I wish I could say I have a home town advantage today for the Ann Arbor Marathon, but the only advantage I really have is knowing where to park. Still, I’m happy to be here, though a little sad because this is my last race in Michigan. I’m glad to leave on a high note like this.
I guess I feel more confident going into this, knowing that I’ve run most of the route at some point in my three years in Ann Arbor, so that I know I’ll be able to run this barefoot with no problem, despite my not being in the shape I’d like, and not having my 100% summer hobbit feet.
The race starts outside The Big House, the U of M Stadium, and will end here on the fifty yard line, which will rock. In the meantime, we’ll be running all over Ann Arbor. This isn’t a loop course, there’s a lot of ‘out and back’. It’s also early, 6:45 (!), with the halfers starting at seven. We seem a meager bunch of marathoners lining up. When I picked up my bib and t-shirt yesterday, the list of people signed up was only like three columns, and it’s possible to sign up even this morning. I’ve been told that’s normal for a first marathon, but still, given the size of the city, and the proximity to the Detroit area, I would’ve thought more folks would be here. The price might have something to do with that, at a whopping $100, though that seems to be getting the norm. At least for this one I think most of that money goes to charity, not to the race directors.
I’m trying something new-ish: starting towards the back, and slower. I’m tired of starting super fast, then getting passed the whole race. That’s just mentally brutal on my ego. I’m going to see what it’s like to pass people for most of the race. I think though, that that will put me at a slower pace overall, because there does seem to be an advantage to starting fast and strong and taking advantage of the adrenaline. But not this time! I’m lining up right behind the 4:20 pacer, and see where that takes me.
The weather is warm, already this morning. There was a thunderstorm last night west of here, but the streets are dry in this area. Very muggy though. Even with the cloud cover, I think we’re going to running through hot soup. Many guys are already going shirtless, though one poor muslim woman is dressed head to toe, including a head scarf. Brutal.
And, with the ringing of the air horn, we are off. No starting in stages for this one. And everyone around me seems to be doing the same strategy—starting slow. I feel no adrenaline rush at all, really, maybe due to the familiarity of the terrain, and/or the smallness of the pack.
I was wondering if there’d be any more barefooters here, and soon I start hearing comments from some of the onlookers about a barefoot guy just ahead of me. We take a right on Liberty, a street I’ve walked many a time, particularly to go to Jerusalem Garden here on the right. Best mideastern food in the city, and maybe best food period. This is the point where the halfers break off. I haven’t seen any of them, I was wondering if some of the faster ones might catch us, but it’s still really early. They’ll all be done before I even get to Mile 20.
We do a zig and a zag and end up on Geddes, downhill, heading for the river area, I spot the barefooter. He’s someone I haven’t seen before. I shuffle up and say, “Nice shoes.” (Barefooters can say that to each other, because it involves irony).
He looks down at my feet and laughed. “Hey! Nice! Now they can’t say I’m a freak out here.”
“Well, I think we’re still freaks.”
He’s running with a friend, who’s name I don’t catch, who’s running in some kind of minimalist shoes. They’re from Grand Haven area and actually not part of the Barefoot Running Society Michigan Chapter, though I do my best to sell it. The barefoot guy is Mike, and this is his first full barefoot marathon. We chat a while, exchanging info, then I move on ahead for a little bit.
Geddes is kinda rough. I’m trying to run on the middle paint line, which is much smoother. But once we get on Huron River Parkway, it’s smooth smooth brand new pavement. Doesn’t get better than this. Yes!
Interesting: this is one of the ‘out and back’ areas, so I finally get to see the frontrunners of a race. The guy in first has a hundred foot lead on everyone else, and he looks effortless, smiling and waving to us. Also noticeable with the whole front pack of dudes is how little body fat they have. Probably not a coincidence. None of them seem like in a ‘balls out’ sprint at this point, but that may be deceiving, they may just be relaxed, while their legs are ‘busy working overtime’ (as the Beatles song goes).
We move into the North Campus of the University of Michigan, deserted on a Sunday in summer. There are a bunch of mini out-n-backs in here, where we just slow down, run around a cone, and head back the other way, so I get to see people twenty minutes ahead, and behind, and lo, here comes another barefooter coming at me, in the ahead-of-me category. He smiles and points at my feet. “Rocking the barefoot!” I don’t recognize him either. Another rogue barefooter, not associated with the BRS website. Michigan seems to have its share of them.
Barefoot Mike and his friend has passed me at some point, and now I catch up to them. So really, all three barefooters (that I know of) are running around the same (medium) pace.
Another guy I run next to for a while kinda looks around and says, “There doesn’t seem to be that many people running anymore.”
I smile. “What are you saying? That we’re some of the last people?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”
We shoot back out on to Huron River Parkway and my heart kinda breaks, because I’m seeing the real last of the pack come through the other way, stragglers who are already walking, and/or doing the ‘penguin waddle’. Man, they’re just going to be out here forever.
I gotta say though, that even if I’m on the slower side, I’m enjoying not being passed. For the most part I’m running with people at the same pace, and gradually, slowly, passing others. I’m not full of energy, but not tired either. Slow and steady. I AM sweating my ass off though. Time to pull off the t-shirt, the sky is still overcast, I won’t get burned and I can even out my farmer’s tan.
We head toward the University Hospital, which requires a hill, ugh. And, now the moment I’ve been dreading, The Arb, a wooded park north of Ann Arbor. I did many a run in here a few years ago, so I know what’s coming, my old enemy: gravel. There’s a flat gravel road that parallels the Huron River for a while, and it just sucks. Or, it did. There seem to be less of the bigger stones than there were before. That’s a bonus, though there’s still many smaller ones, and grit, which at this point, basically halfway, is kinda...gritty on my feets. They’re not raw, but they’re not at their toughest anymore. So, ouch ouch ouch.
And then there’s a steep hill, also gravelly, though with some sandy parts, and dead leaves, so I at least don’t slow and walk. I anticipated getting beaucoup passed at this point, but the hill, and the heat, and the humidity seem to be getting to people. Lots of sweaty flushed faces. And then behind me I hear, “Hey, it’s Tarzan! Hey Tarzan!”
Grr. It’s one of the pacers, the 4:10 guy, with a small cadre, trying to be way too upbeat with me. He points down to the gravel. “Hey Tarzan, did you have a clue that we’d get this stuff?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes. I knew.”
“Man, I sure didn’t!
They continue on and we pop out on the hill, exit The Arb, and head into the main campus area, which is blessedly smooth and clear cement sidewalks. Aaahhhh.....
The pack is noticeably spread out by now. So, well, if I’m just behind the 4:10 pack, that’s ok. I’m not sure I’ll be able to step the pace up, but as long as I stay ahead of the 4:20 pack, I’ll be happy.
We head out on to Washtenaw, a main thoroughfare between Ann Arbor and it’s small sister, Ypsilanti. We go out that far, but this is one of the longer out and backs, with hills. This pavement is kinda rough, enough that I’m sticking to running on the paint lines. The 4:00 pacer and his group pass going the opposite way, so that pretty much seals the deal—I’m not gonna catch them. As long as—
Huffing and puffing behind me. A large group. No! Is it? Yes, the 4:20 group has caught me. Argh. Well, ok. It is what it is. But I try and stay right behind them.
Two lanes of traffic are coned off for us, but we’re all mostly a single stream of runners, no big wide groups. I get to the farthest point out and simply loop around the cone. Surprisingly, there are people stopping and walking at this point, which seems odd for this part of the pack, this early, but I think it’s that heat and humidity combined with the hills. I’m still good, able to maintain on the hills, though I’m definitely starting to feel ‘it’, meaning the legs are a little stiff. I’m trying to be good on hydrating, carrying my own bottle, plus using the stations, sometimes dumping water over my head. I’ve brought some Paul Neuman organic raisins this time, two little boxes. I was eating them a lot for my recent backpacking trips, and I thought, huh, why not for races too? Natural energy. They certainly taste good!
And then south, on State Street, another main road that connects the downtown Ann Arbor, and the university, with I-94. A couple miles, runners even more spread out, though a nice mellow downhill, which I take advantage of by just leaning forward and doing my best Barefoot Ken Bob imitation, lifting my feet as fast as possible.
