under 20 miles), nor is my longest run to date (8.3 miles). After two and a half years of being infected by the Bug, I remain, by all counts, an Unremarkable Runner. I'm okay with that. Nevertheless, in the privacy of my own mind on those brief, yet blissful encounters between my feet and my chosen course of the day, I am extraordinary. I am setting - and breaking - records. I am cruising. I am flying. I am burning rubber. I am a machine. I am a fiend. I am a badass. My ambitions run wild and I fantasize not only about completing my first half-marathon and marathon, but my first 50k, 50M and 100M…my first trans-United States trek! (I did say "run wild").
But why "barefoot" running, you ask? Stay tuned.
My husband jokes now about when we were first dating and he proposed that I consider running as an alternative to the gym for exercise. He claims my resulting expression suggested that he had suddenly grown three heads. "Why would anyone want to run?", I reportedly responded in a voice saturated with a mixture of incredulity and revulsion. "I mean, aside from circumstances of unavoidable necessity - what's the point? What are you running to or from? Nothing! It's futile!" I would not be persuaded otherwise. It was this same former self who would also resentfully crack an eyelid and grumble about the light in the hallway when he came to kiss me goodbye at 5:45 in the morning. The same person who considered the idea of waking up early in the morning - particularly for the purpose of physical activity - to be an idea stupid enough to rival that of running. I was the Non-Runner. The Anti-Runner. The No-Way-No-How-Runner...with a deeply buried, seldom acknowledged, never-admitted streak of Runner-Envy.
Flash forward three years.
I have caught "the Bug". I am getting up at 3:30/4:00 in the morning three days a week during the dead of winter in New Jersey because I "have" to run. And I like it. No, I LOVE it. I cannot get enough of it. I tear ravenously through each issue of Runner's World the day it arrives in our mailbox. I pore over my previous run's stats (thanks to my you'll-never-catch-me-without, info-porn-of-choice Garmin Forerunner) on the computer after each and every run (and occasionally in between) to bask in my latest achievements, analyze my progress (or scowl at my lack-thereof), and plot my next feat. I pester friends and family, runners and non-runners alike with my effusive ramblings about all things running. I buy book after book on the subject: How Running Changed My Life; ChiRunning; Running Through the Wall; The Runner's Diet... seeking in part to feed the Bug, and in part a sense of communion with others similarly afflicted.
Here I feel I should confess, despite my huge enthusiasm for the sport, I have no major running feats to my credit. Up until a week ago (when I ran my first 5k), I had never run a race. I am by no stretch of the imagination a fast runner (I ran my 5k at a grueling-for-me 9:31 pace - finishing in 29:34, but my longer runs are typically done at an underwhelming 11:15/mile pace). My weekly mileage is nothing special (so far, I’ve topped out at just under 20 miles), nor is my longest run to date (8.3 miles). After two and a half years of being infected by the Bug, I remain, by all counts, an Unremarkable Runner. I'm okay with that. Nevertheless, in the privacy of my own mind on those brief, yet blissful encounters between my feet and my chosen course of the day, I am extraordinary. I am setting - and breaking - records. I am cruising. I am flying. I am burning rubber. I am a machine. I am a fiend. I am a badass. My ambitions run wild and I fantasize not only about completing my first half-marathon and marathon, but my first 50k, 50M and 100M…my first trans-United States trek! (I did say "run wild").
But why "barefoot" running, you ask? Stay tuned.
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