Merrill Trail Glove ReReview

Merrills are shoes, and therefore lower on my list of go-to minimalist footwear for running, but they have had some good uses.

First, I just prefer running barefoot when possible. When not possible, for longer trail runs especially, when rocks and sticks just start to wear on my feet, I like huarache sandals, where my feet can be in the open air, but I have a minimal rubber-ish sole. Huaraches just don't work that well in wet weather though, and so, being from Michigan and Oregon, I've used Vibram Five Finger (the traditional KSOs) as my go-to minimalist footwear for most of my longer races.

What neither huaraches nor VFFs are good for though, is cold weather running. And that's why I bought a pair of Merrills. I was looking for a minimalist footwear that offered a zero-drop heel, while also covering the feets. And, for this, they work very well. As I wrote before in the race report on this blog, I ran a trail marathon in Winter in Michigan, temps just around freezing, on packed snow trail, wearing just the shoes, no socks, and my feet were fine—snugly warm.

The other big thing I used my Merrills for was when, two Winters ago in Portland, Oregon, I was training for Badger Mountain 100 Miler in the Spring. For my long training runs, there was no other footwear that offered what I needed: warmth. Though I will say that Merrills offer both a durable foot shell in general, and some traction on the soles, for the very muddy trails in Forest Park.

I like the way these shoes are designed: they 'grip' or 'hold' at the mid-foot, around the arch, and at first I didn't like that feel because if felt too 'arch support-y'. But it's not, and this allows the area to the front of the foot to be wider: my toes have plenty of room to spread out, without the shoes slipping forward and scrunching them up.

They are shoes, and shoe-ish, so I do not at all like to run on pavement in them. They do limit foot sensitivity, like typing with over mitts on my hands, and I find myself falling back into heel-striking if not careful. For pavement I run barefoot, or with super thing Xero huaraches.

I do use these shoes for occasional regular streetwear. If I need shoes, and the occasion is not too dressy, then I'll put them on. I don't use socks though—if I did they'd bee too tight, and I don't like socks anyways—so they (like the Vibram Five Fingers) can get smelly. Sometimes really, embarrassingly, bad. So if you want them for wearing around town, get a size up if you plan to wear socks. Also: I will wear them for biking around town, since my pedals tend to tear up my moccasins.

Also, if you're buying them in a store (which I recommend, because the sizing is slightly different than 'regular' shoes) make sure the salesperson actually uses them herself, which might actually be rare. Also note that minimalist shoes like these are now usually being sold as trail shoes, with the idea that one should use 'regular' running shoes for street running. Which, is kinda true, but for the wrong reasons: they're 'trail shoes' because barefoot runners might want a little bit of protection on rocky trails.

One more note: in my quest to find a pair of men's minimalist dress shoes, the kind I could wear with a tie (ack) and dress shirt for an interview, say, I bought a pair of black Merrills. They apparently don't make this model anymore, or at least not in black. They still look a little running shoe-ish, with laces, though I don't run in mine, and I have in fact worn them to interviews, even with the laces. I'm not sure if that affected my chances or not, but I didn't ever get an offer. But, for a night on the town, especially in Portland rain, and so as not to embarrass my date by wearing worn down moccasins, I've worn these.

So, if you're a barefoot runner, these might be good for cold weather trail runs.

If you're a regular running shoe wearer, but looking to try minimalist, first I'd recommend running barefoot first. Do not run in Merrills, or any minimalist footwear, in the same way you'd run in evil bad normal running shoes. The heel strike will mess up, badly. As will the longer stride. And, mostly, take these out on the trail.

And if you're just looking for a good sporty minimalist shoe to wear around town, these will do. Much better than any non-minimalist shoe. Though consider moccasins, and/or something like Soft Star Shoe's new model, The Portlander.

Please check out my race review usingMerrills here.

Hagg Lake Mud Run 50K

Despite being advertised as the Hagg Lake Mud Run, I don't think the trails are going to be too muddy today. The whole past week have been relatively sunny. Still, I'm wearing my Merrell Trail Glove minimalist shoes, for traction more than anything, and warmth, though really, I think the 'extreme' cold weather of the Willamette Valley area here in Oregon (such as it is) has passed, and I could be moving back to huaraches or, gasp, barefoot. Still, 50K. Do I want to risk having cold feet for six hours? So I'm playing it safe. I'm having cold feet about having cold feet, I think. Excuses, I know. A manly barefoot runner would tough it out. Sigh....

But, anyway, looks to be a great day out here at Hagg 'Lake' (it's a reservoir). Still a bit foggy, but I'm thinking it will lift later. I could've almost slipped in for the early start at 7:00, but I think I'm going to be ok. That is, all this training I've been doing for the Badger Mountain Hundo must be worth something at this point!

There are, I think, 300, people signed up for today's 50K, and I think it's the first time the race has actually sold out the 50K. There is also a 25K tomorrow, with twice as many people, and it's sold out. There is also the option to do a 'double' and do both, which I opted not to do, though maybe I should have. My thinking is, actually, that I don't want to waste my time with a measly 25K. On Tuesday I plan to run 30 miles, and then Thursday 45, as my 30/30/45 hundo training week. Oh well.

We are gathered under a picnic pavilion near the reservoir shore, where there are portable outside heaters we're all standing under. The air is not actually super cold, but still, I've only got two shirts on, and some light wool gloves, but I'm already impressed with the organization of this race: heaters are a nice touch, and I see they have a kitchen being set up for the end—we're going to get more than doughnuts! All of the volunteers seem to know each other and many of the runners. Must be some kind of running group out this way.

