Somerset Stampede Half Marathon 2011

One of these races I’m going to get a good night’s sleep, just not this one. I would have thought with the Somerset Stampede Half Marathon basically in my backyard that I’d have plenty o’ time to get up and get over, yet somehow I managed to wake up at two in the morning thinking I’d overslept. This happened to me two years ago with this race, so I guess I’m reliving old anxieties. Anyway, I’m wide awake at four in the morning. Well, ok, I’ll get a good meditation session in, then take a shower to refresh and have wet hair to keep me cool later.

After a breakfast and time to even play my guitar a little, I decide to get on the road, so I can be sure to hit an ATM to be able to register for this race. That’s one thing I like about the low-key-ness of the Stampede: the cost is basically the same registering that day of.

And, with a free night last night, did I bother to fill up my gas tank? Nope. Ok, good thing I left early. Now to find a gas station open at five on a Saturday morning. Fortunately my brain seems to have been working otherwise, because I seem to have all my essentials: Amphipod water bottle, extra truck key, water to sip on the way, and a Lara Bar. The weather is still warm here in Michigan, though thankfully not the godawful heat we’ve had all summer. Still, I’m comfy in my shorts and wicking t-shirt, with my ‘shell’ jacket on just for the ride down.

This is the third time I’m running this race. The course is up to half gravel road, so I’ll be needing some kind of minimalist footwear, no way I could do this barefoot. I’m opting for my Luna huaraches, like last year. After I get to the start and register (twenty-five bucks! a deal these days!) I walk and jog around in them a bit, since, as they get older and very worn in, the leather straps seem to loosen, especially in the loops around the back, across my ankles. Though, this could be my imagination. Anyways, I’m glad I work out the bugs. My left one I have to re-tie twice to get a good snug feel.

No familiar faces this year. Dan isn’t here, nor is Rob. I’m wandering around by my lonesome, with people looking at me and my footwear a little oddly. They’re a little behind the times down here in Somerset Center. I’m not sure they even know what VFFs are (though I wore my pair the first time I ran this!).

I’m looking both to redeem myself a bit and maintain my reputation. Redeem in the sense that this is my first race after my DNF at the Burning River 100. I want to make sure I do a good job, give a good effort, and I kinda feel like if I can run 70 miles I should be able to push my speed a little on these shorter races. Also, I have to maintain my reputation since last year I came in first for my age category, at (I think) 1:39-ish.

Thing is, I’ve just been feeling slow all summer. My main long route, from Jackson out to Concord and back, on the Falling Waters Trail, seem to be taking me over five hours when I’d swear last year it took me four. But maybe I’ve been smoking crack. Or, maybe with my focus being on distance all summer I really haven’t concentrated on speed at all. This is my first half of the year. I missed the Dexter-Ann Arbor Half in July. Still, again, I feel like if I can run a hug long distance I should be able to give more on shorter spurts. But maybe it’s not that easy....

There are about 200 people, though I’m a bad judge of numbers. There’s also a 5K, so those folks are mixed in at the start. A ha! There’s a guy wearing VFFs at the front of the line! Minimalists unite!

Since this race is sponsored by a Christian camp (? I think? But the U of M band is practicing here too? Not sure) one of the organizers leads everyone in a prayer. I kinda roll my eyes and wonder what the Flying Spaghetti Monster would do, and then end with a South Park ‘Hail Satan!’.

And then we all count down, and we’re off! Starting off in the gravel parking lot of the camp, and already I’m hearing the comments: Some woman behind me has seen my footwear and says, “Wow, that’s really running barefoot!” Oh my dear, if you only knew.

We circle out of the camp and onto paved roads, though a quiet neighborhood. The crowd is spreading out quickly, no real bottlenecking. A guy, who parked next to me in the parking lot, just now notices my huaraches and says, “Doesn’t that hurt your feet?”

I want to go into some Italian Mafia routine and say something like, “Do I look stupid?” but instead I just say, “I wouldn’t do it if it hurt.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. Have a good race!”

Sidenote: His wife is kind of my hero for the day, because when I pulled in next to them earlier, she got out of the car smoking a cigarette, and she’s running the half. That just takes a certain amount of cojones. Plus she looks like a marine, very angry and willing to beat me up. I mean that in an attractive way.

Anyways, onward: We’re running on one side of a paved country road, with houses, both old and new scattered about, but with plenty of green space, and some sandhill cranes squawking off in the trees. Good! They’re my power animal!

