Columbia Gorge Marathon

We're driving to the Columbia Gorge Marathon and I have no idea what the weather is going to be like. Right now we have rain. That bodes ill. I've brought two different jackets, but I'd prefer not to wear either one, because though they'll keep off the rain, they'll add to my sweat factor.

In the meantime the Gorge itself is starting to become visible: huge dark cliffs rising just to the right (south) and equally bigger shadows on the north side, though with more houses visible. Lots o' trophy homes over there.

But lo, as we pull into Hood River, the clouds are parting! We park at the Marina, where some yachts the size of my apartment building are docked, and I assess my clothing needs: I will take my 'shell' jacket, just to stay warm while we wait for the start, then hopefully leave it in my check bag. Hopefully. There's still an evil dark cloud to the north.

I'm also wearing my Luna Sandals for this one. Yep, I'm wussing out. Based on my experience with the Portland Marathon and the Run Like Hell Half-Marathon, the pavement around the Portland area has just been pretty rough, just too unpleasant to be running for four hours on. If I'm wrong, and I hope I am, I have the option to just take them off and go barefoot.

The problem? I just noticed this morning that one of my sandals is on the verge of blowout: these new versions have what's supposed to be an improvement: a small shallow circular area cut out of the bottom, where the knot from the (in this case) hemp rope feeds up through the hole between the toes. Apparently, some folks get really freaked out by that lumpy knot, so this shallow circle is supposed to give some space for the knot to 'nest.' I never had a problem with the knot in my last pair, and when I learned the new versions have this area, I remember my first thought was, Hm, seems like that thinner area might get torn more easily. Et voilà, three months after buying them, the knot has torn almost all the way through. After a quick stop at a party store (is that what they call them out here? Or am I betraying my Michiganderness?) I've got some duct tape, which, as everyone knows, fixes everything. I've placed small strips surrounding both the top and bottom of the hole, to hopefully stop the knot from bulging through. We'll see, especially if they get wet. But yeah, I'm very disappointed in this pair of Lunas.

The half-marathoners will start here, at the finish. Us full-marathoners have to get on a bus and get shipped a couple miles east, and up, where we'll start, at nine o'clock. Yes, I'm liking this marathon already. An actual sane start time. And get this: there's a taco bar at the finish. How cool is that?

So, on the bus, up to a visitor center. Steep road. Going to be killer on the quads coming back, because by the way, this is and 'out and back' race: We'll run about twelve miles east, paralleling the Columbia River, turn around, come back through this visitor center, then barrel down through the town of Hood River back to the Marina area. Some of it, like right here, is on a bike/hike trail, but most of it will be on actual roads, and the roads aren't closed off either, though we are assured that there won't be much traffic. But yeah, two lanes of runners, with vehicles in the middle. What could go wrong?

There's about two-hundred of us full marathoners, maybe more. I'm not sure on the halflings. Big enough that there will be a continuous stream of folks, but not too chaotic. I hope.

My friend Katherine is here, for her third marathon, and all three have been within two months time. She's insatiable, even though now that school has started back up, she hasn't been running as much. Both of us are nursing injuries. I know, you might then ask, why are we running? Because we're marathoners, and as long as the pain isn't anything tearing, game on!

She's wearing her VFFs. While we're waiting around, a woman comes up and asks to take our picture. She and her husband recently read Born To Run, and she's amazed to actually find someone wearing huaraches, so she wants to send him some pics. She's got some Merrill Trail Gloves, and says they've changed her life. Katherine tells her about the Portland Barefoot Running Society FaceBook page, so hopefully they'll both sign up and come out for one of our meetups. Yay, new recruits!

There are some other 'zero drop' shoes around, and well as at least two other runners with VFFs. So, the minimalist contingent is well represented. I'm looking at the bike trail we'll be on for the first five miles or so, and man, it looks pretty smooth. But still wet, and cold, so I wuss out. Though the air temp is not that cold actually, and no rain, so off comes the shell, leaving me with a wicking long sleeve, and a long sleeve tech shirt over it, as well as running pants (trousers for you Aussies and Brits—NOT underwear).

Ok, time to start. The announcer encourages us to move to the Start line, but only a few hard core people go up to the actual line. The rest of us don't want to be mistaken for people who are actually fast. And, with a small race like this (though, side note: why is this race small???? It's in a freaking gorgeous place, not far from a big city, and didn't cost that much! And it didn't even fill up!) the announcer merely says, Go! And we go!

Ha. With an immediate uphill. But, well, that spreads out the pack pretty quick. And yeah, this bike path is smooth. But I'm already running. But I tell Katherine, “I'm gonna run this part barefoot when we come back.”

The view. Amazing. We are up towards the top of the south side, and can look down on Hood River (the town, and the river itself, which runs north from Mt. Hood), and then east and west along the Columbia, with some sun, but also wild-looking grey swirly clouds. And the leaves are turning: oranges and reds mixed in with the many shades of evergreens. Cool air on the face. Perfect weather. Man, why don't I come out here and explore more? Oh yeah, I don't have a car anymore. And, have been wanting to explore Portland, have a city experience. And, if the rain were pouring down I'd probably be less enthused. Though I don't know. The Gorge is just gorgeous any way I look at it. This may beat out Missoula as most beautiful marathon I've run.

I guess this race benefits the local high school cross country and track teams, so the aid stations are manned by future recruits to the marathon madness. No mob to get water either, we're all spread out now. I do have my Amphipod bottle though, just to be able to drink when I want.

So far neither Katherine's nor my injuries are bothering us. That'll come later, after the race. For now, just a good solid pace, the uphill behind us, and a long long downhill, out of the recreation area (not sure if it's a state park or part of a National Forest) and down into the small town (population 240!) of Mosher. And yeah, once on regular roads, the pavement gets rougher. I'm glad to have my huaraches at this point. I know I know, what happened to my badass days? Gone. The wussman cometh.

And we're on regular roads, with regular traffic. Or, well, actually the cars on the road seem to be friends and family of runners, so therefore going very slow. Many are parked on the main street of Mosher, and they're generously cheering on everyone. That's nice. We're not going to have much of that on this race. Nope, this is one of those 'get in your head zone' runs, unless you can talk with someone. I again feel bad that I'm not that talkative with Katherine, but she's got her iPod Mini and headbuds in, grooving. Though, we do have some short convos with people along the way, just people saying hello as we all lean into our first real big hill out of town.

Up up up. Not steep, no one is walking, but it goes for a while. This may not be my fastest marathon. And that's ok. Again, the view, the colors. Now that we're getting further east, the terrain is changing a bit, looking, to me, a bit like Idaho, with less thick woods, and more pines and open meadows. Also a bit like, to me, northern California, with the oak trees in those meadows. Bringing back memories of wildland firefighter days, but not unreasonable to see these things in this area. We are, after all, close to both Idaho and Northern California. Much different than back in Michigan, where I've been for some years. I'm much happier to be out here, back in the west!

And then a downhill, right where the halflings will be turning around at an aid station. And soon, can it be? Already? We start to see runners coming back the other way, on the other side of the road. Really? When we're just at Mile 7? That just doesn't seem right, and the people we're seeing don't seem to be running that fast, and don't like like the sleek marathoners one would normally see at the front. The only thing I can figure is that they're part of the 'early start' pack. But then more runners appear, and some of them do start to like like the emaciated marathon types, and they do seem to be running faster than I. So, I don't know. Odd. Maybe some people just decided to turn around? Like, 'Screw this!'

On the uphill to the turn around, Katherine tells me to go on ahead, that she's feeling the need to go a little slower. Ok. We will meet at the taco bar!

I speed up a little, but only a little. Enough to catch some people on this uphill. Yeah, fatigue is setting in for all of us. But coming up to Ravencrest Point, a small parking lot/scenic point, with an amazing view of the rolling hills to the east, I feel a little energized. I'm not alone. A young woman cheering us on, one of the cross country people I'm sure, yells out, “You guys are leaving here running faster! Amazing!' Ha ha, we'll see how long it lasts, mon amie.

I cross paths with Katherine who's just coming in, not that far behind. She's smiling, grooving on tunes. Man, when I ran my first marathon I had no clue that one could actually run more than one marathon in a year. I thought it took a year to recover and train for the next one!

Also here are two state highway workers manning flags out on the road. I nod to one guy and we share a smile. He sees my huaraches. “Damn man, you got the coolest shoes out here!'

I smile. “Thanks!”