And lo, who should appear but a guy in huaraches! I'm not sure what kind they are, they've got a funky strap. Might be home made. Interesting, for me, to not be the odd man out. In my Merrell shoes, no one can tell that I'm actually a freak. In fact, I feel guilty now. I should've 'huarache'd up' like a real man. But, now I can see how other shod runners react to him, staring at his feet when they think he'd not looking and shaking their heads sadly. Like, what an idiot, huh? Everyone knows you need supertank shoes to run a 50K.

And hark, the babe of the day just appeared, and she walks over and stands next to me. She's the only one here with maybe frizzier hair than me. Being the manly man I am, I smoothly strike up a conversation by asking, “Have you run this race before?” I've got all kinds of pick up lines like that.

But, we talk. This is her first time here, but sounds like she's an accomplished long distance runner. She's actually doing the 'double.' She's from Walla Walla, and knows about the Badger Mountain Hundo, and may be doing the 50K section. Anyways, sounds like she's a wee bit faster than me, so I probably won't see her again. We exchange 'good luck's' as we line up for everyone else.

The course is going to be a short out and back up a dirt road, than back here to the picnic area and around the reservoir twice. Again, I like the planning here. I mean, maybe they need to add on a few kilometers to make the double loop a full 50K, but what will happen is, after runners have warmed up, they'll be zipping right back here and can drop off any extra layers now that they're warmed up. I myself am just going with what I have, hell or high water, but many people have brought out whole bags and boxes with clothes and multiple pairs of shoes! Yes, and some people are running with small backpacks on, which I think are Camelbacks, but they also seems stuffed with stuff, I'm not sure what. That just seems like overdoing it, since we have three stations total, with water and food. That's the bonus of doing races like this—they supply the supplies!

Doesn't quite seem like 300 folks, but I'm never sure on that. And no gun or cannon or anything, just suddenly we're off! And uphill immediately! Woo hoo! And up a gnarly gravel road. Gnarly meaning big stones of gravel, that are uncomfortable even in my Merrells. I can't imagine what the guy with VFFs I pass if feeling. So yeah, maybe barefoot wouldn't be so cool here. But, hey, you could run this out in back in something thick and then ditch the footwear on the way back!

With an out and back, we get to see the front-runners, and they're young dudes with no body fat just barreling down the road. In fact, curiously, when I get up to the turnaround point, I too barrel down and it seems, just seems, that there seem to be two kinds of runners: those who barrel down hills, and those who don't. And those who do are all in front. I'm like the last person barreling, midway in the pack. Again, this might be my imagination, but I wonder if there's a way to test this?

But yeah, those gravel stones kinda hurt when barreling.

On my way back into the parking lot and the picnic area, a bystander (or bysitter), a guy, yells out, to me, “Hey, how come you're wearing shoes?”

I'm startled. “How'd you know?”

“Oh, I've seen you around.”

How odd. I don't recognize him at all. And we're like an hour from Portland. I guess I'm a Known Figure. As an extreme introvert, this freaks me out. But I guess it's a compliment. But I think it's another sign from the Universe that I should have huarache'd up, at least.

The START/picnic area is almost at the 'top' of the reservoir, where whatever river is being dammed up comes into the valley. Is it the Tualatin River? Not sure. Anyways, we're soon on the other side of the reservoir, and can in fact see the START area and parking lot. In fact, I can still see them further on, when I can also see the dam coming up. That's weird. I'd think the dam would be the farthest point out? But doesn't feel like we've gone but a few miles. Ah ha, but here's the deal, the trail on the other 'side' of the reservoir is a lot more 'wind-y' (as in, it winds) with a lot more coves that dip in and out.

But first, at the end of the dam is our first aid station, and man, these people know what they're doing! It's well stocked with all kinds of drinks and munchables. I eat an orange slice and a banana section, and yes! Fig Newtons! I don't think I'm going to be needing the two Clif Bars in my pocketses, which is good because I'm about sick of Clif Bars at this point. In fact, all they're doing now is taking up space and weight in my shorts. My Amphipod water bottle is handy though.

And yeah, this trail, especially over here, where it's a little bit more muddy (though just a little) is totally barefoot-able. Not sure about six hours of cold mud, but might conceivably be doable.

The pack is well spaced out by now. I chose my starting position well: Mid pack. There hasn't been a lot of passing or being passed since the out and back road (another good reason for that!). And the trail is easy to follow. It basically stays between the water and the road that goes around the dam. No getting lost today! But a pleasant run in the trees.

Something odd: the route does bump out onto a parking lot. The area is still technically closed, but this lot has some vehicles, and some activity going on. Cement is being made and shoveled out and who, what the hell are those things??? It looks like a modern art sculpture. Those cement bricks have been turned sideways, holes facing up, and cement is being poured into the holes. Then three-foot rubber tubes and inserted into the west cement, hanging out like multiple antennae.

If the people doing the activity were like a bunch of artsy looking people with lots of tattoos, I would say it was art. But it's a bunch of small town good 'ole folks. Kids and elderly people. I'm racking my brain long after I pass them and head back into the woods and then suddenly my time working for the Forest Service back in Arizona comes back: Those things are for fish. Either habitat and/or food source. Once the cement dries, the block will be dropped to the bottom of the reservoir (which, remember, isn't a real lake, so doesn't have stuff like plants) where, I think, the tubes will act like plants and accumulate plankton (or whatever, smaller plant bits) which the fish (which, remember, are stocked and not native) can nibble on, and maybe swim around in. Shoot, I still kind of prefer them as modern art.

Onward!

Some mud appears, enough to get the shoes muddy, but not too bad. I'm ok with this not being a total mud fest, which sounds like it normally is. Some people I've talked to say that even the flat straightaways are like running on oil. So far I haven't slipped at all!

Second aid station is just as well-stocked, and with friendly volunteers. And more Fig Newtons! And we cross a river. Hm, maybe this is in fact the 'top' of the reservoir. Not sure. The whole day has been quiet so far, just birds and moving water. So nice.