The 5Kers has split off to the right, leaving the field very dispersed, where we’re all starting to see who we’re going to be running with for most of the race. Some guy comes up behind me and positions himself right to my right. He doesn’t want to talk, he’s got an iPod going, but he seems to have fixated on me as someone to keep pace with. I tend to be defensive about this, thinking that people do it because I’m the long-haired hippie dude in the sandals, and it really distracts me. I know I shouldn’t let it, but...I just would never do that to another runner. I might focus on people ahead of me and mentally start to reel them in (which I’ve started to do) but I wouldn’t hang out right next to or behind someone, breathing down their back.

But, well, it is a certain motivation. I’m not going to slow down for him, so I try to speed up when I can, which is possible running minimalist/barefoot, on hills especially since I can use the Barefoot KenBob technique of just bending the legs, leaning forward and letting gravity take control, just trying to keep the feets lifting fast enough. The shod-heads tend go slow on the downhills, I think because they don’t want to slam down with their foot strikes. But, the dude is persistent, I’ll give him that, catching me on the uphills, though we’re both passing others. I just wish if he was going to go, he’d go, and pass me and get it over with.

Seems to be a quieter crowd this year. The previous two years it seemed like people would cluster up in pairs or groups and chat as they ran, but everyone around me seems pretty focused. Might be because it feels like I’m going balls out. That is, my pace is such that I wouldn’t be able to talk if I wanted to. I believe that means I’m up in the anaerobic level? Gotta refresh myself on that stuff.

The Lunas are ok. I kinda sorta don’t like running minimalist on level paved routes. Even the huaraches, but especially my VFFs tend to desensitize my feets a little too much such that I feel I’m ‘striking’ a little harder, though thankfully not on my heel! This is probably the fastest I’ve run all summer. I need to do this more. Hard to motivate myself to do it on my own, which is why I like races: other people help me push myself.

I like having the Amphipod water bottle in hand. I breeze through the first two water stations, though really there’s not that much of a slow-down at these stations: this isn’t Detroit. But I do grab some Gatorades, still a little paranoid about lack of potassium causing my cramping on the Burning River. Wondering too if I start being a little more careful about nutrition even on shorter races if that will stop me from ‘bottoming out’ at the ends a little.

I’m staying mostly around the same group of folks, guys mostly, for the first nine miles. Eventually, that guy that was pacing off me seems to fall back, which gives me a little psychological boost. But then I get passed by a couple people coming on strong in the second half, though I’m keeping them in sight. Really though, it seems that there isn’t a lot of position changing, not like on other halfs (halves?). We’re all just going at a pretty good oxygen-sucking pace. That is, until I check my watch at the half-way point: 54 minutes. Youch! That does not feel right at all. That’s way slower than last year. And yet, I feel like I’m working harder this time. Last year I ran the whole thing with Rob, and I remember talking with him the whole time. What gives?

To top that off, we’ve moved into gravel roads. In fact, at one point there’s like paved road with gravel laid over the top of it? What is that? The regular gravel isn’t super bad, but some sections do slow me down just a bit. Just too much little chunkies hitting my feets. But, I still feel strong, and mentally I’m just plowing through the rocks, being less careful, which will probably hurt later on. In fact, I feel like I’ve almost shifting back into shod style running in that I’m not just ‘lifting’ my legs, but am reaching out my legs a bit to get a wider running gate (is that the right word?). Not that I’m heel striking, but maybe pushing off with the feet instead of just lifting. Hard to explain, and I’m not sure it’s “wrong,” doesn’t feel so anyways, but different than how I normally run. Seems to be working with my adrenaline rush anyways.

I catch up to those two people who passed me before, and another guy that we all passed now gets a burst of energy and passes all of us as we turn off on another dirt road. Then I surprise myself by pulling away from that group, over gravel even. Can I keep it up? No, I hit some rougher gravel and have to slow down a bit and they all pass me. Grr. Not mad at them, they’re doing great, just frustrated. Damn the gravel!

It still feels like we’re all hauling ass. I still feel like I’ve never run this fast before, and yet this is my slowest half pace yet. Crazy. Still, things could be worse, like when one of the guys ahead of me trips and does a complete and total face dive into the gravel. I mean like his whole body hits at the same time. Amazingly, he just right be up, brushing himself off, and claims he’s ok, but he soon falls behind. I’m not so sure he isn’t really hurt, actually. Fortunately we round the corner where some volunteers and two Somerset Center cop cars are hanging out, so if he’s really bad, they can get him to help.