Nibbling on raisins, I descend back into the long downhill. I'm feeling good. Keeping a steady pace. I've actually forgotten my watch, so have no idea of my time, which is kinda nice. Not that I'd want to be running any faster at this point. It'll be what it'll be. I'm just having fun.

Down down down. Up up up. And down down down into Mosher again. And here, when the bike path starts, I can resist no longer: off with the huaraches! Interestingly, I immediately start taking smaller strides. Or, ha ha, hardly a 'stride' with this hill. More like baby steps. But running still, and with no loss in speed. My cadence automatically increases. Something to remember: just how much even wearing huaraches changes my running style, with just a little bit more heel striking, I think.

But no one, or at least no one around me, is walking this hill. We all just keep on with the penguin waddle. I end up running with one woman who has run this marathon like eleven times. She seems like she's got plenty o' marathons under her belt, so I ask if she ran the recent Portland Marathon.

“No. I ran the 10K. I didn't train for it. But I didn't really train for this one either.”

“Yeah, if you've run enough marathons, it becomes more of a mental thing.”

“Exactly. You know you can finish. It's just a question of how much it'll hurt.”

She and I bump back and forth, then I bump back and forth with someone else. We're all strung out pretty far apart by now, but I find myself running faster on the downhill's than most of the shod folks. One guy, looks like some kind of military, passes me and says, “You're an animal!”

That's the kind of comment I like! Not like another guy that passes me, turns slightly and says, “I'm sure you've gotten plenty of comments about your feet, so I won't make one.”

Ok...can we get more passive-aggressive? But I just smile and say, “Alright.”

Man this is a long hill. But we eventually top out and start the long downhill all the way to town. We pass the Start line at the visitor center. The tent is still up and the youth are still cranking the PA music, though there's no aid station or anything. They're just hanging out.

And yeah, this downhill is pretty steep. Nice of the organizers not to make us run up this one. Too bad the halflings had to. I'm no longer running faster downhill than the shodheads, but at least I know I'm not alone in being in pain, with almost-exploding quads. And the pavement is now rougher again, but I'm not going back to huaraches. Barefoot to the end! Ouch! Ok, well, I'll run on this center line for a bit, until we get down into town, and we're flagged off onto the sidewalks. Ok, fine by me!

Zigging and zagging through the streets. Crossing Hood River once, then down by the freeway, and back across a pedestrian suspension bridge right at the river mouth, where the water is strong and brown and flowing fast. Almost there! I can see the park. But no, we zig to the left. Argh, we have to run around the city park first! Just let it end! And, it's on a gravel road! Nooooo! But, it's muddy! And soft! Ok! A little added pleasure of splashing through muddy puddles. No one around me. I speed up, not wanting to get passed at this point. A couple more turns and into a flagged off 'chute', on muddy grass. One guy ahead of me. Ok, sorry dude, but you just became my last goal. Must. Pass. Dude.

And I do, coming around a bend, in full on sprint over the great, no need to worry about small stride here!

And over the line. The announcer states, anti-climatically, “Good job John.”

We all get hand crafted medals, ceramic, locally made. No slaves in China were used. Nice touch.

I do some yoga stretches. The sky is now dark grey, and a slight drizzle has begun. I change into my dry clothes and go into the heated tent because, oh yes, that taco bar is calling my name. And, bonus: hot cider. I am kinda in heaven right now.

4:19. 90th overall. 9th in my age group. I'm a little disappointed, but hell, with those hills, I'll take it. I gotta get older though, so there's less dudes in my age category. The awards are starting, and two of the women I ran with, including the one who didn't train, have placed in their categories. Also cool: the woman who wins the 60+ age category, and she's the only woman in that category, finished before me, and does not look over 60. Overall winner for women ran it in 3:26 I think, and overall men's in 2:50-ish.

And Katherine zips in just before the deluge begins! She's hurting, but she finished! Third marathon ever! She too partakes of the holy taco bar. Up next? Seattle Marathon in about a month.

Now the long drive back to Portland, trying not to have all my muscles freeze up.

Run Like Hell! Half Marathon

I don’t know if I’m up for this half marathon. I wasn’t going to run it, due to just trying to watch my money, and pick and choose races (opting for marathons at this point) but someone offered their bib at the last minute, free, and I can’t argue with free, but it’s interesting: If I weren’t running this half, I’d be doing my weekly long run of 15-16 miles, though at a much slower pace. And, if I’m at all going to get serious about running another 100M next summer, maybe I should be putting in extra miles. But, a half marathon is an opportunity to get some speed work in. Or, speed for me. Faster than normal anyways, so using some different muscles. And again, free.

But my running buddy Katherine is running late, waiting for a third person who shall not be named. So I’m sitting here in my dark apartment, waiting, tired, wanting to just go back to sleep. Maybe I just haven’t had the time to mentally psych myself up for this.

Katherine and her shuttle van finally arrive. Yikes, we’re cutting it a little close. Race starts at 7:45 and it’s 7:10! But she zips us downtown and we park and get down to Pioneer Square, where the races start and end. The Half starts first, and the 10K starts a half hour or 45 minutes later. I’m not sure but there might be a 5K too. We get in line for the Honey Buckets, which is odd because, instead of lining out along a completely empty cordoned off road, people have lined out in the opposite direction, out onto Yamhill Road, which is not shut off at all, just doesn’t have traffic at this particular moment. Sheep. We’re all sheep.

Katherine and I get through the Honey Buckets quickly, but The Nameless One is taking a long long time. And, he’s left his bag with us. If he’d taken it, we could’ve just left. He’s running in the 10K so doesn’t seem to have a sense of urgency. When he finally gets out, we give him his bag, make quick vague arrangements on where to meet (“By the beer”) and zip over to the bag drop-off, for which there is also a line. Argh. Announcements are coming over the PA, telling Half runners to start lining up. In line, we briefly run into another member of the Portland barefoot contingent, Chris, who is also running the 10K. We’ll meet up with him later.

I finally get my bag checked, opting to keep my sweatshirt-ish thing for a second layer, because by the way, it’s raining. Yep, welcome to Portland. And it’s cold. And it’s not until we’re walking over to the starting area that I realize that I forgot to take off my huaraches and put them in the bag. Doh. Well, hell. I mean, I could carry them, and might even very well opt to use them on what I now know are the rough Portland roads, and if the weather were any nicer, I’d do that, but right now, the rain is coming down, my feet are freezing already, and I can’t imagine standing on wet pavement would feel any better. Ok, forget pride and principle: I’ll run this one shod, even though it’s overkill: I’m wearing my Luna Leadvilles, super thick rubber meant for longer distance and rough terrain. Well, since I don’t have to worry about road roughness, I have no excuse not to run fast. My goal? Under 1:50

But we are not starting on time. Instead, we are standing in the cold rain, unable to hear the announcers, who seem not to realize this. We should have started ten minutes ago. On the other hand, this is a great opportunity to look around at the people, because by the way, this is a costume race! The theme this year is superheroes, and there are plenty. All kinds of Batmen and Batwomen, Supermen and Superwomen (or girls, there never was a Superwoman in the comics), and with some Flashes, Green Lanterns, Catwomen. The guy next to me is Wolverine. And, Portland being Portland, even more obscure stuff, like The Tick, the Ambiguously Gay Duo (two different duos), a group of Powderpuff Girls. Ninja Turtles. Superchicken. Lara Croft. Also, perhaps my favorite, a Hunter S. Thompson with a red cape, with the guy playing it in character.

And it’s not just superheroes: There’s a group of Rainbow Unicorns. A zombie family. A group of sharks. A woman dressed as a Tri-Met train. A Bullwinkle. I’m feeling a wee bit lame. The Nameless One is going as a Native American. Katherine is Dorothy. I’ve had Katherine draw a cat nose and whiskers on my face, so I can at least be a black cat. A tailless black cat. I don’t know, I’m just not an extrovert, though I love seeing everyone out and being fun and weird. Especially, holy yowza Batman, there’s a rocking sexy Zorro woman, with half her fake breasts hanging out. I love Halloween: the only time of the year when woman can dress as sexy as they really want to, without damage to their reputations. Or dress silly. The guys just look silly though. Guy in Superman outfit? Silly. Woman in superman outfit? Hot.

Ok, finally! We start! North at first, around downtown, then south on Naito Parkway. Still raining, though some sun starting to appear to the east. My Leadvilles are ok. Definitely don’t have to worry about what I’m stepping on. I’m trying to maintain good running form, though running faster than normal, and therefore can’t help but have a longer stride. They’re at least not slippery when wet, that new custom lace Luna makes really keeps the soles tight against the feet, without any discomfort. I am slapping a lot though.