Finally, the parking lot, which means the picnic area is not far now. One last little section of trail, and pop!, here I am. Time? Hm, 2:50. That bodes ill for finishing in six hours, since I'm sure I'll run the second loop slower. But, that also includes the out and back, so this is in fact more than half way. I don't dawdle though, just grab some grub and go. I'm so into the food that I forget to drink some water at the station, though I at least refilled the Amphipod, which should be enough to get me to the first aid station.

And around we go. I'm playing tag with these two guys, one of whom seems to be having some leg cramp issues. I'll pass them while he's kneading his thigh, then they run by me chatting away. The only other person around is a woman wearing what I call 'booty shorts' over her running tights. I've occasionally seen women running races in just these booty shorts, which are black and super short, though I'm not sure if they're actually sold as running shorts. They're awfully (or, that is, wonderfully) skimpy, but I'm not sure what wearing them over running tights is getting her, though she has a juicy booty anyways—if she were just in shorts she'd be hanging out all over the place. I know, I know, just focus on running. Still....yowza.....but no, I must remain loyal to my Babe of the Day.

The fog has lifted, the sun is out and wow, coming out on the dam, what should there be but a rainbow! Much rejoicing. The sunshine just give a little boost, not sure if it's psychological, or if I'm getting a shot of Vitamin D or what. And at the first aid station there are more orange slices and bananas and Fig Newtons! And here comes Babe of the Day. I thought she was ahead of me. We say hello and I'm off. I'm sure she'll catch me. I'm not going to be running any faster at this point, but I do feel strong, like I could potentially not bog out. I don't even know have far I've come, there are no mile markers. There signs at the aid stations, but they're meaningless to me, since I think they're in the metric system.

On my way back into the trees, a guy comes up behind me and says, “Well, are we having fun yet?”

And I say, “Yeah, actually, I am.”

We start talking and turns out he's and ultra runner too. Not like one of the gods, but just someone like me, or a little bit more advance than me, with a couple hundos under his belt. When I tell him about my DNF at Burning River, he says he went through the same thing on his first hundo, and gives me words of encouragement about my second one coming up. I go over my training plan with him, and he gives me some basic tips, like to walk all hills, even at the early stages, and to in fact go slow right form the beginning. His second halves of his hundos are faster than his first halves, which kind of boggles my mind, but ok! And in fact, looks like his second half of this race is going to be faster, since he soon pulls away.

Soon after, I'm caught up by the guy in the huaraches. As he passes, I ask, “Hey, what kind of huaraches are those?”

And he says what I think is, “They're 'Tired of Shoes huaraches. I make them myself.”

Turns out he's got his own little huarache-making operation called Tire Dove Shoes. He's out of Monroe, and I think he says he's started selling them at a farmers market in Bend, but he's soon moving up to Portland. I like his idea for laces, using flat nylon parachute cord (I think?) with a special lock kind of deal that keeps the lace firm, even when putting the sandals off and on, so no having to readjust every time. Plus, he's working with using actual tires for the tread for at least one 'line' of sandals, which I think is brilliant. Seems like some people would really like the recycled option. Anyways, he's going faster than me, but I get his email: Ave McCombs, tiredoveshoes@yahoo.com.

At the second aid station I fill up and ask, half-jokingly, “How much farther do I have to go?”

A woman says, “Four and a half miles.”

Finally, miles! “Oh, I can do that!”

She smiles. “Of course!”

The trail does get muddier in here, now that it's been pounded by 250+ pairs of feet. A little slippery, and at time sticky. I'm going a little slower, my second split won't be as fast as my first, but I'm not bogged down either. Still, I'm a little worried, looking ahead to Badge Mountain, and if I'm feeling tired at this point, I'm not sure what will happen.

And in the mud who should pass me but Babe of the Day, looking strong and steady. Maybe I should work more on being stronger for my second split, I seem to be getting passed more now.

And, as if for some kind of closure, I even get passed by Booty Shorts. And well, I hate to see her leave, but love to watch her go.

Concentrate John! Going slow. Am I even going to have energy for my 'balls out' at the end? Not sure. But here's the parking lot, which means it's not far now, so I make an effort to pick up the pace. And since the trail becomes a lot more downhill-ish here, I'm helped by gravity, and in fact, once I start barreling down again, something kicks in and I'm actually sprinting! I even catch a guy I'd seen farther ahead, he's dragging, and I can hear the people at the finish line.

And I pop out of the trees and whoah, they've moved the course so that the finish line is only like twenty feet away. I kind of catch people by surprise and actually have to put on the breaks in order not to run past the finishers tent, where a woman offers up my medal (which is actually a bottle opener, I guess for all those old school type bottles of beer popular out here). Time? 5:48! A PR, by at least twelve minutes. So yay!

I wobble down to the reservoir and take off my shoes, washing off the mud as best I can, then standing in the water for some coldness on the muscles, and my, the water is brisk! Babe of the Day is there with a posse of friends. Ah well.

Best of all, under the picnic pavilion, the kitchen is in full swing, with hot dogs (even veggie dogs!), grilled cheeses, and two kinds of hot soup. Plus brownies. And mounted screens set up so you can see your time, and computer screens on table to look up your stats. Man, there are just a ton of guys my age doing these races. I'm going to have to wait 20 years for all their knees to give out before I start winning for my age category. The overall winner came in at something like 3:26. Impressive.

I run into both Ave of Tire Dove Shoes, who gives me his card, and Babe of the Day. Turns out she PR'd too. I think this was a good fast course, with great weather.

Now to hobble back to my car for the drive back to Portland.