More gravel more gravel. A short steep hill just wollops me. I should be able to sprint up this futhermucker, but no, legs starting to feel it a little. But, once I get back on flat road I’m able to keep up the fast pace. Keeping my sites on those two folks that passed me back there.

Then, finally, we shoot off to the left onto trail for the last mile and a half or so. And, it’s good trail: Nice and sandy and grassy. No more gravel. Yes! I get a little energized just looking forward to running this section!

People are starting to bog out: We pass a guy I haven’t seen before. He must have been going at a good clip but seems to have pushed a little too soon. I give him a ‘good job’ and encourage him to keep it up.

When the trail breaks out into the camping area, maybe a half mile of dirt road again, I pass the first of the two that passed me. He’s slowed way down. And, another new person, walking, burnt out. I make my goal to get close enough to the woman ahead of me that in the home stretch I might be able to sprint and get her, but actually the roads go a little longer than either of us expect, and I catch her on a little downhill a la the KenBob technique. Again, I feel strong. I feel like I’m staying strong for the end, but a quick look at the clock at the finish line tells me I’m not anywhere close to wear I’d like to be.

Still, here it is, the home stretch. I take the last turn and a guy there claps and gives me encouragement: “Alright me, swing those arms and finish strong!” Which helps somehow, and I take off, hearing yell behind me.

It’s a long sprint. There’s nobody ahead that I could even attempt to catch, but I do it anyways. Gotta leave it all out on the course. Gotta finish strong, no matter what the time. People at the finish start to clap and yell, which helps, and voila, I’m over!

Check the time: 1:52 and some change. Wow. Yucko. Almost fifteen minutes slower than last year?! And yet, I feel like I gave my best. So, ok. I gave my best. That’s what counts.

I grab some water and watch other runners come in. The woman I passed comes in a half minute behind me. He give each other ‘good jobs’. There’s a 14 year old boy that comes in at 2:05. He’s my hero. Also, I’m standing right next to a family, a mom and two daughters, who do a cute dance as their dad comes in, which is awesome. Turns out he’s the guy that was shadowing me the first half. I feel like an ass when he comes up to me to check and see how I did. It’s his first half even. And here I was being a selfish jerk. Plus, his youngest daughter walks around carrying a giant stuffed penguin. How cool is that?

They have a tentative chart with top finishers in each age category. There’s only two guys in my range listed, two and four minutes ahead of me. Hm, could it be possible? I stick around for the (very) informal awards ceremony, which is actually interesting, just to see who won what. Lots o’ youngsters. The top woman finisher is like college age. That 14 year old boy is the only one in his age category, so he gets a gold medal. Deserved, in my opinion. His mom is very proud. Also, there’s like one guy in the 60+ category, and he beat my time by four minutes! I want to be like him when I grow up.

Alas, no medal for me. There’s another guy that came in a couple minutes ahead for the third place spot. I guess I don’t really feel like I deserve one, with that time. But, like I said, I did my best. I’ll have to work on speed more on my own. I’m hoping to PR in the Detroit Marathon this Fall, but now I’m wondering if I can. Next week, the Merrill Barefoot 5K over in Grand Rapids, so another chance to work on speed, with other runners there to push me!

Somerset Stampede Half-Marathon

I don't know why I get nervous about a half marathon, but I do. I always complain about the early start time on these races and then I turn around and lay awake staring at my ceiling at 4:30. The one advantage when I do decide to just get up is that I don't feel rushed at all. Plenty o' time to meditate for a half-hour, and pretty a hearty breakfast of a peach, whole wheat toast with almond butter, and a bowl of chia mix, something new I'm experimenting with, a la the Tarahumara natives featured in Born To Run. Hard to tell if it's a good energy boost or not, but the combined mix gives me some energy and helps me ignore how little sleep I've gotten. I also decide to brew a hot green tea for the drive over, which is a risk, because I don't want to end up like in last year's Detroit Marathon, having to make emergency pee breaks. I'm hoping ingesting early, on the drive over, will give me time to flush everything out (sorry if that's 'tmi').

The drive over is both calming and energizing. The sky is just brightening, and all the low-lying watery areas have fog, but I'm random-laying through my iPod to all my favorite up-tempo groups. Nothing like a little Slayer in the morning. It's the sound of...victory.

I'm early. Way early, which is a lot better than last year when I slept in and barely made the start. But that allows me to register at leisure, then sit in my truck for a half hour, with the heater on, watching the other vehicles trickle in. Actually, it's more like a flood after fifteen minutes or so.