I’ve seen a few Vibram Five Fingers in the crowd. People seem as freaked out by my huaraches than if I were barefoot, with a few snide ‘Ouch’ comments, and one guy, on passing, seeing the 50K on my sweatshirt, asks kind of passive-aggressively, “You don’t run ultras in sandals, do you?”

I just stare ahead and say, “Yes.” I don’t know what people expect me to say to a question phrased that way. But, here I am getting grumpy, when really, I’m feeling good. The rain has stopped, the sun is even coming out, I’m warmed up. I’ve lost Katherine. One of her ankles has been bothering her, and we had already planned to separate pretty quickly. I hope she’s ok though. We’re going to be running the Columbia Gorge Marathon next weekend!

The route takes us up, up into the hills, above PSU, near the VA, with some nice paved bike/running trails in the trees, along quiet roads. I’ll have to come back up here and explore sometime. In fact, wow, this is a long uphill. But now we ‘peak out’ and head down Tewilliger (I think? sp?). I try to let gravity do its work, and let myself be pulled fast downhill, but really I’ve been going pretty fast already (for me) and I can kind of feel it in the feets—slapping them down hard. And the road here isn’t that bad at all. I think I really could have run this barefoot with no cost to my speed. Even the rougher road parts have had convenient paint strips that I could have utilized. Well, the Leadvilles are still not slipping, and it’s a good opportunity to try them out in another kind of way.

Somewhere in here we’ve gone halfway. I check my watch. Under fifty minutes. Ok, good, that puts me under two hours for sure, and probably around my usual 1:45. I was wondering about the long uphill, how it would affect my time, but this long downhill helps make up for it.

Back up Naito Parkway the other way, waving hello to the homeless people who slept under the overpasses. What must they think of all this? Decadent middle-class luxury.

The weather is much better. Sun! Too bad everyone’s clothes are now soaked, especially costumes. Plenty of people with sopping wet capes clinging to their backs. Ick.

At this point, the 10K course comes in from the west and joins up with us, which is a little....not annoying, not frustrating, but....after running 10 miles, I’m feeling weary, and here come all these super fast runners whizzing by.

But wait, can it be? Yes, a train is actually crossing the road, and everyone is forced to just stop and wait. Wow. That’s some good planning for the course. The timing company has put some timing pads before and after the tracks, so supposedly they can erase the wait time off of our official time, but having to stop and wait kind of sucks something out of everyone mentally. Or, it does to me, because now all those people I passed in the last mile have caught up and are in front of me again. Good thing the train was really important: just four engines linked together, going very very sloooowly. As soon as they pass, runners are zipping under the lowered gates, lights still flashing.

Some twists and turns through downtown, and suddenly from 4 miles to go we’re at 1.1 miles to go! Ok John, time to kick out the jams. Finish strong!

Pass pass pass. Weird to see some people actually walking at this point, just physically kaput. or probably mentally. But they’re so close! I want to say to them, just keep jogging! Baby steps! Penguin waddle in!

There’s the finish! Same as the start. The course is now kind of crowded as we get narrowed down and the halfers and 10Kers mush together. I have to do some more whipping and dipping like at the beginning. Not a full on sprint, no room for that, nor maybe inclination, but at least still strong to the end.

Et voilà, le fin! Check the watch: 1:44. Ok, cool, I’ll take that. That’s about my average. Good to know I still got it.

Festivities are going on in Pioneer Park. A band playing, the whole area crowded, with people enjoying their two free IPA beers for finishing, plus veggie chili (I love Portland that way) and whole grain bread slices. Still cold. I get my bag and take off my wet top layers, which helps. And, I eventually come across Chris, who directs me over to the Barefoot table. He and the Nameless One have been there a while, and I get to meet another member of the Portland BRS, Daniel, dressed at a Hawaiian dancer, with coconut bra and everything. And Katherine eventually comes in, though nursing that hurting ankle. Still, she finished.

We hang around for the race awards, then the costume awards, hosted by The Joker, who is funny, and people’s costumes are funny. Seriously, only in Portland. Maybe San Francisco I suppose, but for example, the Detroit Marathon always happens around Halloween, and costumes are suggested, but most people don’t dress up. They’re boring like me. I guess I need to be less boring. Next year. Maybe I can finally indulge all those crossdressing fantasies I’ve had.

The costume contests are ok, but I’m cold, and sore, and tired of standing up. It’s been a good day so far, but I’m ready to get on to other things. The good thing about a half-marathon (versus a full) is that one can actually have the rest of the day and not be bed-ridden with fatigue. And so, we all say goodbye and head out.

Portland Marathon!

The weather continues to be fantastic here in Portland, in the first week of October. Someday soon it’ll get rainy, but right now we have another clear day. Still a little dark here downtown, the sun just starting to rise, as we gather in our corrals for the start of the Portland Marathon. I’m in shorts, and I soon ditch my sweatshirt to the bag check volunteers (note: a separate bag check in each corral is a great idea!) leaving me in just one wicking shirt, and yes, a little chilly, but not unreasonably so, and we’ll soon be warming up.

I’m also barefoot, which normally (though what is normal when barefoot running is involved?) wouldn’t be a...doubt, I guess, though in my couple months here in Portland so far, I’ve found that the roads, the actual pavement, not the sidewalks, seems to be a little rough, to the point where I was considering at least carrying my huaraches in a drink pouch, if the roughness got to the point where it was affecting my normal speed. But, yesterday, I happened to run with Barefoot Todd, up from California, and joining our Portland Barefoot Runners meet-up. He’s run twenty zillion marathons barefoot and said that this course is “very barefoot friendly.” So, with that advice, I’m just going barefoot, no backup, come what may.

I’m joined once again by my new running buddy here, Katherine, who I conned into running the Forest Park Marathon only two weeks ago. Her first! And here she is again, for more long-distance torture and merriment. She’s wearing her VFFs, and we’ve already spotted a couple other VFFers in the crowd.

Our corral is one of the later-starting ones, which we are kind of committed to (the marathon police are pretty strict around here) and though we both think we could bump up to an earlier starting one, the advantage of being back here is that we’ll be passing people most of the race: a good psychological boost.

The corrals are sectioned off in kind of a circle to the start line, so we’re not even in a long line, and can hardly hear the official start. As our block of folks moves up to the start, I’m surprised at the...lack of festiveness. No loud PA cranking inspiring music. The announcer is just a guy kind of standing off to the side, with no real announcements, except when he comes on a man and woman at the head of our pack dressed in a tuxedo and a wedding dress: they’re going to get married at Mile 20! That’s awesome. I generally disapprove of marriage, but if you have to, that’s the way to do it.

And without much ado, some volunteers lower the rope in front of us, and we’re off! And we can actually run right from the start, since we waited a bit after the previous group, so there’s space for the faster folks to take off. Which we do.

Hard to stay together and pass people, since other slower people are clustering in their own groups, so Katherine and I kind of duck and weave around people as we all loop around downtown and out to Naito Parkway, the main road that runs along the Willamette River on the west. There’s actually a riverwalk type park, with a bike path, etc, but we’re out on the road, and since this section is a quick out and back heading south, we get to see the leaders of the pack coming back on the left. All the skinny guys (and soon some gals) with no body fat. I tell Katherine that I keep waiting for all my extra body fat to fall away, and she says, ‘You mean you wish you were young again?’

“Um, yeah....”

Anyways, watching them, I feel like there’s some kind of optical illusion going on, because they don’t seem to be going that fast. Certainly not an all out sprint. I guess it’s because they’re so relaxed-looking, when actually they’re probably hauling ass.

As I suspected/feared, the pavement is a little on the rough side. So I’m doing my best to seek out the painted lines, either in the middle of the road or the side, which sometimes requires some whipping and dipping and passing. Katherine is better off, and in fact is helpful in pointing out lines for me, going into what I’ll soon call ‘pilot fish mode,’ swinging back and forth on either side of me depending where I need to run. Although we ended up separating towards the end of the last marathon, this one we’re hoping to stay together on, if only because finding each other at the end might be impossible. Though seriously, it’s good to have someone I know, who’s the same speed and ability, and also a barefoot/minimalist runner!