Prepare To Die! Pacific NW(ish) meet-up

Photo: Mike, Janson, Jen, Chris, Katherine, John (me)

Perhaps it’s the name of the run that keeps the numbers down: “Prepare To Die!” sounds, well, intimidating. As is the description: twenty miles total. Ten miles up to the top of Larch Mountain, and then back down, on apparently very rocky trails, the kind that would be intimidating to regular shod runners, only we’re a bunch of crazy barefoot runners. Not only that, but this isn’t even a ‘real’ paid-for event. We’re all volunteers. Madness. Only weirdoes from Oregon would do something like this!

As a newly arrive transplant from Michigan, I am gradually becoming a weirdo. I ran with some of the people on this run last week, for a much shorter jaunt: Jen, Mike, and Chris, all of whom have driven a ways—an hour past the other side of Oregon to be here. The new faces are Katherine, who is not even a Barefoot Running Society member, yet, but who somehow came across the FaceBook announcement. She’s from Gresham/Portland, and has had the shortest drive.

Also joining us is Janson, from Washington, who drove like three hours to be here. After coming down for a few meet-ups in the Portland area, he and Jen came up with the idea of doing a meet-up run somewhere between the Oregon and Washington folks, so as to make this an actual Pacific Northwest-ish meet-up. Alas, all the other possible Washington folks have bailed. Bawk bawk!

We are in ‘The Gorge’, along the Columbia River, east of Portland about a half hour, meeting at Horsetail Falls, one of many falls along the southern ‘cliffs’, including the more well-known Multnomah Falls down the road. There’s a small parking lot, with the falls right here, pouring off a cliff right next to the road. My fear/prediction for this run is that it will actually end up a hike, since from the maps Jansen printed up, it looks like we’re just going uphill the whole way.

And I’m definitely going minimalist for this one. A quick scout trip up our trail shows that it’s very rocky. Perhaps doable barefoot, but at a slow slow pace, and I want to be able to hang with people. Plus, twenty miles of that would be brutal. Well, shoes are a tool, right? I think I need a tool for this one. The others opt for minimalist as well. Katherine and I both have VFFs, the rest have various forms of huaraches. Only Mike is going to try barefoot, though he’s packing both a pair of huaraches and his Merrills Trail Gloves in his backpack. We’ll see how far he gets!

After a quick review of the route, we’re off. The trail does go uphill immediately, but after a hundred feet or so levels off, and parallels the road, side hill, though still with plenty of up and down. Jansen, Katherine and I seem to be the ones willing to go a little quicker, with Chris and Mike sometimes catching up to us. Jen steadily brings up the rear, making sure there are no stragglers!

We run over to Multnomah Falls and turn left, uphill. I’ve actually been here before, on a family trip, and there are plenty of families and people in general along this part of the (paved) trail, which takes us up to the very top of the falls. Basically we’ll follow this trail all the way to Larch Mountain. As we leave the river behind, less and less people are on the trail, though notably we’re already seeing other (shod) runners coming downhill.

Mike quickly changes into huaraches, and while not as weird as all of us being barefoot, all of us being minimalist is still cool. People notice, some even ask polite questions. This is the value of these meet-ups: being with other like-minded folks, and also having ‘normal’ people see us in action, so they can see minimalist running isn’t just for lone nut-jobs. In fact, nut-jobs run in packs.

We have definitely formed into two packs: the fast folks and the slowpokes, though us fast folks take occasional breaks so as to allow the others to catch up. And yes, now we’re doing more hiking/walking than running. Which is still ok, but at one point, an hour and a half in, we figure out that we’re only like three miles in. Yikes. This is going to be a long day.

Fortunately the area is gorgeous. Besides the falls and running water, I still can’t get used to the HUGE trees here. Perhaps not super tall necessarily, but thick. They have girth. The whole place is lush, and this is in the dry part of the summer. In the winter this must be like a rainforest.

And yeah, this trail is rocky, in many senses of the word. Both with gravelly grit, and rough rocky bumps. At this point, we all seem to be ok with that, if the going is a little slow, but if all twenty miles are like this, my feets will be a little sore. This is where I might bust out my Merrills, or my soon to arrive Luna Leadvilles. I wonder out loud if Barefoot KenBob would really run over this stuff? Apparently trying to make ourselves feel better, we begin to disparage all the California barefooters, claiming they just run on the beach all the time.

After hiking for so long, going back into run mode is both mentally and physically hard, but with two miles to go to the top, we get into thicker pines, and the trail turns to dirt and needles. Excellent! At this point, Jansen has dropped behind and Chris has come up with Katherine and I, and we soon arrive at first a picnic grounds in the trees, then a parking lot. Yes, kind of takes away from the feeling of glory, coming all this way on foot, and then being in a parking lot with a bunch of people who just drove. Or maybe not. Maybe feeds my ego and helps me feel superior.

After a short wait, the rest of the pack arrives, and we take a small quarter-mile detour to go out to the vista point at the very top of the mountain, which is totally worth it: We can see for miles, including up to Mount Ranier in Washington, but with Mt. Hood huge to the east. And down into the Gorge, which seems to have its own weather going on, filled with clouds. And way to the south east is a large wildfire plume. Ah...I used to go to those things. No more. But what a wonderful view, and a wonderful way to see Oregon, for someone newly arrived like me.

And now the easy part, we hope. Down. We’re doing a loop, taking a different trail on our return, which we catch a little ways down the paved road. And yes! It too is dirt and pine needles. I think all of us are so relieved to have good running terrain that we just take off, barreling down. We quickly cover two or three miles this way, before the trail started to get more rocks, and be a little bit overgrown. Hm, way less used. As point man, I’m getting all kinds of spider webs in my face. Fortunately I mostly spot the really big spiders, the kind that look like they could catch birds. Or, as Newt says in the movie Aliens, ‘Mostly:’ After going face first through one, I feel something skittering across my neck, and a little prick. Argh! Scheisse! Of all the places to be bit by a large poisonous spider! The poison with go right to my brain! But then nothing seems to happen, I don’t black out or anything.

