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?