We head north up into the industrial area for another short out and back. And on the way back, we come upon another barefooter! I don’t recognize him, he hasn’t been at any of the BF meet-ups, so must be going rogue. I try to ironically say to him, ‘Hey, nice shoes!’ but I’m not sure he sees that I’m barefoot, and so does what I might do, go into defensive mode, thinking I’m making fun of him. In any case, doesn’t seem in the mood to chat, which I respect. Much focus is needed running on this rough pavement, and he doesn’t even seem to be using the paint lines.

We also come upon someone in huaraches. They look huge on him, so I ask as I pass if they’re homemade, but no, he says they’re Lunas. So with the VFF wearers we’ve seen, we barefoot/minimalistas are fairly represented.

At this point the half-marathoners split off and head back into downtown, while the rest of us take a right and head north again. Oddly, at least for me, because I didn’t know until like two days ago, the route is actually going up into my neighborhood, to within a block of my apartment. Unfortunately, I don’t have to go to the bathroom. Seems a waste not to take advantage of being able to use my own actual bathroom. But then I’d probably want to stop and get a drink and toast a bagel and lie down for a little bit, so maybe it’s better this way.

We lope down onto the Mt. Hood road, which I think is also Highway 30 at this point (? I’m still learning the territory) which is where the Hood To Coast race come through. Was that only like six weeks ago? Seems like a lifetime already. I’ve had so many adventures here in Portland! If you’re reading this, drop everything and move here!

And now for a little uphill, as we all head to the St. John’s Bridge. Katherine and I are both pretty strong trail runners, so while everyone else starts walking, we bag dozens of ‘roadkills’ (H2C slang for passing someone), and as an added bonus, I can jump up on the sidewalk. Ah...nice smooth cement.

And wow, the view from the bridge is just amazing. All of Portland visible in the early morning light, with the huge Willamette River heading north to join up with the huger Columbia River. Perhaps even more beautiful: the stream of runners on either side. All these fit people give me faith in humanity. They could be home watching Dancing With The Stars on TiVo, eating Doritos, but no, they’re out here, challenging themselves. And, we’re challenging each other. A tribe, out for the big mammoth hunt. Or something like that....

We take a right and start our way back south, via neighborhood roads, and this is where the first real large groups of spectators appear. I’m of course getting lots of ‘good job barefooter!’ comments, which is nice. It may be my imagination, but I swear that here (versus back in Michigan) I’m getting less, basically none, passive-aggressive comments, or those comments from people twenty feet behind who sorta kinda think you can’t hear them when they say, ‘That’s crazy!’ Instead, I feel like that, while people are still noting my barefootedness, it’s more either as an observation, or as a compliment. I guess it’s that, here in Portland, I’m just another weirdo. Which is nice.

Also, some of the comments I hear are, ‘There’s another barefoot runner!’ So I think there’s yet another rogue barefooter out here. An actual fast one.

The road continues to be rough. Ok, well John, time to just suck it up. But note to self: never believe what California barefoot runners say about road barefoot friendliness. And/or, California barefoot runners might all just be super badasses.

But, the good news is that from here on into downtown, it’s mostly downhill! And Katherine and I still seem to be placed well in the pack. We’re now more with people of our speed and ability, still passing some folks. Not being passed much has been nice. And, now that we’re at Mile 20, people are starting to stop and walk and/or stretch. The Wall has begun. This is where the mental strength comes in. And gotta give Katherine credit, she’s sticking with it. I think if I weren’t here she’d be going a little slower. Though, hell, the reverse might be true as well: I’m feeling pretty stiff and sore. Without her here as my pilot fish, I might go into my trudge zone. Having someone with me gives me this sense of responsibility. Like, I gotta help her finish! Unasked for I know, and she may at this point be thinking, ‘Goddammit, I just wish he’d get the hell away from me so I could freaking slow down!’ But neither of us is quite into ‘penguin waddle’ mode, we’re still running, if slowly and stiffly.

By the way, someone has thrown rose pedals in the road, so I think the wedding has happened, or it happening, but I don’t ever see the actual ceremony. Good luck to both of you! Don’t think about the fact that half of all marriages now end in divorce. La la la!

A slight uphill gets us onto the Broadway Bridge, with another great view of the city, and over into downtown. Weirdly, suddenly, we seem to have gone from Mile 20, to now Mile 25. That went fast. I guess the pain helped distract me. Katherine is right with me. I’m actually more excited about her finishing than me finishing. The streets are lined with people now, though all mostly quiet, just looking for people they know. So, uncharacteristically for me, I raise my hands to get them to make some noise. And they respond, roaring. With some ‘Go barefoot runner!’ yells as well. Whew. How embarrassing would it have been if they’d ignored me? But the crowd roar is nice, carrying us through to, yep, there it is, the Finish line!

4:19 for both of us. I’ll take it! Whew, I’m tired, though we both pass the visual inspection from the medical folks waiting for us, looking for people who may be about to pass out. We collect out shiny medals, our finisher t-shirts (another great idea!), plus a memorial coin and bracelet charm (wtf?)(don’t think about how all this stuff was made in China by slave labor—just don’t think about it) and filter along the food tables, though really, once we collapse on the sidewalk with everyone else for a little bit, and can walk somewhat normally, what we really are craving is a late breakfast of ginger pancakes. Onward to our victory feast!

Forest Park Marathon

This is never going to happen again in my life probably, but I am actually walking from my door, two blocks to a marathon. This is the advantage of living near the Forest Park Conservancy, in northwest Portland. I’ve already been running miles and miles on its trails, but when I saw the sign for this marathon, I couldn’t resist, even with the perhaps steep price of $150, since I’ll be saving money on not having to drive, and all proceeds go to supporting the Park, which I’d want to do anyways. Plus, in a raffle before the race, I actually won a $150 gift certificate to a running store! Another thing that will never happen in my life again.

I still somehow have to get up at five in the morning though, but ok. After forcing down a bagel and peanut butter, I grab my stuff and simply walk over to Montgomery Park, a huge office complex, and a well-know landmark around Portland. Here I get on one of the shuttle busses to take us to the actual start of the marathon. The half-marathoners will be starting an hour later in Macleay Park, my normal entry point into Forest Park, only four blocks up the street from me, and we’ll all end there as well.

As usual, I’m one of the early arrivers. Just my personality. I like to plan in case something goes wrong. But really there’s no advantage to being so early, since the bus merely dumps us at a dirt road farther north, where we wait around in the cold dark.

I’d thought there were going to be 100 marathoners, but as start time approaches, we seem less than that. Fortunately I actually have someone to talk to: my friend Katherine, who I met on the “Prepare To Die” BRS meet-up about a month ago. This is her first marathon. It was going to be the Portland Marathon, but I conned her into doing this one, as a ‘training run’ for the Portland Marathon in two weeks.

Katherine is another barefoot/minimalist runner, and is sporting her VFFs today. I’m trying out my new Leadvilles, the heavy duty huarache from Barefoot Ted’s Luna Sandals. I know some of the trails up in here are fairly rocky, and we’ll be on some gravelly roads, so I want to give 6mm of rubber a try.

Surprisingly, we spot a few other minimalist runners. Mostly folks with VFFs, though most interestingly is a woman wearing Crocs! I don’t know if that counts as minimalist or not, but I’m totally interested. Katherine talks to her, and the ‘Croc Lady’ says she’s been running in Crocs for seven years now, and that she just doesn’t like the toe sockets of the VFFs, though didn’t seem to be aware of minimalist shoes like Merrells, etc. I never do get to ask her why/how she started running in Crocs though.

And without much ado, and the sun just coming up, the head of the Forest Park Conservancy yells ‘Go!’, and we go!

The good news about this route, which I didn’t realize until just this morning, is that, after this first bit on gradual dirt roads, the rest of the route will be on the long Wildwood Trail, and mostly downhill-ish. Yes!

And the roads up here in the north part of the Park are way less gravelly than the section of Leif Erickson Road that I sometimes run on in the south section. My Leadvilles handle the rocks easily. I can still feel the occasional bumps, but these soles are thick! That said, Katherine is doing fine in her VFFs, running on the edge of the road where the rocks are less.

The road is indeed gradual. Enough to keep us slow and not overexert ourselves right at the start, but not so steep as to be annoying. We even pick up another VFFer after a while, a guy down from Seattle running his first marathon as well. Dude’s got like four kids, including a newborn. I don’t see how people like that can stay active enough to run marathons, but right on.

