Born to Run Barefoot

I love running. I always have.

My mom did daycare at our house when I was younger, and in the summer she'd take care of a kid or two my age. Of course, we didn't have enough bikes for everyone, so I always volunteered to run beside everyone riding their bikes to the Creative Playground, our stomping ground, about a mile away. Even then, I loved to run.

I have never been super fast, I have never been ultra-competitive. I enjoyed running cross country and track in high school for the comraderie, and some of my best college memories are running around Chapel Hill after dark (because it was too freakin' hot to run in daylight) with my college roommates Ashley & Malina. I completed one marathon with Team in Training and the NYC Marathon in 2002, both with my good friend Julia. Running is both my time alone and my time with friends.

And then (insert screeching tires, car crash sounds, screaming and sirens here), I got injured.

No, it was not a glorious sports related injury. I remember the exact moment it happened. It was days before our wedding in August of 2003 and I was on the Upper West Side to get everything waxed for the wedding and our Mexican honeymoon. I was wearing flip flops and I was late. I shot across Broadway as the cars were coming, and snap! My right calf just...I don't know. Pulled? Tore? It hurt, badly. I took two weeks off, ran on it, and pulled it again. I took a month off, ran on it, and pulled it again. It became a sad routine, and then I stopped running.

And it wasn't because I was off my game. That summer I was training for the NYC Marathon again. I was in excellent shape--I could bike up to Central Park, run 18 8-minute miles, and bike home.I didn't run that marathon, or any other one, ever. My running life, for the most part, was kaput. Depressing.

I have had this chronic calf injury off and on for NINE YEARS. It has sucked. Every time I start to run again, I pull it again. I have had orthotics made for my marshmellow-y running shoes, I have had three different physical therapists, I have been taped, iced, heated, and I have rested. Nothing helped. I was told that it's because I have totally flat feet, feet that only became flatter with two pregnancies (and went from a size 10 to a size 11--god help me). I felt defeated.

And then I read Born to Run by Christopher McDougall. And I read it again. And again. The whole book resonated in me, especially the part that we--as homo sapiens--are all meant to run, not to be fat mother effers who sit on couches and eat french fries. Transport us back thousands of years and we'd have to run for food, from invaders, for life--what has happened to us? I refused to believe that I can't/shouldn't run because I'm flat-footed. And then he talked about barefoot running, and trusting in the architecture of my feet and my muscles to carry my body. He examined the history of running shoes, a tribe of indiginous peoples in the Copper Canyon of Mexico called the Tarahumara who run ultra-marathons wearing sandals and eating chia seeds, and the birth and new trend of barefoot running. I decided: screw those fluffy running shoes and my orthotics, I needed get barefoot. It was my last desperate attempt to re-cultivate my running self.

After having Nico, I was at a running ground zero = I was totally out of shape and had no mileage under me. Thankfully, this is a good place to start re-training your body on how to run. I read about running barefoot, studied the gait, and started small runs on the treadmill with the focus to land on my mid-foot, not on my heel. I got some Nike Free running shoes, and starting working out in them. Spin, small runs, elliptical, etc. I also stopped wearing my bulky Dansko clogs and other shoes I was told I needed to wear for "support" and wore only shoes with no support so my feet are on the ground, my favorite in the summer being Saltwater Sandals. Being both a teacher and a New Yorker, I walk a lot, so even when not at the gym my feet were practicing being barefoot, getting new muscles, and learning what it felt like to hold my body (which is not tiny) up. I remember my feet being sore last spring; they are never sore now.

A month ago I took the next step and got the Vibram five-finger running shoes. I headed out for a slow jaunt in Prospect Park (3.3 miles), cautious of my new kicks, and I found myself jumping over rocks on the trail and kicking it in at the end, I felt so good. I figured I would pay for it the next day--I'd wake up and my feet and legs would be immobile, but not at all! Not an ounce of pain.

Monday I went for another run in the park in them, and I am happy to report that for the first time in YEARS, I ran the loop in total joy. I felt great, my feet felt light and strong, and I ran with the happiness I had as a kid. I just wore them to a cardio interval class, and I felt so stable and connected to the ground as we jumped and balanced--so much better than those big running shoes.

I am sold.

I have put off writing this post for fear that I'll jinx myself and pull my calf again, but I'm hopeful that maybe, baby, I was born to run--just not in actual running shoes.

(PS: I have heard that Peter Sarsgaard is directing a movie adaptation of Born to Run, the book. I can't wait.)