State takes us down to the huge Briarwood Mall. We’ll do a complete clock-wise circuit of it’s outer circle, and in fact the main road in and out is cut off for us, so the detour brings cars heading to I-94 in the opposite lane. There’s a lot of them, and they don’t look happy with us for this inconvenience. Sorry ladies and gentleman!
Somewhere in here, maybe it’s the raisins?, I get some energy. Or, maybe it’s just that I’m maintaining energy, and others around me are tiring, but I’m passing some people. One couple, stops completely, the guy saying that he can’t even breathe in the humidity.
Out of the parking lot, and back onto Main Street, south of where we started. This too is a main road into town, and we have one lane of traffic coned off for us. The road is rough. That and my feet are getting tender. But we’re close! Somewhere in there we went over Mile 20! And we actually pass the stadium again, where we were this morning. I was wondering about that. I can’t remember the details of how we end up back inside the stadium, but something is odd, because I’m seeing people with half-marathon medals on the sidewalk, walking back south towards us. That’s weird, shouldn’t the be coming out of the stadium? Maybe I misunderstood. Wouldn’t be the first time.
The road feels rougher this time around! No paint lines to run on, but there are long strips of tar that have been used to fill in cracks, which is nice and soft. Feets are gonna be black at the end, but that’s ok.
Instead of taking a right on Liberty, this time we stay on Main and continue north for another ‘out-n-back’ in two traffic lanes. So, we’re close. Now that’s it’s later in the morning, there are people out on the sidewalks, walking and eating breakfast outside at some of the restaurants. Plus more onlookers.
And then, suddenly, oddly, there’s that one barefoot runner, the one that was way out in front. He’s stopped, talking to a guy on a bike who must be his brother. I slow down when I get to him. “Hey man, what happened?”
He looks at me and, as if he had been waiting for me, says, “Oh. Alright. Let’s go.”
He’s been dealing with some kind of injury. “Might be a pulled muscle, or something in my knees joint.”
I smile. “Well, it can’t be your knee. Barefooters don’t have knees problems, right?”
He smiles. Turns out he’s from Ann Arbor, has been running barefoot for three years, but this is his first marathon.
“Dude, you were going fast for a while.”
“Yeah, I think I started a little too fast.”
I like seeing the ‘double-whammy’ looks on spectators when they see two barefoot runners. Kevin and I chat about how hard it is to find a sense of community, to find other people to run with. As we’re talking, we’re zigging and zagging through some back roads that I’ve never been on before. I can see the Stadium to the south, but, seemingly suddenly, there’s smaller football field coming up, with lots of people around. It’s like the U of M band practice field. “Oh, is this it? Are we at the end?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then let’s go! Finish strong!”
I see a moment of ‘oh shit I thought I was just going to jog in’ flash across his face, but when I start sprinting, he’s right there with me. And we get onto the field, grass, so we can just let loose with longer harder strides. He actually pulls ahead a little, which pushes me to push myself to catch him. I’m also aware of how awesome a moment this is: two barefoot runners pumping it out at the end. The crowd goes wild. We cross at the same time. Yes!
I check my watch. Ha. So, in honor of the new Bob Marley documentary out, I’ve run the race in 4:20!
I get my medal and turn to give Kevin a fist pump or high five or something, but he’s bent over, breathing hard, looking pale. Come to think of is, I’m feeling kinda a little nauseous. Like, heat stress-ish. A woman medic comes over to me and asks how I’m feeling, looking very concerned. Someone else hands me a water bottle, the thought of drinking water makes me almost vomit. Yeah, that’s kinda bad.
But, poor Kevin has his family and a couple medics hovering around, not for his heat stress, but because his left foot is covered in blood. Wow. He had a HUGE blood blister going, I didn’t know about it, maybe he didn’t either, but the sprint at the end popped it. I check in with him and he says it’s fine, and I actually agree. There’s blood trapped inside the blister, making it look like a huge bloody gash. I tell him he’s earned his Red Badge of Courage, though I’m more concerned with how pale he looks, though I suspect I look just as bad.
Anyway, he’s got his family there. I wander off on the grass to stretch a bit, testing myself. Still don’t want to drink, but I do spot the tables where the food goodies are, and wander over. Oranges. Yes. THAT sounds good. And, just on general principle, since they have it, I take a slice of pizza.
I sit on a curb, next to two amazing hot barefoot women. Alas, they’ve just taken off their shoes after the race, as have many runners, making me think, well, if it feels so good to take off those shoes, maybe you don’t even need them!
My feet are ok. They don’t actually seem that raw, not even the normally easily raw spot on the ball of my left foot. Though, they are really black from all that tar. I guess it’s that they don’t feel raw.
Ok, I don’t think I’m going to pass out. And now a light sprinkle has started. Where have you been, rain?
I walk back out to Main and there’s still people coming north. Man, the people at the end are kinda more incredible than that fast ones, to stay with it that long, to be on their feet that long. Also, to maybe do that plus have the doubt of, Am I going to be able to do this? That’s brave. I offer a raised fist to them as they pass. As for me, time to head into town, for a huge mango smoothie at Espresso Royale, and later, some fatoush and hummus at Jerusalem Garden. A great last race in Michigan!
Showing posts with label Ann Arbor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ann Arbor. Show all posts
Monday, June 18, 2012
Sunday, July 25, 2010
paper-feet sandals: a review
This week at the Ann Arbor Art Fair, I found an interesting booth by the paper-feet company, started by some local Ann Arborites. Their idea in ingenious in its simplicity: They buy old billboard ads and cut them up into a design that, along with strategically applied velcro strips, allow for 'tabs' to be folded up and over the top of the foot, making for a super lightweight, and super thin, sandal.
I thought billboards were printed on regular paper, but it turns out they're actually a canvas-like material, which is, according to Jimmy, one of their sales reps, “billboard banner vinyl, flexible fiber-reinforced PVC,” which is actually pretty tough. Walking around in them, I found I could still feel street grit, but only as 'bumps', rather than something 'pokey.' They also cut down, a little, on the 'sand paper' feel of sidewalks and pavement, though I don't mind that at all now that my feet are more hobbit-like. One of the tabs comes up between the big toe and second toe (whatever it's called) and ends up as kind of a scrunched up thong, though not uncomfortable at all.
I asked Jimmy how long a pair would last, and he showed me the pair he had been wearing regularly for three months, and the bottoms, while showing some wear (ie dirt more than anything) didn't seem to be even close to wearing out, or through. I think actually a person could even run in paper-feet, though at that point I'd say they may as well just go barefoot. I did have the idea that someone could carry a pair during a marathon if they weren't sure about being able to run the whole way, and/or if they weren't sure if there were rough gravel spots. It would actually be interesting to run a marathon in them to see how well they stand up, but at this point I'm more interested in pushing myself with the barefoot running. Unless they sponsored me? [hint hint].
Their lightweight-ness is actually why I'm reviewing them here, not for barefoot running, but as an 'aid' to the barefoot lifestyle. Because they're so lightweight, and can literally be rolled or folded up and put in a purse, or even a back pocket, they would be great for going around town, in case a situation came up where I had to be shod. For example, going out to eat: If the manager really made a fuss about my bare feet, I could pull the paper-feet out of my pocket and slip them on, hopefully with the whole restaurant watching!
They look a little odd, but no more odder than VFFs. In fact, most people don't seem to notice that I”m wearing paper, and, for example, when I walk into a café I don't get the immediate 'group stare' that I do going barefoot, or even in my VFFs. They are comfortable, mainly because paper is about as thin a layer one could find. No padding, no arch support, almost no nothing. They're the next best thing to being barefoot, and would work well for those folks who just don't like getting their feet dirty. Sometimes after a long barefoot run, my feet feel a little raw. These would be great for those times. Best of all, they're made from recycled material.