Although the northwest industrial area of Portland runs basically parallel to the north of Forest Park, and the industrial noise-hum is more noticeable down where I live, right now all I can really hear is birds, and the heavy breathing of other runners. It’s nice starting this trail marathon on a dirt road, so there’s been no bottle-necking, and runners have dispersed easily according to their ability.

At the eight mile mark, or so, we get to the first aid station, which is at the northern most part of the route (and Park too I think). From here, the five or six of us in our ‘group’ line out, with Katherine leading, and head up a short side trail, which soon puts us on the Wildwood Trail. This trail runs the length of Forest Park, basically along the ‘spine’ (ie at roughly the highest points) and only right at the end will we turn off to head to Macleay Park and the end. I’m glad to be seeing this territory up to the north here, so I can start to form some longer runs of my own.

And it’s true: Although there are of course some small ‘ups’ the trail generally seems to be going either level, or downhill-ish. If it holds, this will be good! And we’re off the gravel! The trail is really hard, compact, dirt, but mostly gravel and rock free. This would be basically good barefoot terrain, though down at the south end the trail maintenance folks tend to dump gravel in sections, I think as some form of erosion control.

Our pace so far is slow and steady, which I’m all for. Not getting passed, and not passing many people, so about perfect. The only problem seems to be footing: Both Katherine and I take some spills. My Leadvilles seem to be a little longer than I’m used too, or I’m just not quite used to them (a review of them soon to come, btw) so that the tip can catch on a rock sticking out. That, and/or I’m just a wee bit clumsy.

But, we seem to be going a little slower than the rest of our group wants, as they eventually all pass us as a pack, including Croc Lady. Katherine is doing well, though I think mentally starting to feel those doubts as we pass beyond 13.1 miles and into uncharted territory for her. I take the lead and bump our pace up a little, and she seems game, and we end up with a couple other runners in the vicinity.

At about Mile 16 though, Katherine really wants to deploy her iPod and hear some music, which I understand. At this point I think she needs tunes more than me for moral support, so we agree to separate. I feel bad for abandoning her, but I think she feels bad for holding me back, and we’d agreed ahead of time that we would both just run at our normal pace. I know she’ll be fine though.

I pick up the pace a little, enough to catch up to a guy we’d been seeing off and on. He’s got a weird technique, and/or he’s just got super long legs, because he hardly looks like he’s moving at all, but I have a hell of a time keeping up with him. But that ends up inspiring me to run faster, and in fact, weirdly, I find myself with energy. Instead of my normal ‘penguin waddle to the finish after burning out early’ I’m actually still running. I think this is in large part to the still general downhill of the trail, though also perhaps to my Leadvilles, which allow me to be not so dainty when doing downhill: I can simply let gravity work for me, and not have to worry about poking my foot. Which...leads to the question: whither my barefoot running? Because if I was doing this barefoot, I’d still be picking my way along that gravel roads.

What I mean is, do I remain pure to barefooting, because it feels good, or do I go ‘heavy duty minimalist’ with Leadvilles and thereby increase my speed. And: by being able to barrel down these downhills, am I falling back into the potential injury zone that ‘normal’ shoes bring, where I’m putting more stress on my joints? But I still feel like I’m running light, picking up my feet rather than slamming them down. I don’t know. It’s seems to be a question of, do I want to be a barefoot runner (in which case I run slower) or a runner (and thereby choose barefooting or minimalist, or whatever, as an option).

If that makes sense? Because, I like races. I don’t view them so much as competition as ‘group efforts’, where we inspire each other to run better, in the same way going to a yoga class makes one a better yoga practitioner than merely doing yoga at home. But maybe there is some competition, because I don’t just want to be at the end of the pack, and get to the Finish when the organizers are already packing everything up (which has happened while doing a trail run barefoot). And going minimalist (at least on trail runs, not really on pavement) helps me ‘go faster’ and keep up with shodheads. I’d love it if I could keep up on trails with people with shoes, but I just don’t think that’s every going to happen. And I want to be a part of organized trail runs.

I know, shoes/footwear are a tool, to be used if the situation calls for it. But what exactly does ‘the situation calling for it’ mean? And I bet it means different things to different barefoot runners.

These are the thought ramblings of a (barefoot/minimalist) runner twenty miles into a marathon....

As I get into the south part of Forest Park, more ‘normal’ people are appearing—people just out for their normal runs, since the Park is not at all closed off for this race. This doesn’t slow things down, and there are no crashes, though this probably wasn’t the best day for some high school cross country team to be up here running ‘against the stream’ of marathoners.

My energy level stays high. I’m amped, running faster now than at some points in the first half. Maybe this is what the whole ‘run the second split faster than the first’ strategy is about? Or, again, the downhills help. As long as I can keep lifting my feet fast enough, I can keep barreling down, which in turn kind of inspires me run faster in the straight-aways. Or did I finally find the right combination of food to eat yesterday? Or is it the bagel and peanut butter from this morning? I don’t know, but I’m digging it. I even finally pass Legs McGee, both of us wondering if we might actually finish under five hours, which would be way under a PR for me on a trail marathon.

I’m even passing some people that passed me earlier, including that VFFer from Seattle, who’s now walking. Oy. I hope he’s just resting and not burnt out. And now I’m in familiar territory, the part of the Wildwood Trail I’ve run on, with all the side trails, like Dogwood and Wild Cherry. I know exactly where I’m going, and when I get to the old stone building, I don’t even need the friendly volunteer pointing me to the extreme left and saying, ‘Less than a mile to go!’

All downhill from here, baby! Time to kick it into overdrive!

Of course not even this trail is closed off, and it’s a popular one, so there are all kinds of normal people out for a Saturday stroll, though at this point they all seem aware that there’s a race going on and get out of my way. Still, weird, since I’m like the only runner I’ve seen for a while, and I don’t catch up to any. But voilà, there’s Macleary Park, with the finish line, and a kind of pathetic-looking crowd of about twenty people. But, they clap and cheer, and I sprint across the line.

5:01! Ha! Just missed getting under five. Well, like I said, that’s a PR for trail marathons, by like a half hour! And I really do feel good. Or, well, now I feel kinda exhausted.

And, two minutes after I finish, they start raffling off some free stuff and I’m the first winner! I get a free jar of ‘trail butter’, some kind of peanut/almond/cashew butter with other goodies mixed in for supposedly long slow-burning energy for a race. Well, ok.

The race results come up almost immediately on some handy iPads at a table. Along with my time, I find that I’m the 28th marathoner, and 7th in my age group.

I think the festivities were more festive when the half-marathoners were coming in, since there were more of them, but there are yet some half-marathon walkers coming in. It’s a nice day to just sit down (finally!) on the lawn in the sun and watch runners come in, though they are few and far between. Katherine comes in a half-hour later. Yes! Her first marathon! She did it! And in way better condition that I was when I did my first one.

She also adds another possibility as to my quick finish: that the route might not be in fact 26.2 miles. While she started her Garmin a little late, it registers as her having gone 23 miles and some change. Who knows though, with all the twists and turns in a hilly area like this.

We wait around and rest, trying to decide if pancakes sound like a good idea or not. Still not that many runners coming in, which is odd. Half the pack is still out there. I don’t ever see the VFFer from Seattle come in. Man, I hope he didn’t just walk the rest of it. Overhearing the organizers, sounds like some people are dropping out at some of the aid stations.

Well, time to go. I thank the race organizer for a fun run. And it was. Well-organized, not so big that the trail was bottle-necked, but enough people to be inspired to run well. And for a good cause.

The best part? After saying goodbye to Katherine (we’re going to see the Portland Cello Project later tonight!) I can simply walk four blocks back to my apartment and get in a hot bath.

Hood To Coast!

Hood To Coast! A 200 mile, two day, relay run starting from Mt. Hood, and going all the way to the Oregon coast. I’d heard of it even before moving to Portland, and knew at some point that I wanted to do it, but with all the apartment hunting and exploring of the city, I didn’t realize the race was actually happening this week until, like, a week ago, by which time it seemed impossible to me that I could sign up. But, I was informed by certain running contacts that teams sometimes need runners at the last minute, and that the best thing I could do was leave my weekend open and tell everyone I knew I was interested, and to check online.

Both the H2C forums associated with the race website, and the FaceBook page, had teams and runners posting info. The forums page didn’t seem to be working, but through sheer chance, I came across a guy named James on FB posting that his team needed a runner, yesterday, the day before the race! I put my name and number and lo and behold, he called, asking if I’d be interested. I of course said yes, and after quickly signing up through the website, I was in! With a group of complete strangers!