Perhaps I'm nervous because, in keeping with my marathon training, I actually ran four and a half hours last week (about 21-22 miles I figure) and haven't run much at all since, still recovering. In fact, if I weren't running this half-marathon, I'd probably be running a much longer run today or tomorrow. But what I like about my half-marathons is that I actually seem to run them pretty fast. Last year I ran this one somewhere under 1:50. So, a bit o' speed work today. Ideally, I would love to be able to run a marathon at my half-marathon pace, which would put me in around 3:30, but I seem to actually be getting slower. I know there's ways to bring my pace up, but that involves work, which makes me fear running not being fun. I just like to get out on a trail and listen to birds. Ah, denial, that mighty river in Egypt.

Another reason I'm a little nervous is that I'm trying out new minimalist footgear: huarache sandals. Ordinarily I prefer to run barefoot, but since this race is about half gravel road, I'm covering up a little. I wore my VFFs last year, with great success, surprising myself with speed, but even then I have a memory of one section of gravel road in particular which was just brutal, which even a shod person said she was having trouble with. My huaraches have an even thinner sole than my VFFs, so I fear a return of that brutality. On the other hand, I'm a much more experienced barefoot/minimalist runner, having practiced at the Arboretum in Ann Arbor, which has some rough paths.

My huaraches were made by BareFoot Ted, one of the barefoot runner masters, featured in Born To Run. While down in Mexico to compete in an ultra-marathon with the super runner Tarahumara, Ted learned how to make their hauraches, and now makes them from his home, under the name Luna Sandals. The design is fairly basic, just a rubber slab cut to the shape of the runner's feet, with one long thick leather strap coming up between the big toe and 'pointer' toe and criss-crossing over the foot and through two more hole on each side. If I had the gumption and the technology, I could probably make my own, or some form of them, though I have neither, and I wanted to buy a pair from Ted, the expert, to see how it's properly done. He also sells kits, with the basic materials, for about half the price, and I suppose one could just do like the Tarahumaru and cut out a chunk from an old tire. But what I like about Ted's huaraches is how thin the rubber actually is. Any more thinner and I'd be back to barefoot (except for Paper Feet! which I've also reviewed). Meaning, I can feel most bigger stones and sticks, so I still have to pay plenty of attention to where I step. But the rubber cuts down on the nitty gritty gravel, painful after a while on a gravel road, and would eliminate the risk of glass, though I don't usually have a problem with that. Like I said, I prefer running barefoot, and like feeling what's under me, so I've mostly just worn my huaraches walking around town. I do like the look, with the leather strap coming up and wrapping a few times around my ankle. Très gladiator! I also prefer, unlike the VFFs, that my feets are uncovered, and free. The more I can keep my feet in the free air, the happier they are!

As start time gets closer, I get out of my truck and meander over to the start line, for one last (hopefully) bathroom break. I'm starting to get some surprised neck snaps from people as they see what I'm wearing, though surprisingly, almost immediately a man comes up and asks, “How do you like those huaraches?”

Obviously, he's got some background. I explain how I usually run barefoot, and then we start talking about VFFs. He's got some, but doesn't want to throw off his training schedule, so is still running in shoes this summer. I warn him that I've heard of a couple people who tried to mix and match VFFs and shoes and who ended up hurting themselves, and urge him to just take the plunge, but as I talk to him, I realize he's a competetive runner. When he starts telling me his marathon times (he qualified for Boston for example) I'm impressed. Even more impressive: he's sixty-two! In fact, he won last year's Somerset Stampede for his age category. Now I feel a little silly lecturing him on running. We trade marathon war stories (we've both run Detroit and Chicago) and I wish him the best, since I probably won't see him during the race.

Everyone gathers for the start. I'm about midway, not entirely in back. I'm still experimenting with either starting in back and then being able to pass a lot of people, for good psychological benefit, or just starting out fast and pushing as long as I can before penguin waddling the rest, though for a half-marathon I'm anticipating going fast again. That is, if my feet can take a fast pace. The problem with minimalist footwear, huaraches or VFFs, is that I tend to footstrike a little harder than with bare feet. Or, that's how it feels. Something to do with losing sensitivity, and/or having something covering my feet, even partially, may shift my body back into shod-running mode. Add speed in, and I'll be hitting even a little harder. But again, I'm a little wiser on my cadence, and lifting the foot rather than concentrating on coming down with it, all described much better in Jason Robillard's Barefoot Running Handbook.