The cost for a pair is around $15. The paper-feet sandals come in small, medium and large sizes. I'm normally an American size 10, and ended up with a pair of 'mediums', though I'm still playing with the velcro tabs, which seem to have a fairly wide ranges. There's no color choice per se, because the sandals come from the mix of colors from whichever billboard canvas the company has bought, though they'll find you a pair that comes close. You can specify if you want something more mellow (I chose a black, grey and white look) or, if you like the idea of making people notice and freak out a little (a la the VFFs) with something more noticeable, like a bright red pair.
paper-feet info:
www.paper-feet.com
(814) FOR-FEET
(814) 367-3338
More pics:
Side view
paper-feet on my feet!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Dexter Ann Arbor Half-Marathon: Race Report
It's early. Again. These early races are killing me. Even though this race it right in my home town, Ann Arbor, and the finish line is three blocks from my house, I still had to get up at 5:30. Since the race starts in Dexter, a small town northwest-ish from Ann Arbor, and follows the Huron River all the way back, the organizers have, thoughtfully, provided buses from Ann Arbor. To make sure I arrive in time for a bus, I decided to get there early, which is an example of how being the good boy gets you nowhere, since we were dropped off at an elementary school in Dexter and waited around an hour, watching later buses come in.
This is sort of a goodbye race for me, since I'll be leaving Ann Arbor by the end of the summer, in a few months. And, it's a fitting route, both because it was my regular bike route when I first moved here three years ago, and because it's a gorgeous scenic road going back and forth to the to the different sides of the river, which itself is huge and wide and quiet. The leaves are out on the trees, everything lush. A little sunlight would be nice, but even with the cloudy sky, should be a quiet tranquil run. Ok, not tranquil with 2600 people, but there won't be a lot of spectators until we hit Ann Arbor proper.
The weather is colder and rainier than predicted. I am only wearing short and a t-shirt, and my plan was to take the t-shirt off for the race, but I don't think that will be necessary.
I am barefoot. Again. I feel ok about this half-marathon, since I ran the Pinckney Trail Marathon only six weeks ago. A half marathon is my normal Sunday morning run, though at a slightly faster pace. I am interested in the pace I can keep while barefoot. I ran the Sumerset Stampede Half Marathon last summer, in my Vibram Five Fingers (VFFs), my first competitive race ever since I'd started running barefoot and was able to run again after two years off due to the dreaded plantar fasciitus, and I was pleasantly surprised at my time: 1:42, about an eight minute mile. I'm wondering if I can sustain/duplicate that.
Since there was a huge thunderstorm last night, right when we're living up to start, the race is delayed a half hour, due to there being a tree down across the road. Which doesn't seem like a big deal to me—we're not in cars after all. Climbing over a tree sounds like fun. Primal. But that gives everyone a chance to run back to the porta-potties and pee one more time.
Finally, the tree gets cleared apparently, and we line up for a 9:00 start. I decide to line up around the ten minute mile folks (we have some pacers holding signs) not all the way in back, but slower than I plan on running, in order to just warm up, and experiment with a strategy Barefoot Ken Bob shared with me, to start in back, so for most of the race I'll be passing people. A psychological boost.
The start is not too high tech. No bells or whistles, just someone up front with a cap gun, and everyone surges forward...and stops. And starts walking. Fortunately, but the time I actually cross the start line there's room to trot. I just want to warm up for a bit, so that's fine. My main concern is keeping a space in front of me so I can see the road and any rocks and pebbles I might step on, since right here in Dexter there seems to be a few.
We loop around through downtown Dexter. With the overcast sky, I'm actually not sure what in direction we started running, though we seem to be making a circle, until finally there's the corner store where Huron River Drive begins, and when I 'd usually turn around on my bike rides. And, there's the river. One of these days I should figure out where the Huron starts and end up, since I've spend a lot of time on its banks these past three years. Strange: I've met people in Ann Arbor who have never even been down to it at all.
And now that we're running, the comments begin: “Barefoot?!” “Hey, look at that guy, he's barefoot!” “Wow that's hardcore.” “Ouch!”
A young woman comes up to me, calling me “sir,” which both is hilarious and makes me feel old. She says she's seen me running around Kerry Town (a neighborhood near my apartment) lots of times. “I just want to say how much I admire you.”
I tell her thank you. She says a friend of hers tried running barefoot for about two months but hurt her hips some how, so stopped. That's a new one, and seems odd. I wonder why that would be, or if the running was really the cause, but I still suggest to her that she should try it herself, for three weeks, just to see. She says maybe, and then we don't have time to talk, she has to get back to her friends. This is where my friend Melissa would be like, 'did you get her number?' Well, no, we're running a race, just two human beings talking about a mutual interest. And then Melissa would shake her head. Well, she was cute. But, 'sir'?
I think I'm the only barefoot runner, though I've seen a couple VFFers. One guy and I, before the race, were comparing how we attached our race 'chips,' or 'bands,' since they're designed to loop through shoe laces. He had his hanging from one of the back heels. Me, I wrapped mine in duct tape, then taped it around my right ankle. I'm telling you, you can do anything with duct tape!
Have I said enough about the beauty and sexiness of female runners? Can enough ever be said? The firm sleek bodies, the disciplined personalities. But what's the deal with those skorts? Why have a skirt, when there are shorts underneath? Don't they realize that the skirt part covers up their asses so that us men can't stare at them? What fun is that?
Fortunately, there are others who take their job of pleasing men seriously, wearing tight black lycra things that just look....amazing. I pass one, and there's another, and so I pass the race, like life, going from one beautiful woman to another.
And, rain. A light drizzle. We pavement tends to tear up my feet more. Or, rather, the water cause my calluses to soften. Not sure how I'd do in a full marathon in the rain, on pavement, but I'm ok for this distance, though perhaps I'm running a little slower, a little more sensitive to the pebbles, though really, over all, the road is ok. No real rough spots, or if there are, we have both lanes and I can scoot over to the other side.
The rockier parts are at intersection, where cars tend to track in dirt and debris, and where the pavement breaks up a little more. Also, there are dirt roads feeding out onto Huron Drive, and with the rain last night, some of them have become mini-rivers.
I'm setting a fast pace for myself. Still finding myself wanting to do the long-legged shod shuffle, which would be very bad for my heels. Instead, I am taking shorter strides, faster, less action from the things (or so it feels) and more from the knees and calves, trying to keep my feet relaxed, which is hard when trying to force myself to go fast. but if my feet aren't relaxed, I feel myself stat to land more on the heel. If anything, my ideal stride feels more like I'm 'pulling' myself along with the front portion of my feet, the ball and toes.
But, I'm trying to keep a pace where I'm just slightly winded. I'm passing people chatting up a storm, thinking, if you can talk, you can run faster. But hey, it's all good. I like this pace. For a marathon, I'd be going slower, planning for the long haul. For a half, I know I can push myself. I'm not going to be physically exhausted at the end, so I can push myself harder right from the beginning. Ideally, if I were more serious, or took running seriously, instead of for fun, I'd love to be able to run this pace for a full marathon. Alas, no.
Another woman comes up to ask about barefoot running. I explain my history with it.
“Well, you must have amazing feet. I could never do that. My feet are too sensitive.”
Is she implying that I'm insensitive? But I just tell her she could do it, to try it for three weeks.
“Well, ok....”
I know. Two years ago I would've said it's crazy. In fact, I did. Out in Arizona, working at a wildland firefighter, I heard rumours of guys running barefoot and in moccasins, and I thought, wow, that's cool, they're hardcore, but never did I ever consider it until out of desperation, of of a sense of, 'it's either this, or never run again.' I wish I could convince people to try it before they get injured. And, I'm convinced that with today's running shoes, getting injured is a matter of when, not if.
Digital clocks are set up along the routes, and suddenly we're fifty minutes in, then an hour. Man, this goes quick. I'm over halfway done. I realize that there haven't been any mile markers at all, which I kind of like. No excuse to mentally psych myself out.
I'm still passing people, more slowly now, but it does feel good, I cannot tell a lie. Like I have an edge. So, starting at the back has it's benefits. But, the gasps of “Barefoot?!” get a little old. Can't blame them, I'd do the same. Some people though, just don't seem to realize that when I'm twenty feet in front of them I can still hear them talk about me, like the guy who goes into a long story to his friend: “I tried that back when I was in college and wanted to prove how tough I was. You know, looking in the National Geographic and seeing pictures of guys from Kenya running barefoot. So I tired it, until I stepped on a rock and it hurt. That was enough. My dad was a doctor, and when I came limping home, he didn't even have to say anything, just gave me that dad look, like I was a dumbass.”