The H2C website explains the race, and the rules, and there’s a recent documentary about the race, for those interested. The basics are that each team has twelve runners, who each run three ‘legs’ of varying lengths (four to seven miles) and difficulty (uphill, downhill, length, etc.). Each team submits their estimated pace times beforehand, and based on the overall team pace, is assigned a start time on Friday. I think the way it goes is that slower teams start earlier, so that, ideally, everyone finishes on the beach in Seaside at roughly around the same time, Saturday afternoonish.

Each team has two vans. Our van number #1, with runners one through six, started at 12:15 at Mt. Hood, which is wonderful because, as runner #9, I don’t have to meet up with my fellow van members until 2:30 this Friday afternoon. Finally a race where I don’t have to get up at crazy-thirty!

I get to the house of the Van #2 leader, Bud, a little early, but not too early, and am surprised to be the first one there. I thought he would be one of the runners, but it turns out a recent medical problem has bumped him out, though he will still drive. Instead, his wife Veronica is running his spot, though she’s run the H2C before as well. She doesn’t like running it anymore because she doesn’t like running at night, but is willing to help out, and as runner #12, not only does she get what’s called the ‘glory leg’ (finishing the race) but her night leg is actually only right after sunset.

Gradually the other members arrive, and I find out that actually, none of them really knows each other either. Some are connected in some way to James, who isn’t here (he’s in charge of Van #1), but two, Jen and Christy, seem to just have been signed on somehow, which I hear is common.

We hop in our huge van, donated from Bud’s workplace, and head to the town of Sandy, where we’ll make the exchange with Van #1. And this is why no one is in a big hurry. Runner #7, Christy, isn’t due to start until 5:30-ish, whenever our first six runners get through their first legs. I’m still just trying to learn all this, but most everybody has run H2C before. Christy has done it like three times, and Jen I think nine. Julie has done it a lot too, and usually runs her own team, but didn’t make the luck of the lottery draw this year. I think she’s related to James in some way too though. The other beginner is Donald, our youngest member, at 22, a marine reservist. He’s filling in for his boss, who is injured, and who knows James somehow.

The Sandy Safeway parking lot is a madhouse, filled to capacity with team vans and SUVs, Since the first teams started at like 4:30 this morning, teams have been hanging out for hours already.

We somehow find a parking lot and get out and...wait. This is what I wondered about, the waiting. But it’s also a time to get to know each other, and to zip into the store for last minute items, or just for food and drink. Also just to soak up the atmosphere. Many teams really get into this, with funny names, and themes, and costumes.

Supposedly the names and van decorations aren’t supposed to be too risqué, so as not to offend the sensibilities of some of the more conservative small towns that we basically invade for two days, but there seem to be many that are pushing the boundaries, like for example the all women’s team van decorated with lingerie, or the team called the Human Centipede, based on that movie, and the South Park satire of it, with an actual picture of said human centipede on the side of the van.

Van #1 arrives and I get to briefly meet the folks, including James, who is about the best guy to have as a leader in a large gathering of people, because he’s like seven feet tall, therefore easy to find. I didn’t think about it until now, but I’m not really going to see any of these people, except maybe at the few van trade offs. Which is weird, but ok. I ask Lucas, and another guy who’s name I don’t even remember, how their first legs went, and they both smile and shrug and say they went well. I think they’re both regular marathoners, and James has a Portland Marathon Pacer t-shirt, so this team actually seems pretty strong.

Finally, the runner #6 from our team comes in, and hands off the team wristband to Christy, and she’s off! Now I finally feel like we’ve started, even though it’s been about five hours for Van #1. The good news is that they ran their whole section a half hour faster than predicted. So yay, even though, who knows, by tomorrow surely we’ll be dragging a little?

Our group gets in the van. Van 1 can now afford to rest and take their time, while we must scoot to the next exchange area. Christy is only running about five miles, and by the time we get out of the parking lot chaos, and on the road, and then park in the new parking lot chaos, there’s actually not much time to stand around before she catches up to us and Julie take the wristband on. I’m next! I don’t even go out to see them hand off, wanting to just be ready to go when we get to the next station, so having my Vibram Five Fingers on and using a Honey Bucket for like the third time in an hour.

At the next exchange station, I have a little time, but surprisingly not much. It’s about 6:30 in the evening. My section is almost seven miles, one of the longer legs, and will get on to the beginning of the Springwater Corridor, and huge long bike trail that cuts across most of the east Portland area. I’ve already ridden my bike on it way down in Sellwood, but up here it’s not even in Portland proper. And of course, as the one minimalist/barefoot runner, I get a section marked as my old enemy: Gravel. Thus the VFFs.

One of the volunteers yells out our team number, Four Nine Nine!, and here comes Julie at a good clip! I’ve been pretty calm so far, but now I’m suddenly, strangely, nervous. I mean, it’s only seven miles. I run that almost daily. But, I get the wristband and take off. At this point I’m running on the side of a road, with traffic, no bike lane or anything. Weird that we don’t get lanes closed off for us, but thankfully most of the local traffic seems to be aware of us, and everyone is driving slowly.

I’ve started off super fast, like at 5K pace, which is not sustainable. It’s the team dynamic—I don’t want to let down the team! Must. Run. Fast. To impress. People. I don’t. Know. But, I’m breathing way too heavy, way past aerobic level, so I take some deeps breaths, slow down, and relax a bit. I just can’t go all out for seven miles, though I’m still faster than marathon pace. More like half marathon pace, with the idea of speeding up as I get within two miles.

Another oddness: I get to a traffic light, and it turns red. I’m used to being able to run through these things during races, but apparently not here. There is a volunteer across the street, smiling about me, and I give him a spread-arms gesture, like, Wtf dude? Can I go? But he just keeps smiling, and there are cars, so I stop. Another runner comes up behind me and asks me, ‘Do we have to stop?’ and she doesn’t, just goes right in front of some cars, passing me. After those cars have gone, and the road is clear, I scoot across against the light, past the still smiling volunteer. Later dude!

And with a right turn, I’m suddenly on a gravel road, which turns into a two-track, which is the Springwater Corridor Trail. Oh, speaking of getting passed—there is apparently a term for passing someone during this race: roadkill. Some teams keep track of their roadkills and mark them off on the sides of their vans, though of course no one keeps track of how many times they’ve been passed themselves. As for me, I roadkill a couple guys, but have already been passed by a couple people. One guys labors up to me and says, ‘Wow, it took me an effort to catch up to you.’ I’m not clear why he’s telling me this, but then he asks about the VFFs, and seems shocked when I tell him I actually usually run barefoot.

The trail turns to pavement, of the smooth bike trail variety, which I actually don’t like running on in VFFs. Something about losing the sensitivity in my feet feels like I striker harder, and my feet get sore. There’s a little unofficial dirt trail off to the side, which some shod runners are using, though it’s gravelly. Finally, I’m like, screw this, why am I not running barefoot? So I stop, getting roadkilled twice, and pull off the VFFs, carrying them both (a little awkwardly) in one hand, with my Amphipod bottle in the other. But aahhhh, the sweet feel of barefoot running! And I’m running faster now too! I even roadkill those who roadkilled me!

The trail is mostly deserted except for us runners. No conversation, not like in marathons. We’re all running too fast to talk, and the whole thing feels very competitive. But I do pass a father and his daughter out for a walk. She seems to really be getting into cheering the runners, yelling, ‘Reach the beach!’ to each of us, except with me. After I pass her, she yells, ‘Where’s your running shoes?!’

And again, I reach a stoplight, where the path crosses a main road, and I have to stop and wait while the cars go, though one women remains stopped and waves me across. I wave a thank you and get going, because, looking at my watch, I can’t have far to go. There are no mile markers or anything, but I know I can run seven miles in under an hour. Time to finish strong!

And then I hear cheering up ahead. The exchange station! Then a volunteer, who turns and yells our team number. And there’s Jen! She looks intense and ready to go! I hand off the wristband and she’s off!

And quick to the van. She’s only running like four miles, so we have to scoot to get to the next station in time. And here I was concerned that we would be standing around a lot. Instead, we’re sitting in the van a lot. Ok, well, seems to make time go fast. Sun is getting low on the horizon. Weird that I’ll be running again, but not too soon. At like four in the morning or something!

