Barefoot Josh

So I run a tough marathon, I take a week off. I’m all ready to start running again, then I get sick. No problem, it wouldn’t hurt to take another week off. Feeling better, I go for a hike in the woods and get attacked by ticks. Finding the idea of sweating into open oozing woulds unappealing to say the least (plus I was taking antihistamines), I took another week off. This morning I woke up, no coughing. The itchyness was tolerable, the wounds dry. “I’m going to take the dogs for a run,” I decided.

Figuring it would be easier taking one at a time, I started with Sunny (the dumb young one). Everything was going fine, Sunny running on my right side. Then… cat. To my left. I didn’t see it, but Sunny did. She darts in front of me, I accidentally kick her back leg as I trip. Snap! My third toe on my right foot is bent sideways at an improbable angle.

Seriously, world? Seriously? Seriously. I mean, it’s not a big deal; I’ll probably be good to start running again in a few days, but then what? An anvil falls on my head? Slip on a banana peel? Lose my pants in public? What?

How I wish for a boring summer of mindlessly logging miles. I’m supposed to be doing serious speedwork right now, smugly posting about how fast I’m getting. Instead? Sick, tick, and click (went the toe bone).

As far as barefoot ambassador-ing goes, I guess my setbacks don’t reflect too poorly on my shodless peers. Shoes wouldn’t have prevented my from getting sick. I was wearing shoes for the tick attack, but it might have been worse barefoot. Not on my feet, though; if the feet were exposed, the little evildoers probably would have scurried to the next shaded spot, which would be in my shorts. No thanks. A rigid shoe would have protected my toe this morning, and would have hurt Sunny instead of me, which at the moment doesn’t sound like a bad trade off.

So here’s the contest: post your prediction of what stupid thing will happen to me next. Make as many predictions as you want. If your prediction comes to fruition, I’ll mail you something arty. That’s a lose-lose scenario if there ever was one.

“The soles have to be flat, and they have to be black.”

That’s Iris‘ criteria for running shoes. Flat soles because she feels support and cushioning forces her to run in a way she doesn’t like. Black because that’s her style. She likes these.

I wonder what kind of shoe she’d be prescribed if she took the wet footprint test and was analyzed on a treadmill. She hates treadmills; like cushioning, she feels they make her run in a way she doesn’t like. Getting a bad case of sciatica after a few miles on a treadmill last winter (she’s had sciatica issues before, but never that bad) also has something to do with the way she feels about them.

But back to the shoe, the style she likes isn’t sold in running shoe stores. They’re not considered running shoes at all, which is probably why they cost $45 instead of $80. With no arch support and little cushioning, how does she determine when to buy a new pair?

“Um, when I want a new color…” she answered. “I wanted the blue ones because I liked the orange trim, and the gold highlights looked cool. The problem with those, though, is that they’re navy and don’t match most of my running togs.” She sounded a little guilty.

I tried a different line of questioning. “Do you notice a qualitative difference between your first pair and the most recent?”

“Well, the oldest pair are dirtier. They’re also a half-size larger than the others, so I guess that feels different.”

“So there’s no structural breakdown from the miles you’ve run in them for the last year?”

“Like what, the stitching?”

She was only vaguely familiar with the 300-500 mile rule. For her, the sole isn’t supposed to provide cushion, so any depletion of cushioning has gone unnoticed. When I told her the swap-out rule, she said, “Typical. Sounds like something men would make up as an excuse to buy new shoes.”

Iris’ attitude re shoes didn’t come from nowhere. She has worked in the fashion publication industry for years, always being inundated with the same ol’ product repackaged and sold as new and improved. To her, the claims made by Nike sound just like the claims made by L’oreal. Her mind is unsullied by the conventional wisdom of running culture.

She started running with a pair of cushy New Balance shoes. As she was learning how to run (note that she assumed there was a how in the first place), she felt the regular running shoe prevented her from making the adjustments necessary to be smooth. “They forced me to stomp and made  my knees clang together.” So she went to Target and found a flat-soled sneaker. She doesn’t wear them anymore. Why?

“They’re brown.”

Iris has also struggled with sciatica issues for years. Protecting her back requires the same fluidity as running barefoot. She knows what kind of movements lead to pain. She recognizes the warning signs. Instead of ignoring the pain or worse, hiding it, she listens to it and adjusts. The only demand she makes of her shoes is to look good and stay out of the way.

I don’t think Iris needs shoes, but I’m not worried about her getting injured. She’s running with the mentality of a barefoot runner, a mentality cultivated by a history unrelated to running, so the shoes don’t matter. Her sciatica provides much of the same feedback that bare feet do.Without her mentality and the feedback, I’d be concerned.

Barefootery isn’t a moral thing for me. The debate isn’t about shoes. It’s not barefoot vs shod. It’s critical thinking vs blind trust, learning vs magic pills, and evidence vs marketing. Runners imbue magical attributes to their shoes that don’t exist. They don’t make you run better, you make you run better. They don’t prevent injury, you prevent injury.

So what do shoes do? Keep your feet warm, protect your soles, and serve as a fashion accoutrement. The trade-off is hot feet, less ground feedback, and tan lines. And the cost of the shoe, of course. Anything else is just stuff ding dongs make up. Understanding that is a big step in the right direction. What you do about it is up to you.

Ever step in a tick nest and not realize it until a couple of hours later? I have! What fun! What joy!