He kept talking, but I finally sped up enough to get out of hearing range, though I wanted to run around and ask, “Are you calling me a dumbass? You're the sissy that couldn't take a rock. Did you continue to always do what your daddy approved of?”
And so on and so forth yadda yadda yadda. At least I can take satisfaction in knowing I'm going to beat him.
Ah, nothing like a little friendly competition to motivate folks. Well, really, I'm trying to see if I can beat myself, since my barefoot paces, in the two marathons I've run, have been slower than my previous shod paces. Though, there are other factors, like that I'm five years older. But no, never surrender!
Anyways, there are other folks who are kind enough to say things like, “Dude, good job.” Likewise, good job to them. Everyone out here came to do two things, kick ass and chew bubblegum, and they're all out of bubblegum.
There's actually a band for this race! Excellent. And they're rocking out to Johnny B. Goode. Ha! A good sign.
And have I mentioned the women? There have been a couple just wearing super short-shorts and just a sports bra. My god. Are those even real running shorts? Do they really make running shorts that short? it's a blessing, really. They have blessed me.
We reach the section of road that I've run before, and that really rough part, which yes, is still rough. But that's the worst. After this, there's brand new pavement on into town. And, since there was a 10K earlier, which started in Ann Arbor, came out here, then turned around, there are still orange cones running down the middle of the road, and for some reason, everyone is bunching up in the right lane, leaving the left one entirely open. All that space in front of me, calling me. Running with people is a good motivator, but when I'm tired, I can get tempted to just lock into the general pace of everyone around me. Plus, passing is easier, I don't have to duck and weave. Not that I'm passing that fast anymore. And, to be honest, I'm getting passed too. I wasn't the only lurker in the back.
We reach the turnoff onto Main Street, and one of the spectators yells that we only have a mile to go. Whew, I'm winded. I couldn't talk if I tried, and neither can anybody around me. But I keep up the pace, remembering biking down this road on Saturday mornings in the Fall, when cars filled with Wolverine fans were locked bumper to bumper. And how much of a pleasure it was to pass them.
And, I'd forgotten, Main Street goes uphill into town. Ugh. Well, hills are my specialty, and just by maintaining my pace, I'm passing people again because they're slowing down. Thank you Four Corner states for showing me what a hill really looks like!
Now we're getting more spectators, and as we get into downtown proper, the finish line in sight, the sidewalks are crowded, and for some reason, I'm really visible or something, because people are seeing me and yelling “Go barefoot runner!” and word seems to spread ahead of me. How embarrassing and weird. But right now I have locked in on 'finishing strong mode.' Once I can see the end, I try to push myself, deplete my reserves, feet scrambling, pumping my arms, jaw set, passing more folks, who seem if anything to be slowing down. Briefly, the thought comes that I might try smiling at this point, this is fun after all. But—
Done!
Whew. Catching my breath, but I feel good. Strong. I ran as strong as I could, consistently, the whole time. My time is around 1:50ish, I think, so, a little slower than last year, but ok. Still respectable. I filter down the chute, grab a bottle of water and my cheaply-made medal. The best part? I can now just walk three blocks back to my apartment and a hot shower.
This is sort of a goodbye race for me, since I'll be leaving Ann Arbor by the end of the summer, in a few months. And, it's a fitting route, both because it was my regular bike route when I first moved here three years ago, and because it's a gorgeous scenic road going back and forth to the to the different sides of the river, which itself is huge and wide and quiet. The leaves are out on the trees, everything lush. A little sunlight would be nice, but even with the cloudy sky, should be a quiet tranquil run. Ok, not tranquil with 2600 people, but there won't be a lot of spectators until we hit Ann Arbor proper.
The weather is colder and rainier than predicted. I am only wearing short and a t-shirt, and my plan was to take the t-shirt off for the race, but I don't think that will be necessary.
I am barefoot. Again. I feel ok about this half-marathon, since I ran the Pinckney Trail Marathon only six weeks ago. A half marathon is my normal Sunday morning run, though at a slightly faster pace. I am interested in the pace I can keep while barefoot. I ran the Sumerset Stampede Half Marathon last summer, in my Vibram Five Fingers (VFFs), my first competitive race ever since I'd started running barefoot and was able to run again after two years off due to the dreaded plantar fasciitus, and I was pleasantly surprised at my time: 1:42, about an eight minute mile. I'm wondering if I can sustain/duplicate that.
Since there was a huge thunderstorm last night, right when we're living up to start, the race is delayed a half hour, due to there being a tree down across the road. Which doesn't seem like a big deal to me—we're not in cars after all. Climbing over a tree sounds like fun. Primal. But that gives everyone a chance to run back to the porta-potties and pee one more time.
Finally, the tree gets cleared apparently, and we line up for a 9:00 start. I decide to line up around the ten minute mile folks (we have some pacers holding signs) not all the way in back, but slower than I plan on running, in order to just warm up, and experiment with a strategy Barefoot Ken Bob shared with me, to start in back, so for most of the race I'll be passing people. A psychological boost.
The start is not too high tech. No bells or whistles, just someone up front with a cap gun, and everyone surges forward...and stops. And starts walking. Fortunately, but the time I actually cross the start line there's room to trot. I just want to warm up for a bit, so that's fine. My main concern is keeping a space in front of me so I can see the road and any rocks and pebbles I might step on, since right here in Dexter there seems to be a few.
We loop around through downtown Dexter. With the overcast sky, I'm actually not sure what in direction we started running, though we seem to be making a circle, until finally there's the corner store where Huron River Drive begins, and when I 'd usually turn around on my bike rides. And, there's the river. One of these days I should figure out where the Huron starts and end up, since I've spend a lot of time on its banks these past three years. Strange: I've met people in Ann Arbor who have never even been down to it at all.
And now that we're running, the comments begin: “Barefoot?!” “Hey, look at that guy, he's barefoot!” “Wow that's hardcore.” “Ouch!”
A young woman comes up to me, calling me “sir,” which both is hilarious and makes me feel old. She says she's seen me running around Kerry Town (a neighborhood near my apartment) lots of times. “I just want to say how much I admire you.”
I tell her thank you. She says a friend of hers tried running barefoot for about two months but hurt her hips some how, so stopped. That's a new one, and seems odd. I wonder why that would be, or if the running was really the cause, but I still suggest to her that she should try it herself, for three weeks, just to see. She says maybe, and then we don't have time to talk, she has to get back to her friends. This is where my friend Melissa would be like, 'did you get her number?' Well, no, we're running a race, just two human beings talking about a mutual interest. And then Melissa would shake her head. Well, she was cute. But, 'sir'?
I think I'm the only barefoot runner, though I've seen a couple VFFers. One guy and I, before the race, were comparing how we attached our race 'chips,' or 'bands,' since they're designed to loop through shoe laces. He had his hanging from one of the back heels. Me, I wrapped mine in duct tape, then taped it around my right ankle. I'm telling you, you can do anything with duct tape!
Have I said enough about the beauty and sexiness of female runners? Can enough ever be said? The firm sleek bodies, the disciplined personalities. But what's the deal with those skorts? Why have a skirt, when there are shorts underneath? Don't they realize that the skirt part covers up their asses so that us men can't stare at them? What fun is that?
Fortunately, there are others who take their job of pleasing men seriously, wearing tight black lycra things that just look....amazing. I pass one, and there's another, and so I pass the race, like life, going from one beautiful woman to another.
And, rain. A light drizzle. We pavement tends to tear up my feet more. Or, rather, the water cause my calluses to soften. Not sure how I'd do in a full marathon in the rain, on pavement, but I'm ok for this distance, though perhaps I'm running a little slower, a little more sensitive to the pebbles, though really, over all, the road is ok. No real rough spots, or if there are, we have both lanes and I can scoot over to the other side.
