This week, I saw my first barefoot runner of the season. Granted, it happened to be 32 degrees at the time and I thought he was crazy, but it felt like seeing a daffodil blooming in snow. Also, my crocuses bloomed. Today was truly warm. So, I grabbed the dog and went running up the mountain in capri running pants and no wool whatsoever and not even an ear-warmer or gloves. I kept my (minimal) shoes on. But that was only because the dog got into the shed yesterday and ate four-days worth of food, and he was clearly feeling the weight of all that naughtiness, and I didn't feel like dragging him along and carrying my shoes, too. Bad boy, Andre. But I really wanted to take my shoes off. Ok, so I'm addicted to bare feet. Yeah, it's a craving. And also, it keeps me injury-free. For someone with a life-time of random running injuries and 15 years of knee problems, that's just short of miraculous. I plan on never having a running injury again. My knees feel fantas