I’m now in the fast pack with Jansen and Katherine, and the trail is just getting more and more overgrown. I’d almost say we weren’t even on an official trail except that we come upon a Forest Service log bridge over a big river. We check our maps and guestimate where we are. We should be on one main trail for the majority of the way down, and we haven’t seen any turn-offs, no other trails, so we think we know where we’re going, but man, the trail just gets thick, with eroded out holes, barely visible through the underbrush. We are walking slowly. Yeah, this is going to be a long day.

Finally we reach a Forest Service sign at an intersection, with an arrow pointing us to Multnomah Falls. After consulting our maps once again, we proceed on. The trail clears, but it’s back to rockiness, and our legs and feet are just so hammered that running on anything but the most minimal rocks is just painful. So, we’re still walking a lot.

And walking.

And walking.

We’re definitely in a ravine, that definitely leads out to the Gorge, and we think we’re almost out, when we get to another intersection, which says Multnomah Falls is still three miles away. Wtf?! We check our maps again, and Jansen finally figures out that we actually took a wrong turn way way back at the top of the mountain, and have in fact taken a different trail, which, though it got us to where we want to be, added three miles. Doh. Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t catch it, me the former wildland firefighter, and backpacking enthusiast, but, I think we were all too happy to be running at the top to really stop and check and see if we needed to be taking any turns. Nor did any of us ever see any intersection or turn offs, but I know with how fast I was going, and how in the zone I was, that I could have easily passed something. Luckily we didn’t end up half way to Albuquerque or something. I only hope the slow pack didn’t do what we did. If they didn’t, they may even finish before us. If they did, I’m a little worried they’ll eve make it out by dark. Gulp.

And still, we’re walking. My legs are hammered, especially the tops of my calves. Shin splints? Not sure. Just really sore. And yeah, the bottoms of my feets are a little sick of getting poked and prodded. Katherine is the same way, though Jansen has on Mike’s Merrills, so may be in a little better shape. Still, the three of us are all marathoners, so I know we can make it. I’m still just a little worried about the other pack, since twenty miles is the longest some (or all) of them have ever done. I feel mother hen-ish, but what if someone falls and gets injured? Argh. Well, this was called ‘Prepare To Die!’.

Even when we’re almost to the bottom, and turn right to go the last mile and a half side-hill, even then we can’t run. I know we ran through on our way up, but the rocks are now just too much, too painful. We’re walking, picking our way through the worst of them. I can’t even appreciate the waterfalls. I just want to be done!

And then, finally, we are done. There is the parking lot. Yes! But uh oh, Mike’s car is still there. I fear they may have taken our scenic route as well. Seven o’clock. Man. Nine hours. Long day. And Jansen still has to drive three hours home. We decide to leave a note (as well as Mike’s shoes) on his car, telling them to call or text me that they’re still alive, and we figure also that Jen will post on FaceBook. Originally, before, when we all thought this run wouldn’t kick our collective asses, we’d discussed meeting at a brewery down the road, but the three of us decide to just get going. We’re like hours past when we thought we’d finish.

So, with an exchange of contact info, and a hope that we will all run together again, we bid adieu. And man, the drive back to Portland is even more spectacular, with the sun setting on the Gorge, and all the ospreys hanging out in their big nests on the water. I look up at those cliffs and think, I hiked up way past those things today! Overall, even with the added miles and hours, a wonderful day, most especially because of being with like-minded minimalist weirdoes.

PS-Mike texts me later so say they made it out! And yep, they took the wrong turn too.

The Simple Moccasin: A Review

This winter I haven't been as hardcore about my barefoot running, for a couple reasons. One, I've moved to Jackson, which isn't as good as keeping their sidewalks clear. Also, the temps have been chillier, for a longer period. I can take the cold, as long as I'm not actually placing my feet in snow/slush at every step. That hasn't been possible. So, I have needed to go minimalist. I do have my VFF KSOs, but they are not good for holding heat at all. Ditto my huaraches. So, I decided to experiment with my moccasins. I'd originally bought them just to walk in, and as acceptable footwear at work. But, in line with the concept of huaraches as the traditional footwear for natives in the the desert, the moccasin is native to the Great Lakes region. Seems reasonable to try the footwear used here before white folks were even around.

The kind I have were made by Minnetonka, a Native-American owned company from Minnesota. They have many different models, but mine have a double layer of leather on the bottom. I also have a more dressier model with a regular plastic (I think, it's not rubber anyways) sole, that I wear to work, and which would not be conducive to running. But the leather sole is super comfortable. They actually put a thin foam cushion layer between the leather soles, which I didn't want, but after wearing them, it basically squished down quickly. Their basic model has only one layer of leather, but I suspected it would wear through too quick. This model, just with occasional walking, had lasted me about a year and a half, and had just started to from a hole in the outer sole. It was actually the fact that they were starting to wear down that made me feel ok with trying them out for running: I wouldn't be ruining a fresh pair.

My first try was on a particularly cold day, single digits, with a few inches of snow on the ground. I wouldn't have run barefoot, even if the nearby bike path was dry. But, with the moccasins, I could even add a sock layer. After layering up my body, I set out, heading for the trails in the nearby park, leery of running on pavement, thinking the leather would wear out pretty quickly, and also figuring that the woods would be the natural terrain for moccasins. And, I was correct.

The trails had snow, but it was too cold for the snow to even melt and get the leather wet. And, the leather held the heat surprisingly well. I was very warm. Not the best traction, but that was true of the KSOs and huaraches as well.