The rockier parts are at intersection, where cars tend to track in dirt and debris, and where the pavement breaks up a little more. Also, there are dirt roads feeding out onto Huron Drive, and with the rain last night, some of them have become mini-rivers.
I'm setting a fast pace for myself. Still finding myself wanting to do the long-legged shod shuffle, which would be very bad for my heels. Instead, I am taking shorter strides, faster, less action from the things (or so it feels) and more from the knees and calves, trying to keep my feet relaxed, which is hard when trying to force myself to go fast. but if my feet aren't relaxed, I feel myself stat to land more on the heel. If anything, my ideal stride feels more like I'm 'pulling' myself along with the front portion of my feet, the ball and toes.
But, I'm trying to keep a pace where I'm just slightly winded. I'm passing people chatting up a storm, thinking, if you can talk, you can run faster. But hey, it's all good. I like this pace. For a marathon, I'd be going slower, planning for the long haul. For a half, I know I can push myself. I'm not going to be physically exhausted at the end, so I can push myself harder right from the beginning. Ideally, if I were more serious, or took running seriously, instead of for fun, I'd love to be able to run this pace for a full marathon. Alas, no.
Another woman comes up to ask about barefoot running. I explain my history with it.
“Well, you must have amazing feet. I could never do that. My feet are too sensitive.”
Is she implying that I'm insensitive? But I just tell her she could do it, to try it for three weeks.
“Well, ok....”
I know. Two years ago I would've said it's crazy. In fact, I did. Out in Arizona, working at a wildland firefighter, I heard rumours of guys running barefoot and in moccasins, and I thought, wow, that's cool, they're hardcore, but never did I ever consider it until out of desperation, of of a sense of, 'it's either this, or never run again.' I wish I could convince people to try it before they get injured. And, I'm convinced that with today's running shoes, getting injured is a matter of when, not if.
Digital clocks are set up along the routes, and suddenly we're fifty minutes in, then an hour. Man, this goes quick. I'm over halfway done. I realize that there haven't been any mile markers at all, which I kind of like. No excuse to mentally psych myself out.
I'm still passing people, more slowly now, but it does feel good, I cannot tell a lie. Like I have an edge. So, starting at the back has it's benefits. But, the gasps of “Barefoot?!” get a little old. Can't blame them, I'd do the same. Some people though, just don't seem to realize that when I'm twenty feet in front of them I can still hear them talk about me, like the guy who goes into a long story to his friend: “I tried that back when I was in college and wanted to prove how tough I was. You know, looking in the National Geographic and seeing pictures of guys from Kenya running barefoot. So I tired it, until I stepped on a rock and it hurt. That was enough. My dad was a doctor, and when I came limping home, he didn't even have to say anything, just gave me that dad look, like I was a dumbass.”
He kept talking, but I finally sped up enough to get out of hearing range, though I wanted to run around and ask, “Are you calling me a dumbass? You're the sissy that couldn't take a rock. Did you continue to always do what your daddy approved of?”
And so on and so forth yadda yadda yadda. At least I can take satisfaction in knowing I'm going to beat him.
Ah, nothing like a little friendly competition to motivate folks. Well, really, I'm trying to see if I can beat myself, since my barefoot paces, in the two marathons I've run, have been slower than my previous shod paces. Though, there are other factors, like that I'm five years older. But no, never surrender!
Anyways, there are other folks who are kind enough to say things like, “Dude, good job.” Likewise, good job to them. Everyone out here came to do two things, kick ass and chew bubblegum, and they're all out of bubblegum.
There's actually a band for this race! Excellent. And they're rocking out to Johnny B. Goode. Ha! A good sign.
And have I mentioned the women? There have been a couple just wearing super short-shorts and just a sports bra. My god. Are those even real running shorts? Do they really make running shorts that short? it's a blessing, really. They have blessed me.
We reach the section of road that I've run before, and that really rough part, which yes, is still rough. But that's the worst. After this, there's brand new pavement on into town. And, since there was a 10K earlier, which started in Ann Arbor, came out here, then turned around, there are still orange cones running down the middle of the road, and for some reason, everyone is bunching up in the right lane, leaving the left one entirely open. All that space in front of me, calling me. Running with people is a good motivator, but when I'm tired, I can get tempted to just lock into the general pace of everyone around me. Plus, passing is easier, I don't have to duck and weave. Not that I'm passing that fast anymore. And, to be honest, I'm getting passed too. I wasn't the only lurker in the back.
We reach the turnoff onto Main Street, and one of the spectators yells that we only have a mile to go. Whew, I'm winded. I couldn't talk if I tried, and neither can anybody around me. But I keep up the pace, remembering biking down this road on Saturday mornings in the Fall, when cars filled with Wolverine fans were locked bumper to bumper. And how much of a pleasure it was to pass them.
And, I'd forgotten, Main Street goes uphill into town. Ugh. Well, hills are my specialty, and just by maintaining my pace, I'm passing people again because they're slowing down. Thank you Four Corner states for showing me what a hill really looks like!
Now we're getting more spectators, and as we get into downtown proper, the finish line in sight, the sidewalks are crowded, and for some reason, I'm really visible or something, because people are seeing me and yelling “Go barefoot runner!” and word seems to spread ahead of me. How embarrassing and weird. But right now I have locked in on 'finishing strong mode.' Once I can see the end, I try to push myself, deplete my reserves, feet scrambling, pumping my arms, jaw set, passing more folks, who seem if anything to be slowing down. Briefly, the thought comes that I might try smiling at this point, this is fun after all. But—
Done!
Whew. Catching my breath, but I feel good. Strong. I ran as strong as I could, consistently, the whole time. My time is around 1:50ish, I think, so, a little slower than last year, but ok. Still respectable. I filter down the chute, grab a bottle of water and my cheaply-made medal. The best part? I can now just walk three blocks back to my apartment and a hot shower.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Going Barefoot
I’m on State Street, in downtown Ann Arbor, walking behind a tall young man with a green mohawk dressed all in black leather, but everyone is staring at me. I have on new jeans and a dress shirt, with my computer carrying case. It’s sunny, early summer, most people are dressed in less clothing than I, except I’m the only one with no shoes.
Two years ago I ‘acquired’ a running injury called plantar fasciitus, in which the fascia, kind of a sheath, or layer, of tissue running along the bottom of the foot, which aids in arch support, gets inflamed. I ended up seeing four different doctors and spending lots of money that my uninsured self couldn’t really afford, only to be told that I would never get ‘better,’ that since I was getting older, plantar fasciitus was something I’d have to learn to live with, so that every time I ran I would have to use super arch support shoes, with an extra added arch support insole, and tape my feet, every time. At the time, I was grateful. I just wanted to run again. After a while though, and after lots of tape, when I still couldn’t ever run more than twenty-five minutes at a time without feeling a throbbing pain in my heels, I started to re-think my problem: If a bone breaks, in general it heals. If a tendon gets torn, it heals. Why not a fascia?
Then a friend recommended barefoot running. Initially skeptical, after doing some informal research on the Internet, I became curious with the personal testimonies by folks on a barefoot running Yahoo! Group, who claimed their running injuries stopped after starting to run barefoot. Around the same time I came across Men’s Health and Fitness writer Chris McDougall’s book Born To Run, in part a great reflection/investigation about how we humans literally evolved as long-distance runner-hunters. McDougall also takes the running shoe companies, especially Nike, to task for pushing a product that is actually bad for the human foot. The argument goes: we humans went two million years barefoot, our feet are built for it. It’s not, like I believed for years, that we’re getting foot injuries like plantar fasciitus because we walk on paved surfaces now. To use Spike Lee out of context: “It’s the shoes!”
So I tried it, alternating running barefoot with these things made by the Vibram company called Five Fingers, basically gloves for the feet, just a rubber-like protective covering on the bottom, with no arch support or cushion. And, suddenly, immediately, I was running again, with no plantar fasciitus problems. In fact, the more I ran, the better my feet started to feel.
