Going Barefoot

Here's a story about going barefoot. Not Going Barefoot, as in my novel. Going barefoot, as in my life. As in, no arc. No actual ending. Just my bare feet. Running.

Do people really get this far off the ground when they run barefoot?

Some of you have heard (and if you're my family are probably sick of) my rant about how my chronic knee and plantar fasciitis trouble healed when I zeroed out my running shoes and started running barefoot in the grass at the park. I realized I run very differently when barefoot, so I started trying to mimic that upright, butt-kicking, ultra-bent-knee style every time I ran in shoes, too. 

My favorite shoes: New Balance Minimus. Second favorite: Vibram Five Fingers. Both of which have zero padding and are only a couple steps beyond barefoot.

I mostly run in shoes because I'm scared of that crud always lurking on the side of the road, like to save barefoot running for the grass. Love splashing through that spongy, soggy, just-watered grass in the park down the road from my house. Mmmm. Yes.

I garden barefoot. I walk around my house and yard barefoot. I squish in the park grass barefoot. I love going barefoot.

Barefeet are happy feet

BUT, I do not run on the road with bare feet. I think my brother, a hard-core barefooter, whose bare foot-prints I have seen in snow, is certifiably crazy. Even though he's a math professor.

And then I read Barefoot Ken-Bob's book

sorry, you can't click to look inside unless you go to Amazon

and felt like a big ole wimp. I mean, the guy runs marathons barefoot.

So this week I started barefoot running on the road. I've done it twice, now. The first time I ran around the corner. Woo hoo. Today: down two-and-a-half streets and around four corners.

My feet were not torn to shreds. My legs and knees feel good. I was ok with people staring at the weirdness of it. The end.

Only it's not the end. I'm going to keep doing it. Told you there was no arc.

I'll let you know how it goes. Gotta go scrub my soles.