I have since that first day worn the moccasins for the colder days, which lately in Michigan has been most of the days, unfortunately. If the air get a little warmer, around freezing or above, the snow can clot in the holes in the soles (kind of like with cross country skis), so I switch to my KSOs, with Injinji socks. I do use the moccasins on pavement, though mostly the bike trail where I go still has a think layer of ice/snow.

Around New Year's, we had a stretch of above freezing weather, up into the 40s, and all the snow melted off. Then I went back, gleefully, to barefoot running, though unfortunately I'd lost my hobbit calluses, so that I wore them raw quickly.

My moccasins have gotten some wear. They get a little wet, and get poked, and maybe scrape on patches of pavement, but they're very comfortable, and warm. The best thing about them is the toes aren't separated like with VFFs, which I've never thought really added anything to my running experience. Ideally, there would be a version of the moccasin with a rubber sole, but I don't think Minnetonka expects anyone to run in them anymore. Price-wise, they're about $60. Less than the new minimalist footwear out there, but will wear out sooner. I wouldn't recommend them for running in warm weather (I'd rather be bare, or at least in huaraches), but for up north, during the winter months, they're actually kind of ideal. Also, very comfy for walking, if needed, and acceptable for work.

Here's the Minnetonka website. I don't think you can order direct, they seem to go through dealers only, but here in Michigan they're available lots of places. There are also other companies, and I've even found vegan moccasins.
http://minnetonkamoccasin.com/

John Yohe
www.johnyohe.com

Pinkney Trail Marathon 2010: Race Report

It’s a cool foggy morning at Pinkney Recreation area. I’m tired from once again having to get up early for the marathon. Why can we not have marathons in the afternoon?

This is a small race: 2,000 folks, divided up between marathoners, half-marathoners, and some powerwalkers. Once again, great to see a crown of fit folks together. Rare in Michigan. The route is a 13.1 mile loop, which we marathoners will run twice. We start at 7:30, the half-ers at 8:30, and my main fear is that I’m going to get lapped by all of them.

Classic rock blares out of a PA system, and a bunch of picnic tables are clustered up under a veranda, for the morning registerers. Definitely an amateur operation, but that’s alright, nice even, to not have the hordes of a bigger race. It’s been sold out for a while. The sponsor, Running Fit, uses the slogan “Not for wimps,” and there does seem to be a different crowd. Hard to explain how or why, but trailrunners just seem tougher, less high maintenance, though that may be my own personal bias.

Everyone is clustered up by the main building, where the bathrooms are I guess, and out of the way of the wind coming off the lake. I, on the other hand, am drawn to the lake, a wonderful place to stand for a little bit and build some energy. Why isn’t anyone else down here? This seems to be the story of my life somehow. Not that I want to go stand by the bathrooms, I just wish I could talk some folks into joining me down here. Especially the female folks.

I’m dressed about right, temperature-wise, with running pants, two wicking shirts, and a thin wool running ‘shirt’. Also some fingerless wool gloves. Other folks have on shorts and a only a shirt and they look cold, but we’ll all be warming up soon. It rained all night, and the sky is still cloudy grey, so I wanted to have a warm layer in case I get rained on half-way through. I’ve been getting some minor odd looks on the way through the parking lot to the start area, because I’m barefoot.

I’ve been running barefoot for a year now, and last Fall ran the Detroit Marathon, with success, if not speed. Most of my running in the last year has been pavement, because I live in downtown Ann Arbor, but this Spring I’ve been experimenting with trail running again, something I used to love, shod. In fact, the trail system we’re running in today is part of my old stomping grounds in the DNR Waterloo-Pinkney Area between Ann Arbor and Jackson, so while I haven’t run this route, the territory is familiar. Michigan, being surrounded by the Great Lakes, is basically all low-lying swamp. The trails are nice soft dirt and sand.

The event coordinator, who I believe is the owner of Running Fit, gets on the mic at ten minutes to, say that yes, the race will go on, even without rain. Like I said, no wimps.
We line up. I’m horrible at judging crowd size, looks like we’re a out seventy-five runners, but later I’ll find out there was more like two-hundred of us. I hang out at the back. I’m not expecting to go very fast, and down want to get in anybody’s way on the trails. I’m fairly confident my feet are going to fine, but more worried about just being able to finish. It’s April, and I’ve been running, barefoot, all winter, but on more shorter rubs, and I haven’t run more than thirteen miles since last fall. Still, mentally, I feel good.

A guy who’s apparently running his 120th marathon plays a jazzy version of “The Star Spangled Banner” on his trumpet, and now I’m starting to get odd looks, though, and this is just my impression, they are less out of disapproval, like at the Detroit Marathon where I seemed to send people into horrified shock, than just accepting surprise. Maybe trail runners are a little more open-minded than the normal breed. One guy smiles and tells me I’m awesome, which is nice, though I do hear one guy behind me say to his friend that what I’m doing is “idiocy.” I am tempted to turn around and tell him that talking about someone when they can hear you is “asshole-iocy” but I let it pass. New goal though: Instead of just finishing, I want to beat him.

The digital clock hits 00:00 and the Running Fit dude just yells, “Go!” No horn or nothing. Like I said, pretty amateur. But, we’re off! There’s not a huge crowd, maybe twenty people, but they’re clapping and yelling as we trot across the mowed grass towards the woods. I’m letting anybody that wants to go ahead of me, but even at a super light trot I’m ahead of some folks. I’m actually kind of amped and ready to go, so to conserve my energy, it’s probably good that as soon as our running horde hits the trees, we have to stop and walk, single-file. And keep walking, to the point where I’m thinking, uh-oh, this isn’t good. But people start to hop around the main line, and we hit a small hill, which, amazingly, even at a walk, slows some folks down.