This race is real low-tech. No bells and whistles, just a person with a start gun. I am pleased that this year there doesn't seem to be a pre-race prayer, which freaked me out last year, but that may be due to the fact that there are no bullhorns even, so us folks in back can't hear anything. One minute everyone is talking, and the next, BANG, off goes the gun, surprising us all. I've brought a watch along, since the low-tech aspect also means that there are no chips. The Stampede website claims that the race is “professionally timed” but what that really means is two guys with a stopwatch sit at a table at the finish line and hand write numbers and times. I don't care about winning today, I just want an accurate account of what I'm capable of.

We're off. I'm immediately passing people, even at a slower, warm-up, pace. There's also a 5K, which will split off soon, so we have a mix of beginners and advanced runners. All ages, though I'm pretty sure we're all a bunch of white folks. Lot's of teen girls with cross-country t-shirts, must be some high school teams participating. Most impressive are some people a little on the chunky side. No crime in that, I just like that they're out here, probably as part of a get-in-shape goal. I wish more people would.

Also cool: A whole family is running, mother, father, and two sons, who can't be more than eight and ten. All told, there's about....a hundred people? Maybe not even that. I'm terrible at judging things like that. Soon though, the 5Kers split off the right and the crowd thins significantly. Would be interesting to know how many are actually doing the half, but we're all spread out now.

I up my pace, passing people. We get out on a paved road heading south. The road is technically blocked off by a police car, though after a while a car passes us in the left hand lane. The air warmer, I'm warmer, comfortable in a wicking t-shirt and shorts. The fog gone, the sun out. I feel alert and amped. Lots o' forest interspersed with cornfields, and older ranch-style houses, siting on two or three acres. Quiet out here, except for some dogs freaking out with all these intruders running by.

For some reason, the race is the most social I've ever run. Usually I just run solo, not necessarily by choice (well, maybe a little) but a guy, maybe around my age, maybe a little younger, ends up next to me and gestures to my huaraches. “Can't get any more natural than that I suppose!”

I go into my spiel about barefoot running, and how I couldn't run for a year and a half from the dreaded plantar fasciitis, and it turns out he's had it too. Also interestingly, he's a marine, reserve, and has been to Iraq twice. I don't want to get too nosey, but we talk about that, and a book I recently read, by Jon Krakauer, called Where Men Win Glory, about Pat Tillman, an army ranger killed by friendly fire. This guy, Dan I think his name is, confirms one alarming statistic in the book, that during combat operations, up to one in four casualties is from friendly fire.

Anyways, the point is, it's kind of nice to talk to someone for once. It doesn't seem forced, and both of us tell the other that to not let us drag the other down, but really, we're running at about that exact same pace. That is, we're helping each other keep a fairly good clip going. At this point I might have started looking at the birds or something, and slowed down a bit. But the miles pass fairly quick, and we're both slowly passing more people, though also getting passed a couple of times. Can I keep this pace up? Not sure, but I feel ok. I've got the 'lifting the feet' cadence going, with a slight lean of the body, sort of 'falling forward', and I feel good on the hills. I'm relaxing, trying not to tense up, and when I relax, my feet seem to 'strike' (not the real word I'd use for barefoot/minimalist running) lighter, and move quicker. The funny thing is, running with Dan, who is shod, his stride is longer and slower. I sometimes have pick up my shorter strides to keep up, which causes him, unconsciously or perhaps not, to run faster, etcetera. A good way to keep the pace up, if unplanned!

We get to the gravel road section, and it's not quite as bad as I remember it from last year. I suspect that the road had just been graded then, and so was particularly gravely, but maybe I'm just mis-rembering. I tend to do that a lot. I wonder if the roads have been thinned out a little over winter? I actually feel like I could run this barefoot. I would go slower, of course, but as is, I'm still kind of hopping from side to side to get in the less stone-ier sections, whereas Dan and other shod folk can just go full speed ahead.

Maybe I could do this whole thing barefoot next year, but honestly, I'm liking being able to go at this pace. Another thing I could probably work at, of course, since I'm sure someone like Barefoot KenBob (the guru of barefoot running) could zip right over this terrain. But mentally, I know I can do a half -marathon no problem, so no need to conserve energy. I've actually thought that a half-marathon is maybe the ideal distance for an amateur runner. Two hours seems a reasonable amount of time to run without total exhaustion. A marathon wipes me out for the rest of the day, mentally and physically. A half-marathon seems like a reasonable distance to train for, without taking too much time away from other things, and the length is enough where a runner needs endurance, but short enough that speed can still be a factor. But, I say that as a marathon runner. Someone who has only run a 5K might say a half would exhaust her. And those damn Kenyans would have finished a marathon by now.