I didn’t realize how much Jen was creating a fun atmosphere until she’s not here. It’s quiet, none of the rest of us are real good conversationalists, whereas Jen has had a steady stream of funny commentary since we all met up with us. At first I was worried the Bud didn’t really like us, he hasn’t said much, but I think that’s just the way he is. He doesn’t even play the radio, nor has he had any coffee or any form of caffeine. But, that might be about the perfect person for a driver: super serious and focused on his job. I suspect he’s missing the running part, but I’m glad the driver knows where he’s going without too much help.

That said, being both the driver and the timekeeper for the team is a little much, so Christy has stepped up to help out, including writing down our individual times, and doing some kind of math, adding them together somehow. There’s a whole official chart that needs to be filled out and handed in at the end of the race. I’m glad I didn’t get volunteered to do it. I would, without public complaint, but I get motion sickness really bad, and having to read times, and driving directions, would make it that much worse.

At the next station, Julie hands off to Donald, who’s doing like I just did, and starting off super fast, super pumped. But, when we pick him up at the other end, he’s going just as fast. And then he hands off to Veronica, who will take the trail up through Sellwood (and past the Portland roller derby girls playing tonight! I am sad I’m missing that). We proceed into the city and park under Hawthorne Bridge, which is...very industrial. Along with all the cars going by over us, there’s some kind of construction going on, with big diesel graters moving dirt right next to the parking lot. I try opening my door to get some fresh air in, but it’s just too annoying.
We actually do have some time to wait, Veronica is doing a seven mile leg, and here is where the group dynamic comes in, at least for me, because after sitting there for a while, Jen says she wants to get out and stand for a while, and I, wanting to be useful, and maybe being a little tired already, try to inform her that it’s really noisy out there, and she looks at me like, Who the hell are you? And I realize that oops, I have overstepped my bounds. I’m the type of personality that likes to offer suggestions, but that tends to come off as me being pushy or know-it-all. I gotta remember I’m a newbie here, and should just keep my mouth closed and enjoy. So, oops. But it just shows that part of the challenge of this race isn’t the running, but the getting along with each other. Jen and Julie have both shared horror stories of teams that have bumped heads with each other, and that sounds awful. So, I hope I haven’t ruined things and been ‘that guy.’

But, we all get out soon anyway, because the other van is here, to start their second leg. We all meet up and walk out to the river edge, where the runners are coming in. Cool to see the city at night across the river, and weird to have so many people gathered in this area, at night. In fact, the area is so crowded that I don’t even see the switch off. Suddenly there’s Veronica, looking tired and happy, and the Van 1 person is gone. I don’t even know who it is.

We all amble back to the vans. Us Van 2ers are not in a hurry anymore. Now is our rest time, where we’re to proceed to some fairgrounds and supposedly sleep while the Van 1ers go into action. I’m tired. Everyone is tired, except, seemingly, Bud, who is just a driving machine.

We get on I-5, then take the 30 highway west, which goes by all the industrial warehouses in north Portland, and the huge spider-looking machines that unload ships. Very post-apocalyptic in this area, though I’ll soon be moving into my new apartment, only a short ways away, in a nice quietish neighborhood near Forest Park, a huge, tree-filled park, with miles of running trails. But yeah, out here, industrial. And yet, here is the race course, again with runners running on the right side of the road, their backs to traffic, on the side of a highway. No way would I ever run on this road, at any time, and yet people are doing do, with all the regular Friday night traffic, plus the endless vans. It’s now ten-thirty, and I’m just amazed at the stream of runners. Never-ending!

And speaking of traffic, we’re getting a little backed up. It seems there’s been a fire up in St. Helens, and in fact that route has been re-routed an extra mile and a half! That includes all traffic too. The cops have closed off the highway, so we’re all just crawling along, which is brutal, because it’s cutting into and sleep/rest time we’re going to get. We have to be up at 2:30! And the re-route route is a back road, with two way traffic, no shoulder, and runners. In the dark. Crazy. If traffic were actually moving fast, it would be dangerous, but no, we’re barely moving. Fortunately we have Christy with her iPhone, so she can find us a sneaky back way to the fairgrounds.

When we first get to the fairgrounds, I see a huge open grassy area with a few tents and I think, whew, plenty of room to go find a dark quiet corner. But we go past that, and past some kind of other event going on, unrelated, and finally into a big parking lot. And more parking lot chaos. Not only do we have chaos, but people are sleeping (!) in their sleeping bags right in parking spots next to their van, so that when Bud is about to pull into one, he almost runs over some people! Wtf?! That’s fricking crazy!

After Bud parks, I ask, ‘So, where do we go to sleep?’

He looks kind of surprised and says, ‘Here. I’ll probably just catch a catnap here.’

Oy. Wow, this is worse than any fire camp I ever slept in back in my firefighting days. I get out and explore. There are no official sleeping areas, not only that, the whole area is noisy. The runner exchange is on one side of the parking lot, with someone continuously yelling out team numbers through a PA. Next to the lot is some kind of high school event, or church, I’m not sure, but teenagers are doing kareoke (I can’t say singing exactly) up on a stage, also through a loud PA. Plus a generator going, and vans coming and going, with honks, and people yelling to each other. Zoiks.

With a little exploring, I find a strip of pine trees along one side of the parking lot, under which is surprisingly a lot of clear area. And with soft pine needles to lay down on. I’m shocked that the whole area isn’t filled with sleepers, but there’s only a few. Well, if we really can’t go use that whole big empty grassy area only two hundred yards away, then this will have to do.

I go back to the van and grab my bag o’ stuff, making sure to tell Julie and Bud where I’ll be. Everyone seems surprised that I’ve actually found a spot, and only Donald and Jen decide to join me. We find a flat spot, behind the trees, right up against a chainlink fence and spread out our sleeping bags. We have about three hours. We have to get up at 2:30 to be ready to go at three.

And though the pine needles are soft, we are only ten feet from where cars are parking, so that sometimes headlights are shining right on us. Kareoke is going strong—some girl is singing “I Love Rock and Roll” and there’s just noise: People coming and going, talking right by us, yelling at each other. Jesus, do they not realize that some people are trying to sleep? And my favorite: a car alarm goes off, and no one seems to be near to turn it off. Sweet. Yeah, I’m not sure I’m going to sleep.

I set my watch alarm, hopefully correctly. Jen and Donald are relying on me to wake them up. Great. Still, despite the continuous noise, I kinda sorta manage to drift off every once in a while, and for a blessed amount of time, there’s even a moment of relative calm. Still, I’m getting continuously woken. But at least I’m able to stretch out and at least relax my body. I’m way more sore than seven miles should make me. It’s not the running, it’s the running then sitting in a van for hours.

Finally I’m just kind of up, and look over at our van, and see Julie (or Katherine? Argh, I’m getting names mixed up) getting ready. It’s only two o’clock, so I quietly get up and go over and ask her what’s going on, only to find that Christy is already out at the exchange area, ready to run. Wow, we’re early.

So I go back over and gently wake up Donald and Jen, both of whom seem to have slept better than I. Jen sits up straight, dazed-looking, not even knowing where she’s at. We gather our stuff and head over to the fan. Jen says that’s the first time she’s ever actually slept during a H2C.

And somehow Bud is ready to go. I have no idea if he even slept at all, but he just looks calm and focuses still. A machine!

I don’t even see the other van this time. We gotta get going. Christy will be done in less than an hour.

And traffic continues to be slow, and even backed up. The problem (or, one problem) seems to be that some of the parking areas at the exchanges are on the opposite side of the road, so that vans have to cut across the running line to get in. So if there’s runners coming, we have to wait, while more vans pile up behind. Not only that, but the parking areas are small and crowded, with varying degrees of volunteer competence in getting people in and out (though for the record, all the volunteers rock for doing this, especially those who drew this late night lot).

But the backed up traffic becomes such a problem that runners and time keepers have to get out of the vans and run up to the exchange areas. Sometimes people running the leg run by with the person they’re supposed to exchange with! It’s madness. And yet, getting out of the van early is apparently against the rules, with a penalty of a half hour added to total team time. Which is crazy, because what else is a team supposed to do? It’s not like we’re dicking around getting a pizza or something between stations.

At exchange 21, Bud tells me to hop out and proceed up. Fortunately I’m ready to go. So I say good bye to everyone and Christy and I head up. Julie comes in, and I’m off.