I took a hike with a few MadMayoites on Saturday morning at Mayo Park. I was wearing aqua socks. Then I took the dogs to Farris park, still wearing the aquas. Got home, decided to go for a run. By that time it was about 90 degrees, so I just left the aquas on. I kept it short because of the heat, chatted with the neighbors on the way back, went home, took off the shoes… dozens of tiny ticks were crawling hither and thither. We’re talking tiny – two of them would have room to do a waltz on a period. I scraped off as many of them as I could in the shower, then just waited for itchypalooza to begin.

It looks like chicken pox. I have bites all over, especially on my feet. Of course. So not much running will be happening this week, I’m afraid.

UPDATE: Alright alright. You want a pic? It’s gross. And I’m only showing my feet, so no sexy calf/thigh/butt pics of bitten bubbled skin. But first, here’s a link to what got me. Regardless of one’s footwear, if you’re running in the woods be warned this could happen to you:

Read the rest of this entry »

Alright, so here’s an article about that military study which found that running shoe design is complete and utter voodoo. McDougall has a couple of good posts on the topic. I do my best to be skeptical about any study involving the human body because there are so many uncontrollable factors. The Lieberman study, for example, is interesting but doesn’t really prove anything. I’m having trouble finding something to criticize with this latest one.

If I’m understanding it correctly (a dangerous assumption), the military was about to purchase a bunch of foot-specific shoes for the troops, who like the general public seem to be plagued with running related injuries. Surprise #1: instead of just going ahead and spending taxpayer money on a bunch of unproven remedies, they conducted their own study to see if it was worth the investment.

Question interjection: why is the military doing this, and not Consumer Reports, or the FDA (or whichever bureaucratic entity that’s supposed to protect us from snake-oil selling ne’er-do-wells), or the BBB? Or, for that matter, the shoe companies who are selling the stupid things?

Anyway, what did they find? Here’s a quote from the NYTimes:

Injury rates were high among all the runners, but they were highest among the soldiers who had received shoes designed specifically for their foot types. If anything, wearing the “right” shoes for their particular foot shape had increased trainees’ chances of being hurt.

Surprise #2: the “right” shoes were actually worse. I figured it would be random.

I can’t think of a counterpoint argument. A bunch of runners, all on the same training plan, in about as controlled an environment you’re going to get, getting hurt regardless of what fashion crime was attached to their feet. If they’re wearing the shoes they’re “supposed” to be wearing, even more get hurt. The uncomfortable truth is that the consensus could not have been more wrong. Smart people believe BS, buy BS, and preach BS. Here’s some more BS:

For now, if you’re heading out to buy new running shoes, plan to be your own best advocate. “If a salesperson says you need robust motion-control shoes, ask to try on a few pairs of neutral or stability shoes, too,” Mr. Ryan says. “Go outside and run around the block” in each pair. “If you feel any pain or discomfort, that’s your first veto.” Hand back those shoes. Try several more pairs. “There really are only a few pairs that will fit and feel right” for any individual runner, he says. “My best advice is, turn on your sensors and listen to your body, not to what the salespeople might tell you.”

… and you’ll still walk out of the store $100 poorer with a remarkably unstudied product that is just as likely to cause you pain. In order to be a smart customer, you have to know what you’re looking for. If your form is messed up, a shoe you like will probably expedite your injuries. If you’re a new runner, you don’t know anything yet. If you’re an experienced runner who’s doing fine, well, the shoes you like will be discontinued eventually and you’re going to have to find a new pair that works with your form pronto, and keep your fingers crossed you don’t get hurt in the expensive trial and error process.

Frankly, I think most of the shod running community is screwed. They’ve been running in cushy-bouncy ankle brace shoes for years. Most seem to have it down well enough that they only get hurt once every other year or so. What’s going to happen to them if their cushy-bouncy ankle brace shoes are taken off the shelf, as many barefooters advocate? Are they going to be able to make the transition to cushionless shoes? No, they won’t. They’re going to break every metatarsal in their feet. And forget barefooting; that’s just a fad. And the ground is saturated with rat poison and nuclear waste and poo. And it’s gotta hurt!

The only difference between the motion control (or whatever) shoe and the PMS shoe is that consumers think one makes sense and the other is silly. There is no science, only producers catering to the preferences of consumers. They each rely on he assumption the other knows what they’re doing. Blind leading the blind.

But you like your shoes? That’s fine; go ahead and enjoy them with your magnetic bracelets while reading your horoscope and having your palm read to tell you what homeopathic remedy you need in to remove the toxins from your body should you bump into Bigfoot on your next trail run.

Was that too mean? That was too mean. I just couldn’t bear to delete that last run-on sentence.

My next post: My wife wears shoes, I’m totally cool with it, and why.

PS I’m feeling much better today, thank you. It’s nice to be able to take a break from running without worrying about “messing up” training for some race or another.

PPS Some of the lack of confidence in humanity expressed in the above post is no doubt related to a rough week teaching art camp. Teaching while sick is not fun, and yesterday as I was cleaning up after class one of my students rushed in to throw away some of the art she did. “I don’t feel like carrying it to the car,” she said. “I thought you did some nice work,” I said after she left.

So if you puke at the end of a race, is it still an, uh, expression of total effort if it turns out you’re actually sick? I’ve been a wreck this whole week, peaking yesterday with feelings of terribleness I care not to describe in flowery prose. My illness makes me doubt the legitimacy of my finish line fuel upheaval. This of course means I have to do it all over again.

Life is never tidy.

I have things to say re the whole military running shoe study, racing vs adventuring, and maybe even earphones (you might be surprised). But not now. I’m all Phlegmy McCoughsalot.