In order to toughen up the bottoms of my feet, I started going barefoot in my apartment, which may not seem radical, but the doctors had said I’d never be able to go barefoot again, ever. Then I moved outside, going barefoot around town. And, it felt good. Kind of naked, kind of taboo, kind of non-conformist. Sure, stepping on a pokey rock hurt, at little, and still does, but I liked the odd sensation of having sensation down there. I’d never realized how cut off my feet were in shoes. At first, especially after runs, my feet felt raw walking across cement sidewalks, and some sidewalks were rougher than others, but pretty soon my feet toughened up, and actually changed shape and size: when I had to wear shoes for whatever reason, rarely, they felt strange, small and constrictive. That was the worst part about going barefoot. The best part? Splashing through puddles and squishing mulberries.
And yes, one time after about four months with no incidents, I did cut myself on glass. I’d just walked out my front door and wasn’t paying attention, probably looking at an attractive woman across the street, so it was her fault, and I stepped on a piece of glass three houses down. I had even seen glass there before, because the kids that live there tended to have parties sometimes, so I should’ve been checking. It hurt, kinda. It bled, kinda. I put on my moccasins for the rest of the day and wore my VFFs on runs for the next two days and I was fine. I will take that kind of pain though over the plantar fasciitus kind, the kind where I can’t run for two years, any day.
The contrast between people’s reactions to me running barefoot and walking barefoot is huge. That is, everyone looks at me like I’m crazy, but when I’m running barefoot, some people actually smile, or say, “That’s so cool!” or a “Dude, that’s hardcore!” Hardcore crazy is more acceptable. Normal life? Not so. For example, I walk into my favorite cafe: The place is full, and as soon as I step in, everyone, everyone, immediately stares at my feet. It’s only for about one second, maybe two, and just as quickly they look away, though as I walk up to the counter, they look again out of the corners of their eyes.
Or, on another day, walking barefoot to the Post Office, a young couple stared at me across the street while we all waited for a light to change. The woman managed to wait until we were all crossing, and I was closer to them, to say to her husband, “That’s disgusting!” I’m not sure if the majority of people in America would agree with this woman, but I realized she meant two different things. First, by going barefoot, I am walking on disgusting things, because everybody knows the streets of Ann Arbor are strewn with dogshit, and you can die from dirty feet. Second, she wasn’t just saying that going barefoot was ‘disgusting,’ nor were the people in the café worried for my well-being. No, I was forcing my disgustingness on them, spreading dogshit anthrax spores with every step.
But the first place I got busted in, of all places, was the library. I admit to disappointment: I expected a confrontation at some point, perhaps with an irate restaurant manager, but not in one of my favorite bastions of democracy. I somehow thought the librarians would be on my side, since they’re supposedly rational, and open to new ideas, open to finding out stuff, finding out facts, the truth, that they instantly know what is right and wrong. Plus they don’t serve food in libraries. They wouldn’t have anything to freak out about, right?
I had actually been zipping in barefoot all summer to drop off books or pick up inter-library loans, definitely getting some weird looks from both the patrons and employees, but no one had ever said anything. On that particular day though, I walked up to the third floor to do some browsing and after a while an employee approached me. I actually felt sorry for him, he was very apologetic, and seemed like he really would have preferred to be doing anything else but stating to me that library policy required everyone to wear shoes. I couldn’t resist making him squirm a little by saying I hadn’t seen any signs saying I couldn’t, but he said that the library rules were posted around the building, and online. And I could’ve kept going and asked him to explain why there was a policy against bare feet, but I knew he didn’t know, and even more importantly didn’t care, so I put on my moccasins I’d had stashed in my bag for just such an emergency. But I did end up feeling a little humiliated somehow, and therefore actually somewhat angry, like I had been accused of being a criminal, and by a wimpy nerd librarian!
I couldn’t let it go without a least a small fight, and emailed the library director, asking her if there was indeed a shoe policy, and where I could find it, and to her credit she did write back the next day, informing me the that rules were posted around the building, and she gave me a link to them on the library website. I followed the link and yep, there it was, Rule #4:
Requires patrons to wear shirts and shoes, or other footwear, at all times in the Library for hygiene and safety purposes. (http://www.aadl.org/aboutus/policies/behavior)
Also in her email, the director politely addressed my feelings, saying she was sorry that I had felt singled out, but she did add (and I paraphrase here because I unfortunately didn’t save the email) that she was sure I would understand why there had to be a rule about footwear. I know she wasn’t talking about the safety issue, because what exactly would sandals save me from in a library that my bare feet wouldn’t? Instead, she meant that I would understand that going barefoot was unhygienic, and she was politely chastising me for doing something she thought I obviously knew to be wrong. So yes, I did understand something better: People think that someone going barefoot will spread disease to them.
To which I reply: Really?
How can a bare foot spread a disease, and/or make a public place unhygienic? How can it be that the bare foot is any more unhygienic than the sole of a shoe? Have you looked at the bottom of your shoes lately? I had plenty of recent sources demonstrating the benefits of going barefoot, starting with McDougall’s Born To Run, which cites some leading sports medicine experts, and after the book came out, articles in papers and on news websites popped up talking about the benefits of barefoot running, all of which also mentioned the benefits of going barefoot in general. But to be fair, I wanted to find something, somewhere, that would explain why/how going barefoot was unhygienic. Put another way: What was Library Rule #4 based on? Surely the librarians would base their rules on facts?
So where would I go to try to find the answers to these questions? The library! Oh, the irony. I made two separate visits to reference librarians to help point me in the right direction. First they helped me find the Ann City codes as a possible source, there’s actually a link to them from the library website, but you know what? There’s nothing about bare feet in public places. They also helped me navigate the available databases, both for popular magazines and newspapers, and peer-reviewed medical journals. They helped me get the right search words (like “hygiene” “foot care”) but neither with their help, nor on my own, could I for the life of me find anything that said going barefoot was unhygienic, though one really short article in Shape magazine articulated what most people probably feel is bad about going barefoot: "Your [____] pick up particles that contain lead from paint, pesticides from lawns, allergens from plants, and bacteria from animal feces.” That’s from John Roberts, an environmental engineer quoted in the article, who tested fifteen different houses for chemical exposures. Except, that blank space I’ve made in the text? It actually has the word “shoes,” not feet. Everything that people think bad about bare feet seems just as true for shoes, more so even, since feet get washed regularly.
The second reference librarian I talked with pointed me to an obvious source, one that I should have thought of on my own, since it’s the first place all my composition students head to: Wikipedia. The “Barefoot” entry on Wikipedia was obviously put together by pro-barefoot folks, and therefore a wee bit biased, but one important thing it does mention is a possible reason why going barefoot has become so taboo, something that I’d been wondering/suspecting myself: that various myths about, and regulations against, going barefoot “were perpetuated during the counterculture movement of the 1960s, as a way to keep hippies out of conventional business establishments.” I was born in 1968, and this fits with what I remember from the seventies: both seeing people going barefoot, and NO SHIRT NO SHOES NO SERVICE signs, which nowadays are rare.
The most useful parts of the “Barefoot” entry were, like many Wikipedia entries, the References and Links sections. Most are recent magazine/newspaper articles, though none of them, of course, talk about any negative aspects of going barefoot. One of them, from The News and Observer in Raleigh, North Carolina, profiles three locals who choose to go barefoot, and this is the source the Wikipedia entry uses for the barefoot taboo coming from the anti-hippie movement in the 60s and 70s. The staff writer, Joe Miller, does a good job of giving some historical perspective on going barefoot, reminding his readers that “4 million years ago, going barefoot was all the rage,” and he has a couple claims that he presents as facts, and which sound correct, though I’m not sure where he’s getting them. The first is that we humans developed footwear as we moved to cooler areas of the globe. As a resident of Michigan, I can attest that this is probably basically true, though having walked over rocks myself, even with my new calloused feet, I’m betting protection was still a factor too.
The barefoot Wikipedia page also has a link to The Society for Barefoot Living website, and they’re the folks who I suspect wrote it. They’re a group of people in American and elsewhere, who, through the power of ‘teh Internet’ have banded together to offer support and advice to each other. Their website has even more sources about the benefits of going barefoot, and testimonials and some funny stories from members, but the most interesting and useful thing the group did was write letters to the Departments of Agriculture (which are responsible for healthy and safety codes for public businesses like restaurants) in each state asking specifically whether going barefoot was illegal or not. In every case (except for Utah, which didn’t write back, and somehow that doesn’t surprise me) the reply letters state that there are no regulations against going barefoot in public spaces. The ‘SBL’ has posted pdfs of the letters on their website. They also point out that there are no federal laws against going barefoot in public places, and only one, through The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA), states that only employees of restaurants must wear footwear, for safety purposes.
