I wanted to laugh.  I wanted to throw my head back, shaking rain droplets, and bellow my pleasure to the sky, arms spread wide and joyful.  I wanted to howl out to the world, I’ve figured it out, I’ve found the path I’ve been seeking!  Buuuut, I held back.

For the last few months, every long run I’ve done has been on the trails, “barefoot,” in my Vibram FiveFingers KSOs.  The difference between how I feel after a barefoot run versus a shoe run is an ever-widening gap.  Shoes: sore, tight, stiff the next day.  KSOs: some muscle fatigue, but no pain, and a desire to go do it all over again.

I ran last fall in the KSOs on pavement, only two miles.  I forced my body to run like I was in shoes, jamming my heels into the sidewalks.  Big surprise, I hurt.  Once I was on the trails, I let loose a little bit and let my natural body mechanics take over.  Instant difference.

Tonight was an experiment.   After running about 80 miles on dirt, I was ready to try on pavement again.  I set out to do four - and ended up doing five.  I let my feet land the way they wanted to - mid-foot, rolling along the outside, absorbing the shock.  I pushed off from my toes instead of rolling off the ball of my foot.  It took about a half mile to get into the rhythm, but once I found my groove, it was AMAZING.

My back straightened.
My shoulders were loose.
My feet zipped along at 91 strides per minute - the “magic number” of elite runners.  Never before have I been able to keep it higher than 80.  I counted probably 8-10 times, and every minute, exactly 91.
My miles were a consistent 8:10, and I cruised at a perceived difficulty of maybe 4/10.  Maybe that high - maybe.
My breathing was light and even.  I’m sure that if I had stopped, at any point during the run, my breathing would have been barely more than it is at rest.

Can I really credit the Vibrams for this?  Yes, I think I can.  In 1500+ miles in shoes over the last few years, I have never had a run as *perfect* as this one.  I have never experienced the sheer ecstatic happiness that I felt on this run.  I had my epiphany tonight.

This run was glorious.  It was awesome.  It was fun and amazing and full of love of running.  I was a crazy, half naked man running down 80th Avenue, grinning wide and open-mouthed at confused people in their cars.  I passed Mr. Moehrke in his wheelchair on 75th - I said, good evening, and he said, “Hi, how are you?” and I yelled “FANTASTIC!” as I ran past.   “Beautiful!” came the reply from behind me.  This run was glorious.

I might never buy another pair of running shoes again.

NOW PLEASE NOTE
If you have the pressing urge to tell me my feet are going to fall off, that my tendons are going to explode, or whatever horrific injury I am bound to experience unless I wear shoes, please save it.  Seriously.  Running shoes have only been around for about 40 years, and since they were introduced, running-“related” injuries have increased exponentially.

You’d think that after all this time and advanced research, Nike might find a way to reduce shinsplints or ITBS or plantar fasciitis.  But that’s not the case.  I’ll try to reign in the preaching, but I will happily talk my fool head off with anyone who wants to know more.  A great place to start is the book Born to Run, by Christopher McDougall, which I recommend to any runner, even if you’re not interested in barefooting.

Humans ran barefoot for over two hundred thousand years.  Good thing no one was around to tell them they were doing it wrong, or we’d never be able to argue about it on the internets.

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From behind me, a woman’s voice: “Hey, Kenosha.”

“Hey, Sparta,” I responded, without turning.  I dumped some more M&Ms into my mouth from the paper cup.  “Been waiting for ya.”

I knew her name.  It was in big letters on her bib.  Julianne.  She knew my name, too.  But that’s not how we were introduced to each other, so that’s not how we addressed each other.  We were at mile 25 of the Deadwood-Mickleson Trail Marathon, on the outskirts of Deadwood, South Dakota.

“See, I knew you’d beat me,” I told her as she walked next to me.

“I don’t know about that; I’m nursing a stress fracture.”

I started to run again shortly thereafter.  As I entered Deadwood, I passed a speed limit sign for snowmobiles - 5mph.  I laughed.  I was on a sub-10 minute pace for this mile, which meant that technically, I was speeding.  Just another few minutes, and I was done.  Marathon number 6, in the bag.

Sparta finished about 15 seconds behind me.  We gave mutual congrats, and went on our separate ways.  I had to find a shower, and our hotel didn’t give us a late checkout.

Several hours earlier

I didn’t know if this race was going to happen.  Or, even if *it* did, was it going to involve me?  The forecast was for low 40s, with possible thunderstorms.  Not exactly what you want when running a remote race over a small mountain.  The start line was at 5358ft of elevation and we climbed to 6225ft at the midpoint.  Altitude and elevation gain, cold and wet; the combination  was worrisome.

I dressed anyway.  Joy was supportive, reminding me to eat my Clif Bar, reminding me that she would be at mile 10 if things got too bad, reminding me that I’d run in worse.  Looking out the window of our room, I saw other runners heading to the shuttle bus pick-up across the street.

Okay, I decided.  Let’s do this.

The shuttle bus took me (and the other runners) to the tiny hamlet of Rochford, SD.  Joy couldn’t join me as the town is too small for spectators to park in.  Seriously.  Just before 7, we were deposited on an open lot next to the church.  Nearly 400 of us huddled against the church, behind trees, or in line for the porta-potties.  There was no shelter, and of course, many of us were in shorts and short sleeves.  I managed to score a spot along the front of the church, out of the wind.  Someone came along handing out garbage bags, and I put one over my head, poncho-style.  Someone joked that we looked like a hobo camp.  I said, “Yeah, hobos with expensive shoes.”

Two questions were asked of and by everyone around me.  Where are you from, and how many have you run?  The “from” question became not only an interesting study in geography, but that’s how you got your name.  By some unspoken rule, you were named for your state, unless there was already someone in the group with that name - then you got your town.  I was talking with South Carolina, Florida, Pensacola, New York, and Spearfish (a local, doing the relay).  I was Wisconsin, so when two others came by, we met Sparta and Burlington.

I also learned that I was truly the noob of the group I was with.  One woman had run 66, another 23, a man had over 150… I was going to be running number 6.  I got to met Roger from England who was running his 500th marathon.  He was kind of a mild celebrity, as everyone wanted to meet him.

After about an hour, we lined up and the marathon was on.  The first half was a good haul up, and the second half was a brutal, mostly downhill wobble.  The weather mostly cooperated, but the mist and fog made for soggy runners.  The scenery was pretty spectacular.

Once it was all over, we were well beyond our checkout time.  On top of that, the YMCA was closed.  Joy is a trooper, though.  She drove the five hours to our hotel in Thermopolis, Wyoming, with my stinky self in the front seat with hardly a complaint.

I limped painfully into the hotel to check in, and the guy at the desk looked at me worriedly.  “Man, you look like you just…”

“Ran a marathon?”

“Yeah, I guess!” he said.

I shrugged.  “I did.  In South Dakota.”

“Really?  Wow!”  We chatted some more as he got us checked in, and then - finally - I was able to take a shower.

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