These Feet Were Made For Walking

Ever since reading Born to Run, by Christopher McDougall, I've been intrigued with the idea of barefoot running. I've even incorporated a few barefoot sprints into my regular shod runs. Never, though, have I left the house in nothing but my tender tootsies.

Until today.

It's a strange feeling to leave one's house without footwear of some sort. Even the flimsiest sandals are worlds away from stepping out with naked feet. And although I've never left the house without pants (or shorts or some such lower body covering), going shoeless felt like how I imagine it feels to be without pants - exposed.

Being barefoot seems to suggest poverty or the after-effects of an unfortunate incident.

Or weirdness.

So it was with some trepidation that I locked the door and started on my way. I didn't go far; merely around the little pond about 1/2 a block from my condo.

I didn't think that other people's opinions of me mattered quite as much as they do. But as I got further from home, I was quite conscious of my bare feet and how much I wanted to do my loop and then get back home.

Why? Why was I so worried about what people might think or say?

I'm good at flying below the radar and not making much of a scene, so doing something that might attract attention, particularly cause people to look askance and wonder what's wrong with me, that I don't have shoes on, is cause for a bit of nervousness.

Thankfully there were only a few people out, and the one lady that I passed on either side of the pond kept her eyes averted, possibly in the hopes that this crazy shoeless person would just leave her alone. (Not knowing that I was having similar thoughts about her.)

As for the actual barefoot experience, it was enjoyable and I can understand how it could become addicting.

I could fee the warmth of the pavement underneath my feet, and the grass still wet with dew. It hurt to walk on the gravel, but thankfully there wasn't much of that. I was aware of how springy and soft the grass is, how warm and smooth the pavement is, and the coolness of the dew was pleasant underfoot. I thought about how insulated we are from the surfaces we trod on daily, that we forget what it feels like to run across the street barefoot, like when we were children.

Having said all that, I'm not going to forgo shoes entirely, or even mostly, but I think I will continue with occasional barefoot walks, as long as I can get over the feeling that others must surely think I'm a bit of an oddball.

Running in Aqua Socks

I recently finished reading Born to Run by Christopher McDougall, and oh my goodness. It has changed the way I think about running, and is slowly changing the way I run.
In a nutshell, he puts forth the idea that people are created to run. The presence of our Achilles tendon, the nuchal ligament on the back of our head, and our big butts are all useful only if we're running; we don't need them to walk.
He writes about barefoot running and how much more natural it is than running in running shoes, and how American marathon runners were faster back when they wore canvas flats than they are now with their expensive shoes. And they were injured less often.
One of the most important things I learned was that "shoes block pain, not impact." So you slam your feet down over and over, because you don't feel the pain that would normally tell you to correct your stride.
Our feet are incredibly sensitive for a reason. "They're self-correcting devices. Covering your feet with cushioned shoes is like turning off your smoke alarms."
So I've started training, for very short periods of time, in aqua socks. Rather than spend a bunch of money on brand name minimalist running shoes, I got this idea from a barefoot running blog I stumbled across.
And boy is it fun! I feel much lighter on my feet and not like I'm plodding along in these thick-soled, "pronation-correcting" chunks of rubber and foam.
So far I'm on day 2 this new training, and am curious to see how it will effect my race in September.
Here's to running like a child again!