Again, this section is gravel road. All gravel. So I’ve got the VFFs on, but I think I should’ve at least brought my Merrell Trail Gloves. This is going to be brutal on my feet, because I can’t even see where my feet are landing. I don’t have a headlamp, just carrying a flashlight, but even then, with all the vans going by, there’s a huge dust cloud. So, I’m basically running blind. The only advantage to the vans is that their headlights let me see a little. Despite all that, I still feel the urgency of running fast and not letting down my team. This leg’s only five miles, there’s no way I’m going to take more than an hour.

But man, sometimes I’m just slamming down on rocks. Trying to run light and quick, but it’s fricking four-thirty in the morning.

At one moment, one glorious moment, no vans are around, and no other runners nearby, and I am alone, with the stars huge and bright above me. Up ahead, the small red and white lights of runners, though they seem like fireflies, or fairies, or elves. Magic.

Then another convoy of vans comes through, and a couple super fast runners roadkill me easily. Grr. Really, for this section, a barefoot runner needs the right tool, and the right tool is something with a thick, perhaps cushiony, sole. Hate to say it, but true. Although, that said, throughout the day I have seen a fair amount of VFFs, plus some folks in zero-drop shoes, and at least one person in huaraches. So, there are others out there.

Although I was groggy before, once I’ve been running, I warm up, and wake up. In fact, I’m in total mindfulness mode, trying to get all my focus on the feet, avoiding pokes as best I can. And then, lights ahead, and the yelling of numbers. A volunteer asks my number, I yell it to her, and she yells it to someone else, and there is Jen, ready to go again. Good to see her. I hand off and she’s gone.

Christy is the only one here, everyone else is back at the van, catching cat naps. We hop in quick and get on the road, because Jen doesn’t have far to go, and it’s mostly all downhill too. But again, traffic is just slow and backed up. Bud is getting frustrated. Everyone is. The veterans say that this is the worst the traffic has ever been. It certainly makes things less fun, being trapped in the van all the time. We, and other teams, just have our runners hop out of the van and run up the road to the exchange areas. At this point, the runners are all moving faster than the vans.

People in back are dozing off, but since I’m sitting in the front passenger seat, I kinda feel obligated to stay awake and help Bud stay awake, though I’m too groggy to come up with any kind of small talk, really. And I’m not sure Bud even needs or wants that. In fact, that might even annoy him. But I at least want another set of eyes awake. But man am I tired. I’m glad that last year I ran the Burning River hundred mile ultra—there are a lot of similarities. I think that race helped me with the mental stuff for this race, and I can also see how this race would help someone prepare for an ultra. Just shows how races in general help make us better, stronger, runners. Even for example, a marathon. If someone can get through Hood To Coast, I think they’ll have enough physical and mental strength to get through one.

After finally rotating through our Van runners, we head to the next van exchange area, but again, by the time we actually get there and parked, we only have at most two hours before our first runner has to go again. But we take advantage of it. Bud and Veronica go to the sleeping area. Others get in line for the Honey Buckets, which is so long, it might possibly take two hours to get through.

Me? I’m getting breakfast. I need real food, not another Clif Bar. There’s a place here, not even a restaurant, seems like a family kinda selling stuff out of their garage, where one can get french toast and muffins and chips and stuff. I’m totally down for french toast at this point. If fear getting sick later, but my body seems to say it’s ok now. I go minimal on the Mrs. Butterworth though. I even break my vegetarian diet and consume some bacon. Just sounds fricking good right now.

After another Honey Bucket stop, at a different parking lot, with a little less people, when I arrive back at the van, Christy is the only one there, and she’s worried. The other van is here, and their runner is coming in early, and no one else is around. Plus she’s only running like four miles, so we need to really scoot to make the next exchange. She goes off to be ready to run. Donald finally shows up and agrees to stay at the van while I go try to find people, but the only one I find is Julie.

The exchange is made. James finds our van, be we haven’t found anyone else. We’ve texted Bud, but I bet he’s off sleeping somewhere. James finally makes a round and finds them, and the others drift in. So, later, we pull out and try and get to the next station, though again, we have no time to even park, our next runner just gets out of the van and goes.

The sun is out, and heating things up. My third leg is another seven miles, this time on pavement, but so far the roads have been fairly shady. So, I’m thinking barefoot. My only worry is that the pavement will get too hot and I’ll get blisters. But I think it’ll be ok. Still, I start off with VFFs. Not sure why, since after about 100 meters, I’m like, grarrr! get me out of these things! And it’s fine, wonderful even. Shady, plus the pavement is new, and there’s a brand new white line along the side which will keep things even cooler. Some hills. I end up going back and forth with this woman. She roadkills me on the uphills, then I catch her on the downhills.

Things are going so great that when the van drives by and Bud yells out, ‘Want us to take your shoes?’ I’m like, yes, let’s do it.

But a quarter mile after they leave, the pavement suddenly turns very rough and point. Argh! No! I mean, like painful. My speed suffers, and that woman roadkills me for the final time. I’m still running, even fairly quick, but not like before, and I’m not sure I can take another five miles of this. Damn. Damn damn damn. Plus the road gets less shady, and therefore more hot. Plus more little pebble grit things. Argh. I’m getting roadkilled now.

But then, a miracle: the pavement turns smooth again! Yes! I just pour on the power, following that cool white line! I will not be passed anymore. This is it, my last leg, and I’m full of energy. Time to leave it all out on the course. Roadkill time! By the time I see the exchange area, I’m almost sprinting. My feet may regret it later, but that’s ok.

After Jen heads off, I wobble-follow Veronica through the crowd. People are just now seeing my feet and gasping. Ok, I feel good that I’ve done some representin’! Veronica is amazed. She’s apparently not even heard of barefoot running before this.

I’m done. Now I just have to wait it out, while we do the last few exchanges. Now that the Van 1s are all done, and headed to Seaside, the route is much much clearer. In fact, those bastards in Van are now at the beach, swimming, while we’re still running!

Donald’s last leg is seven miles, and he comes in dripping sweat and kinda of pale looking. I’m a little worried, but he doesn’t faint or anything. Veronica heads off, and so do we. Next stop, the coast!

We park in Seaside, and walk six blocks through town to the huge tent city out on the sand, where the runners are coming in. But by the time we get there, and find James and crew, Veronica is already there! And, though she’s really already officially finished, time-wise, there’s this weird process where we all get into a chute, wait for our name and number to be called, then trot out in the sand to run the celebratory hundred feet to the celebratory finish line. Kinda of anti-climatic. I thought we would actually wait for her out on the course and run in with her for the last quarter mile maybe. But oh well. We’re done! We collect our medals! Does feel good to have us all gathered together, though some of the Van 1ers are already in bathing suits and seem already mentally ready to go.

I too am ready to go. My sister and her family have come out and are waiting for me down the beach. But, we go through another chute, get an official group photo taken, and then gather at a table in the food court while James groggily tries to figure out all the times, and add them together and compare it to the stopwatch time. I’m not sure what exactly that entails, but he apparently has to turn in our time. Turns out we finished an hour earlier than anticipated! I guess that has to do with all the substitutions, but that’s ok. In fact, weirdly, we’ve done so well that we’ve pushed ourselves out of the time, a half hour on either side of the predicted time, in which the group earns a guaranteed place for next years race! I don’t understand that quite, but ok.

The big question, which Donald and I have been asking each other, is, Will we do it again next year? And at this point, I don’t know. Has this been fun? I think so, though the traffic was awful, and I didn’t like spending most of my time in the van. But, I don’t know, the whole experience has been fascinating, and challenging. The mental aspect more than the physical. I think to, although overall this group has been great, that to do the race with a group of people you actually know would be even funner, as would getting more into the fun and humor and having a funny group name and theme. Not sure. Not saying I want to wear a red dress the whole time, but some groups just seemed to be having an awesome time. I think though, once I’ve recovered, it’ll be like a marathon, and I’ll think, Hell, yeah, I gotta do that again!

PS-We finished 31/360 teams in our division and 177/1068 overall!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And walking.

And walking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The disinformation continues....

If you can bear it, here's another article by a so called expert doctor who claims to have done research on barefoot running, without, apparently, checking any of his info with, say, a barefoot runner.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rami-hashish/barefoot-running-the-science-behind-the-fad_b_1773692.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false#sb=2356509,b=facebook

If he'd bothered, he would have been informed that barefoot runners do NOT land on the forefoot. We come down flat on the whole foot, using our arches for what they were evolved for.

Coming up: A review of my "Prepare To Die!" 20 mile run/meetup with BF runners from Oregon and Washington!

Cheers,

John