I know, though, that proving logically that bare feet aren’t unhygienic, and that in fact going barefoot is good for feet, just isn’t good enough. I can present the evidence, and people still would not only not want to try it, but have an almost emotional reaction against anybody doing it, coming from some kind of currently accepted standard of cleanliness. I can’t expect everyone to lower their standard of cleanliness down to mine, not that mine are that different: I agree with washing hands as a way to stop the spread of germs and don’t think there’s anyone who wouldn’t. Thing is, we touch each other with our hands, we touch our noses and mouths with our hands, we touch silverware and doorknobs with our hands. With our feet? Not so much. They tend to stay on the ground, at least in the parts of the world I’ve visited. And if the counter argument is that someone going bare feet into a public place causes diseased germs to drift around and land on people’s food, why would that happen with feet and not shoes, or even sandals?
Other people having different standards of cleanliness would be fine, except that those standards affect me. That is, people’s personal tastes, and not facts, are forming policy that prevents me from doing some I want to do, when it’s not hurting anybody. So I’m left a little stumped: I wish the burden of proof were on the business to prove that I was being unhygienic, but that’s not how it works. Once someone at a restaurant asks you to do something, that’s it. Even arguing to prove one’s innocence is trouble, and nobody likes a troublemaker. I even understand that—I worked at a restaurant and I didn’t like the weirdoes that expected us to bend over backwards for their demands. And having an argument with a restaurant manager is a no-win situation for everybody:
“Excuse me sir, you need to have shoes on to be in the restaurant.”
“Really? According to what I know, there are neither federal, state, nor city laws against me being barefoot. What are you basing your statement on?”
“Listen pal, you want me to call the cops?”
Or something like that. Not fun for them, not fun for me. Both of our nights are ruined. I don’t want that. So, in order to just be treated like everyone else, if I just want to have a good dinner, without getting into a discussion about what is or is not legal to wear or not to wear in a restaurant, I have to be non-confrontational and put on shoes before I go in. Is this a big deal? I guess not. There’s bigger problems in the world. Does it make it fair? No, but a lot of things in this world aren’t fair. I’ll just have to consider my love of going barefoot as yet another in a long list of subversive things I have done in my life, like having long hair, playing heavy metal music, writing poetry, being a vegetarian, reading poetry, not owning a television, and voting my conscience.
Fortunately, living in Michigan makes getting too righteous about going barefoot hard, since it’s freezing-ass cold here six months of the year. As I wrote and revised this, the days got shorter and the air colder, and slipping on my moccasins has become necessary every time I go out. Which is not so unpleasant: they at least don’t have any arch support or padding, which feels good, and at home I still pleasantly pad around my apartment’s oak floors, waiting for Spring.
Two years ago I ‘acquired’ a running injury called plantar fasciitus, in which the fascia, kind of a sheath, or layer, of tissue running along the bottom of the foot, which aids in arch support, gets inflamed. I ended up seeing four different doctors and spending lots of money that my uninsured self couldn’t really afford, only to be told that I would never get ‘better,’ that since I was getting older, plantar fasciitus was something I’d have to learn to live with, so that every time I ran I would have to use super arch support shoes, with an extra added arch support insole, and tape my feet, every time. At the time, I was grateful. I just wanted to run again. After a while though, and after lots of tape, when I still couldn’t ever run more than twenty-five minutes at a time without feeling a throbbing pain in my heels, I started to re-think my problem: If a bone breaks, in general it heals. If a tendon gets torn, it heals. Why not a fascia?
Then a friend recommended barefoot running. Initially skeptical, after doing some informal research on the Internet, I became curious with the personal testimonies by folks on a barefoot running Yahoo! Group, who claimed their running injuries stopped after starting to run barefoot. Around the same time I came across Men’s Health and Fitness writer Chris McDougall’s book Born To Run, in part a great reflection/investigation about how we humans literally evolved as long-distance runner-hunters. McDougall also takes the running shoe companies, especially Nike, to task for pushing a product that is actually bad for the human foot. The argument goes: we humans went two million years barefoot, our feet are built for it. It’s not, like I believed for years, that we’re getting foot injuries like plantar fasciitus because we walk on paved surfaces now. To use Spike Lee out of context: “It’s the shoes!”
So I tried it, alternating running barefoot with these things made by the Vibram company called Five Fingers, basically gloves for the feet, just a rubber-like protective covering on the bottom, with no arch support or cushion. And, suddenly, immediately, I was running again, with no plantar fasciitus problems. In fact, the more I ran, the better my feet started to feel.
In order to toughen up the bottoms of my feet, I started going barefoot in my apartment, which may not seem radical, but the doctors had said I’d never be able to go barefoot again, ever. Then I moved outside, going barefoot around town. And, it felt good. Kind of naked, kind of taboo, kind of non-conformist. Sure, stepping on a pokey rock hurt, at little, and still does, but I liked the odd sensation of having sensation down there. I’d never realized how cut off my feet were in shoes. At first, especially after runs, my feet felt raw walking across cement sidewalks, and some sidewalks were rougher than others, but pretty soon my feet toughened up, and actually changed shape and size: when I had to wear shoes for whatever reason, rarely, they felt strange, small and constrictive. That was the worst part about going barefoot. The best part? Splashing through puddles and squishing mulberries.
And yes, one time after about four months with no incidents, I did cut myself on glass. I’d just walked out my front door and wasn’t paying attention, probably looking at an attractive woman across the street, so it was her fault, and I stepped on a piece of glass three houses down. I had even seen glass there before, because the kids that live there tended to have parties sometimes, so I should’ve been checking. It hurt, kinda. It bled, kinda. I put on my moccasins for the rest of the day and wore my VFFs on runs for the next two days and I was fine. I will take that kind of pain though over the plantar fasciitus kind, the kind where I can’t run for two years, any day.
The contrast between people’s reactions to me running barefoot and walking barefoot is huge. That is, everyone looks at me like I’m crazy, but when I’m running barefoot, some people actually smile, or say, “That’s so cool!” or a “Dude, that’s hardcore!” Hardcore crazy is more acceptable. Normal life? Not so. For example, I walk into my favorite cafe: The place is full, and as soon as I step in, everyone, everyone, immediately stares at my feet. It’s only for about one second, maybe two, and just as quickly they look away, though as I walk up to the counter, they look again out of the corners of their eyes.
Or, on another day, walking barefoot to the Post Office, a young couple stared at me across the street while we all waited for a light to change. The woman managed to wait until we were all crossing, and I was closer to them, to say to her husband, “That’s disgusting!” I’m not sure if the majority of people in America would agree with this woman, but I realized she meant two different things. First, by going barefoot, I am walking on disgusting things, because everybody knows the streets of Ann Arbor are strewn with dogshit, and you can die from dirty feet. Second, she wasn’t just saying that going barefoot was ‘disgusting,’ nor were the people in the café worried for my well-being. No, I was forcing my disgustingness on them, spreading dogshit anthrax spores with every step.
But the first place I got busted in, of all places, was the library. I admit to disappointment: I expected a confrontation at some point, perhaps with an irate restaurant manager, but not in one of my favorite bastions of democracy. I somehow thought the librarians would be on my side, since they’re supposedly rational, and open to new ideas, open to finding out stuff, finding out facts, the truth, that they instantly know what is right and wrong. Plus they don’t serve food in libraries. They wouldn’t have anything to freak out about, right?