Finally, we start to trot. I find myself behind two guy friends who seem to have a nice casual pace, so I fall in behind them. Others are still maneuvering, clomping by in the leafy sides of the trials, where I’m still hesitant to tread. I’m just not sure what’s under those leaves, and don’t want to stab myself on a pokey branch, though I know that’s not entirely rational.

The two guys I’m following had seemed fairly quiet when we started, but now that we’re running and kind of in a small group (there’s some folks behind me) they start chatting with each other, seemingly about anything comes into the brains, race-related or not. Which is fine. I know they’re nervous and excited, and I also know I’m jealous that they have a friend to run with, but running, to me, has always been a quiet, solo, meditative act. I like running with a group for something like this, so we can inspire each other, but I would just prefer we inspire each other quietly.

I’m not sure if they realize how many people are behind them either, but I know/sense that some of those people would be willing to speed things up. Out west, on mountain roads, it’s common courtesy for a driver to pull over to the shoulder if cars start to bunch up behind. Here, not so much. So, after one particular in-bad-taste guy-bonding joke, I decide fuck it, and jump out to the edge of the trail. And it’s fine. The leaves are leaves. I scamper past the dudes, hearing their conversation cut off when they see I’m barefoot, and scoot out ahead.

Feels ok to speed up too, until I come on the next group of backed up runners, going about the same pace as the previous one. And again, at the front are two loud males chatting away, nonstop. Hm, ok, it’s going to be a long race if I have to be stuck with people like this. But, we hit a good hill, and everyone slows down. I’ll see this the whole race, people walking the uphill sections, a strategy I suspect they learned from the book Born To Run, by Christopher MacDougall, that came out last year. The idea being to conserve one’s energy on the uphills, without losing that much overall time. I’m sort of half-convinced this maybe be right, yet nevertheless, the wildland firefighter in me wants to run the uphills too, if I can. So I do, and pass the whole group fairly quickly.

I fall in with a couple of other guys, going at a quicker though not unreasonable, pace, who are blessedly more silent, but my luck is not to hold, because soon I hear voices coming up behind, one of them quite loud. A guy I’d noticed earlier because of how tall and skinny he was, with knee-high socks, which I haven’t seen since the 70s. He’s also one of the those folks I’ve seen carrying a small backpack. Why? Just seems like annoying extra weight. What is he carrying in there? Water? Or is he a First Responder? Or is this some kind of Born To Run fashion accessory? Anyway, he likes to talk. Not a bad guy, just one of those that likes to chat with anyone and everyone around him. My enemy. And, being barefoot, I’m a prime target. “Hey! Barefoot Guy! How’re your feet?”

I hate that question. If they were bad, I wouldn’t be here. I resist asking his how his feet are, and just say, “Fine thanks.” He passes me and I hope I’ve seen the last of him, but no. At the next hill I find out he’s one of the Hill Walkers, so I pass him. “Hey! Barefoot Guy again! How’s it going?” And when I get to the top, a minute later he passes me again. “Hey Barefoot Guy!”

Yes, I’m in Hell. For the next mile he and I pass each other, until we get to a fairly big hill and I barrel up it, and barrel down, going super fast to put some distance between us. So much for conserving my energy.

The forest here in Michigan is a mix of hardwoods, like oak, and evergreens, mostly pines. The trail is about perfect: Soft dirt, changing to mud in the lower areas. Feels great squishing through, though a little slippery on the downhills. Very humid, the Spring ‘greening’ just starting up, with the spring peepers peeping us on as we cross wood bridges over boggy areas, and ponds. Gotta keep an eye out for screws sticking up, but the views are wonderful, with swans and ducks. I could get distracted real easy, but even concentrating I still manage to stub the second, longer toe of my left foot on a root. Hurts initially, then not, though I suspect later, after that a race, when I lose my adrenaline rush, it will hurt more. And then I do it again a quarter mile later. Ouch! Maybe I’ve broken it and it’s hanging down, flopping loose? I refuse to look. I’ll deal with it later.

I pass more folks, politely, with a ‘passing on your left’ to warn them, and everybody up in this part of the race is very cool about that, as I try to be with others. I pass one woman who recognizes me. “Hey! I ran with you in the Detroit Marathon!”

I don’t remember her, but I suppose my feet make me a memorable character. She and her boyfriend are running this race together, which rocks. I’d like to run a marathon with a girlfriend. What does a guy have to do to get one of those?

I move ahead of them. Not that I’m really tearing things up, because I’m still getting passed occasionally, but I’ve ended up running a lot faster than I planned. It’s just, it feels good. I feel like I’m running more of a half-marathon pace, and part of me wonders if I’m making a mistake in the long term. But, I just decide that if it feels good, do it. I’m going to be one of the shambling living dead after mile 15 no matter what, so I may as well gain some time now. For what? I don’t know. I’m not trying to ‘win,’ I just want to finish, but I guess my personal pride is on the line. I want to do my best.

We go through the first couple liquid refreshment stations. I have no idea why someone would volunteer to help out on a podunk small-time marathon, but they are, enthusiastically, and I’m grateful. I can only hope I offer them some small amusement.

I’m not being a very good emissary for barefoot runners. Another gentleman comes up behind me and just starts talking. “So I was talking to another fella back there about this barefoot running idea. It sure is an interesting theory.” And, any other time I’d be happy to talk to him about it. But I’ve only had like five hours of sleep, I’m already tired, and I have to concentrate on where I put every step. I just do not have time to do my PR spiel. So, I fear that he feels I’m being rude, even though I try to give him a polite, “Yes I really like it.” I can just imagine the word being passed from shod runner to shod runner: “Man, those barefoot runners are assholes.” No, not all of them. Just me.