Actually not. Based on our watches and the mile markers, we're going at a decent clip. In fact, we end up passing the guy I talked to before the race. I thought he would be way ahead of me, but this is the pace he planned on, so I'm feeling pretty good. Surprising. Maybe I should just run half-marathons. Better for my ego. The pace we're keeping puts me just almost to the edge of feeling winded, and on hills I'm losing breath and can't talk, but I don't stop, they're still doable.

Finally we've looped back around north, and come to the cut off to a trail that will be the last mile and a half. I remember it from last year, nice and soft and sandy, which is good for me, though I heard some shod folks complaining that the sand slowed them down. After that gravel, this feel like butter. The trails wide at first, an old two-track, but when it narrows, I take the lead in front of Dan and another guy who's been with us for a while, which feels weird. I thought I'd let them go first since, honestly, I'm having doubts about keeping this pace all the way. I'm feeling it in my thighs. But being in front of the pack, my male pride (or maybe it's just normal human pride) kicks in and I force myself to pick up the pace. Again, not longer strides, but lifting my feet faster. Dan gives me a “Finish strong!” and when a marine tells you that, you have to oblige.

We pass a couple more people, but everyone if friendly and encouraging. One younger guy ahead of me looks back and sees me coming, and as the trees open up into open campground, he speeds up and actually cuts in front of me, old track running trick. Ok, fair enough, I don't mind, kind of funny, but the joke is on both of us, since we thought we were almost to the end. But no, up another hill and through some trees, and I catch him. I can hear people cheering up there somewhere, and man, that really helps, really motivates somehow. Pride I guess, wanting to look strong at the end.

We do one last half loop through another section of campground. People are sitting in chairs, walking over to shower, doing camp stuff, not even really paying attention to us as we run right by. Strange. Trees open up into a meadow and there's the finish, a quarter mile away. Dan has come up next to me again, the other two guys are a little behind us. I look at him. “Ready?”

He looks as sweaty and flushed as I feel. “Oh no. You want to sprint to end?”

“Yep.”

“Alright.”

I give a little push, trying not to break out into a long stride, which would be very bad for my poor feet, but to pick up the pace, but we're on a dirt two-track again, basically soft dirt, so I start to open up. I may regret it later, with sore arches, but for now, gotta do it. Dan's right there. We're side by side, and people start cheering, which feels nice. We finish, and I'm only maybe a millimeter in front.

My blood is pumping so hard I can't hardly even hear the official, who tears off a section of our bibs and hands us water. We shake hands and yes, even hug, then walk under some shade and watch other folks come in. Time: 1:45. A little under what I did last year. A new PR. And I couldn't have done it without Dan pacing me the whole way, though he claims I was pacing him. I have to say, again, that normally I'm a fairly loner type runner, but with the right person, 'running social' really contributed to my 'good time,' in both senses of that phrase. This may seem obvious to some people, but it's kind of new to me.

We say goodbye, we may see each other up in Pinkney next month for the Woodstock running festivities, and head to my truck. Another thing about running with other people, I didn't feel like I was 'different' because of wearing huaraches. Usually I sort of feel like a freak, even if people are just genuinely curious about barefoot/minimalist running, but this race I just felt like a runner, period. Who knows, maybe at barefoot/minimalist running gets more common, this will be more commonplace.

As for my feet, they do feel pretty hammered. The arches a little sore. I'm not quite marathon exhausted, but I'm weary, though that could be my lack o' sleep catching up with me more than anything. I go home, ice my feet, eat a peach and some almonds, shower, then basically collapse into a long nap. When I get up, me feet are even more sore. Like, hard to walk sore. So, I do think my feet hit a little harder in minimalist footwear. I don't remember feeling this sore from Dexter/Ann Arbor Half Marathon a few months ago and I also didn't run as fast either. The main soreness is right at the top of the arch, just on the inside of each foot. I'll take it easy for a few days, no running, and I'm sure it'll be ok, but another potential goal would be to run a race like this, in huaraches, and feel no soreness at the end. I would love feedback from other barefoot runners on this, to see if they have gone through similar aches and pains.

Link to Barefoot Ted's site