I had actually been zipping in barefoot all summer to drop off books or pick up inter-library loans, definitely getting some weird looks from both the patrons and employees, but no one had ever said anything. On that particular day though, I walked up to the third floor to do some browsing and after a while an employee approached me. I actually felt sorry for him, he was very apologetic, and seemed like he really would have preferred to be doing anything else but stating to me that library policy required everyone to wear shoes. I couldn’t resist making him squirm a little by saying I hadn’t seen any signs saying I couldn’t, but he said that the library rules were posted around the building, and online. And I could’ve kept going and asked him to explain why there was a policy against bare feet, but I knew he didn’t know, and even more importantly didn’t care, so I put on my moccasins I’d had stashed in my bag for just such an emergency. But I did end up feeling a little humiliated somehow, and therefore actually somewhat angry, like I had been accused of being a criminal, and by a wimpy nerd librarian!
I couldn’t let it go without a least a small fight, and emailed the library director, asking her if there was indeed a shoe policy, and where I could find it, and to her credit she did write back the next day, informing me the that rules were posted around the building, and she gave me a link to them on the library website. I followed the link and yep, there it was, Rule #4:
Requires patrons to wear shirts and shoes, or other footwear, at all times in the Library for hygiene and safety purposes. (http://www.aadl.org/aboutus/policies/behavior)
Also in her email, the director politely addressed my feelings, saying she was sorry that I had felt singled out, but she did add (and I paraphrase here because I unfortunately didn’t save the email) that she was sure I would understand why there had to be a rule about footwear. I know she wasn’t talking about the safety issue, because what exactly would sandals save me from in a library that my bare feet wouldn’t? Instead, she meant that I would understand that going barefoot was unhygienic, and she was politely chastising me for doing something she thought I obviously knew to be wrong. So yes, I did understand something better: People think that someone going barefoot will spread disease to them.
To which I reply: Really?
How can a bare foot spread a disease, and/or make a public place unhygienic? How can it be that the bare foot is any more unhygienic than the sole of a shoe? Have you looked at the bottom of your shoes lately? I had plenty of recent sources demonstrating the benefits of going barefoot, starting with McDougall’s Born To Run, which cites some leading sports medicine experts, and after the book came out, articles in papers and on news websites popped up talking about the benefits of barefoot running, all of which also mentioned the benefits of going barefoot in general. But to be fair, I wanted to find something, somewhere, that would explain why/how going barefoot was unhygienic. Put another way: What was Library Rule #4 based on? Surely the librarians would base their rules on facts?
So where would I go to try to find the answers to these questions? The library! Oh, the irony. I made two separate visits to reference librarians to help point me in the right direction. First they helped me find the Ann City codes as a possible source, there’s actually a link to them from the library website, but you know what? There’s nothing about bare feet in public places. They also helped me navigate the available databases, both for popular magazines and newspapers, and peer-reviewed medical journals. They helped me get the right search words (like “hygiene” “foot care”) but neither with their help, nor on my own, could I for the life of me find anything that said going barefoot was unhygienic, though one really short article in Shape magazine articulated what most people probably feel is bad about going barefoot: "Your [____] pick up particles that contain lead from paint, pesticides from lawns, allergens from plants, and bacteria from animal feces.” That’s from John Roberts, an environmental engineer quoted in the article, who tested fifteen different houses for chemical exposures. Except, that blank space I’ve made in the text? It actually has the word “shoes,” not feet. Everything that people think bad about bare feet seems just as true for shoes, more so even, since feet get washed regularly.
The second reference librarian I talked with pointed me to an obvious source, one that I should have thought of on my own, since it’s the first place all my composition students head to: Wikipedia. The “Barefoot” entry on Wikipedia was obviously put together by pro-barefoot folks, and therefore a wee bit biased, but one important thing it does mention is a possible reason why going barefoot has become so taboo, something that I’d been wondering/suspecting myself: that various myths about, and regulations against, going barefoot “were perpetuated during the counterculture movement of the 1960s, as a way to keep hippies out of conventional business establishments.” I was born in 1968, and this fits with what I remember from the seventies: both seeing people going barefoot, and NO SHIRT NO SHOES NO SERVICE signs, which nowadays are rare.
The most useful parts of the “Barefoot” entry were, like many Wikipedia entries, the References and Links sections. Most are recent magazine/newspaper articles, though none of them, of course, talk about any negative aspects of going barefoot. One of them, from The News and Observer in Raleigh, North Carolina, profiles three locals who choose to go barefoot, and this is the source the Wikipedia entry uses for the barefoot taboo coming from the anti-hippie movement in the 60s and 70s. The staff writer, Joe Miller, does a good job of giving some historical perspective on going barefoot, reminding his readers that “4 million years ago, going barefoot was all the rage,” and he has a couple claims that he presents as facts, and which sound correct, though I’m not sure where he’s getting them. The first is that we humans developed footwear as we moved to cooler areas of the globe. As a resident of Michigan, I can attest that this is probably basically true, though having walked over rocks myself, even with my new calloused feet, I’m betting protection was still a factor too.
The barefoot Wikipedia page also has a link to The Society for Barefoot Living website, and they’re the folks who I suspect wrote it. They’re a group of people in American and elsewhere, who, through the power of ‘teh Internet’ have banded together to offer support and advice to each other. Their website has even more sources about the benefits of going barefoot, and testimonials and some funny stories from members, but the most interesting and useful thing the group did was write letters to the Departments of Agriculture (which are responsible for healthy and safety codes for public businesses like restaurants) in each state asking specifically whether going barefoot was illegal or not. In every case (except for Utah, which didn’t write back, and somehow that doesn’t surprise me) the reply letters state that there are no regulations against going barefoot in public spaces. The ‘SBL’ has posted pdfs of the letters on their website. They also point out that there are no federal laws against going barefoot in public places, and only one, through The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA), states that only employees of restaurants must wear footwear, for safety purposes.
I know, though, that proving logically that bare feet aren’t unhygienic, and that in fact going barefoot is good for feet, just isn’t good enough. I can present the evidence, and people still would not only not want to try it, but have an almost emotional reaction against anybody doing it, coming from some kind of currently accepted standard of cleanliness. I can’t expect everyone to lower their standard of cleanliness down to mine, not that mine are that different: I agree with washing hands as a way to stop the spread of germs and don’t think there’s anyone who wouldn’t. Thing is, we touch each other with our hands, we touch our noses and mouths with our hands, we touch silverware and doorknobs with our hands. With our feet? Not so much. They tend to stay on the ground, at least in the parts of the world I’ve visited. And if the counter argument is that someone going bare feet into a public place causes diseased germs to drift around and land on people’s food, why would that happen with feet and not shoes, or even sandals?
Other people having different standards of cleanliness would be fine, except that those standards affect me. That is, people’s personal tastes, and not facts, are forming policy that prevents me from doing some I want to do, when it’s not hurting anybody. So I’m left a little stumped: I wish the burden of proof were on the business to prove that I was being unhygienic, but that’s not how it works. Once someone at a restaurant asks you to do something, that’s it. Even arguing to prove one’s innocence is trouble, and nobody likes a troublemaker. I even understand that—I worked at a restaurant and I didn’t like the weirdoes that expected us to bend over backwards for their demands. And having an argument with a restaurant manager is a no-win situation for everybody:
“Excuse me sir, you need to have shoes on to be in the restaurant.”
“Really? According to what I know, there are neither federal, state, nor city laws against me being barefoot. What are you basing your statement on?”
“Listen pal, you want me to call the cops?”
Or something like that. Not fun for them, not fun for me. Both of our nights are ruined. I don’t want that. So, in order to just be treated like everyone else, if I just want to have a good dinner, without getting into a discussion about what is or is not legal to wear or not to wear in a restaurant, I have to be non-confrontational and put on shoes before I go in. Is this a big deal? I guess not. There’s bigger problems in the world. Does it make it fair? No, but a lot of things in this world aren’t fair. I’ll just have to consider my love of going barefoot as yet another in a long list of subversive things I have done in my life, like having long hair, playing heavy metal music, writing poetry, being a vegetarian, reading poetry, not owning a television, and voting my conscience.
Fortunately, living in Michigan makes getting too righteous about going barefoot hard, since it’s freezing-ass cold here six months of the year. As I wrote and revised this, the days got shorter and the air colder, and slipping on my moccasins has become necessary every time I go out. Which is not so unpleasant: they at least don’t have any arch support or padding, which feels good, and at home I still pleasantly pad around my apartment’s oak floors, waiting for Spring.
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