We loop around back to the starting area, and all the runners around me seem to be doing the same thing, picking up the pace, as if we were finishing up a half-marathon. We’re passing the only crowd in the whole race, we have to appear to be non-wimp-like as we break out into the grass. Ahead I can see a woman giving directions to us to veer left over the marathon timing gate-thingy, and not the half-marathon finish line. When I get to her, she checks my number, sees my bare feet, and freezes, looking up at me, then back down at my feet. Something has disconnected in her brain. She stares at me, mouth open. I point and say, “Left?”

She recovers and nods. “Yes! Left! Good job!”

I go past the PA, with a little CCR to boost my spirits. I hear folks yelling out “Go barefoot runner!” They’re being encouraging to everybody, it’s just that assigning a nickname to me is easier. Still, I appreciate their encouragement. I confess that I secretly want the owner of Running Fit to see me, to show him the potential future of running. Vanity, I know. Thank you Ecclesiastes. It’s just, it’s true. Everyone here could never have to buy running shoes again!

But basta. Off my soapbox.

Back into the woods, back into the quiet, realizing that, oh shit, I’ve got another thirteen miles. And I’m exhausted. But, it’s a good exhausted. Onward!

I soon pass another bunch of guys, and one of them is wearing VFFs! Vibram Five Fingers, a “barefoot alternative.” Basically rubbery gloves for the feet, with none of the unpleasant things running shoes have, like arch support and cushion. Just enough to protect against small pokey things, and to keep feet clean. I have a pair, they were awesome last year when I wanted to run more but my feet weren’t quite toughened up enough. Good training wheels, though once I got used to going barefoot all the time, I couldn’t go back.

I give him a wave as I pass. “Nice shoes!”

He laughs. “Hey man, I’m glad to see you still going! How are your feet?”

“Fine! When you going to wean yourself off those things?”

“Soon I hope!”

After that group, I suddenly find myself alone. Our whole pack is now strung out through the woods. I don’t even feel like I’m a race almost, just me running through the trees, like a regular run, except for an occasional person passing, though that happens all the time on regular runs too. The 13.1 mark seems to have really changed the outlook, or mentality. The groups seem to have filtered to the back.

I go alright for the first couple of miles of the second loop, but by Mile 15 I’m starting to slow down. I feel less light-footed, my feet slapping down harder on the path, or they feel like it anyways. I’m being less careful, or caring less. Either way, that’s not good, and I end up stubbing that same toe again. And yet, my feet are ok, meaning the soles are fine, not feeling raw like they might be on pavement by now. The real pain is in my legs, and now I’m incorporating the Hill Walk method, sort of non-voluntarily. I get to a hill and I can’t keep the pace. But when I switch to powerwalk mode, I find I can take longer strides, so I think there is something to this theory.

But I’m not the only one. The people I pass, barely, are hurting, and even the people who pass me do so in a pained, hurting kind of way, except for a few who seem to have tapped into hidden energy reservoirs, and just breeze on by. One I can hear coming up behind me, hacking up loogies every ten feet. Annoying, and I give the nickname The Looger and hope he passes soon. Except, the Looger turns out to be a woman! La Loogeuse! And she’s hot! Or, her backside is anyways! Yes, I am physically and mentally exhausted, and yet I still find the strength to stare at a woman’s ass as she passes. I’m horrible, but it’s just that she’s wearing these tight black and grey running pants, and she’s taken off her shirt, running in a sport bra—

Focus John, focus.

At the Mile 18 sign I know I’m for sure going to finish this thing. I mean, I already knew, but mentally, anything less than ten miles is doable. Eight miles is nothing. I do that for fun. No problemo. Ha.

I find myself replaying Johnny Cash singing “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” off of his American V: A Hundred Highways album, which I’d cranked on the drive over. The tempo is right at my running pace, and I hadn’t even realized how relevant the chorus is:

You can run on, for a long time
Run on, for a long time....

This is new. Usually in marathons there’s plenty to watch and listen to, keeping me occupied. Out here, I’ve got plenty o’ time to think, and it’s just me and Johnny.

The volunteers at the drink stations are just as enthusiastic the second time around, amazingly. I hope somebody buys them pizza or something.

And then I hear him from behind me. Loud Guy! No!

“Hey! Barefoot Guy! How’s the feet?”

“Fine, thanks.”

I fear that we’ll be passing back and forth for the rest of the race, and contemplate a strategic piss-break, but Loud Guy is in ‘game on’ mode, passing me and continuing on. Impressive.

I can hear the PA blaring music way off. I’m close. I step up my pace. I like to finish strong, tap into my reserves, and I can picture that last bit of open grass: perfect for a full-on barefoot sprint. I feel strong, if one can be completely exhausted and feel strong. I feel like I’ve pushed myself the whole race, and that’s all I could hope for.

I actually hadn’t expected this to happen, but as I trudge/waddle to the end, I find myself by myself, until one guy with whom I’ve been passing, quietly, off and on for the second loop, comes up right at the end to pass. I start to think, fine let him go, but then I see the grass! We’re almost there!

Not giving myself time to think about it, I hop out to the trail edge, re-pass him quickly, which actually helps get me going, and when I come out of the trees I’m already pumping out long strides.

One hundred yards. A few people, like twenty, are strung out along the edge and start to clap and yell when they see me sprinting, and I hear one guys say, “Hey, that guy’s barefoot!”

I go, pushing everything. Gotta represent here, and out non-wimp the non-wimps. And push myself.

And I do. And I cross.

5:05 and some change. Ok, felt shorter, that’s the longest marathon I’ve ever run, but for how hilly it was, respectable. How are my feet by now? Basically just caked in mud. I don’t see any blood, that’s a good sign. Time to soak them in the lake, then go home to a warm bath.