What I didn’t expect after writing a column about training for a race and overcoming a bout of depression, was for the readers’ mass reaction to be “You run in sandals?!”
I’m not offended or anything, but I am a little surprised that nature is, as Tonto would say, out of balance.
As a culture, we are more shocked at a person using her foot in its natural position and almost as close to the earth as possible, than we are at the prevailing brainwashery that no one can run a mile without a hunk of China-manufactured plastic strapped to their lowest extremities.
Am I the only dude who finds that backwards?
But since I’ve put you all “off your lunch” with the sight of my mud-caked running sandals, as Cowboy State Daily’s Jake Nichols, opined Wednesday, I should explain how the sandals got on my feet.
I started running in some K-Mart sneakers as a teen. And P.E. teachers and cross country coaches alike told me I needed more “support.”
So, I got more support. Nikes. Asics. NewBalance.
I fought hip and ankle issues throughout my first decade of running.
When pregnant with twins at age 23, my stylish young doctor said something like “Sure, you can keep running.”
So, I did – in my clunky-heeled, arch-padded Asics trail shoes.
Twenty weeks into my pregnancy, I developed pelvic pain and started bleeding during a run.
It was the worst day of my life. I bawled. My brain screamed so hard it split the heavens, and, even 12 years later, the stars over me still don’t sigh the way they used to.
I was convinced I’d killed those twins with my running.
My mother-in-law came over, pressed both hands onto my belly and prayed as hard as she could.
She did a lot of mighty things in her life but for me, that gesture tops them all.
At the hospital an 80-something curmudgeon of an OB/GYN who happened to be on call scolded me for all my running, and told me to go home, get fat and bake banana bread.
He also said the twins would be fine.
I took his advice. I stayed barefoot and pregnant for four months.
My feet missed my running shoes. Phantom spears shot through my heels and arches when I waddled around the house barefoot.
I realized my feet were addicted to my running shoes.
That sowed my commitment to minimalist footwear, which would later germinate into both barefoot and near-barefoot running. I didn’t pursue this natural way of running just to be a feral hippie – though The Husband has many times given an “I Married A Feral Hippie” shrug to curious onlookers.
No, I just hated that my feet should be addicted to anything. That some distinctive shape and mold of shoe would hold such power over me that I couldn’t even bake banana bread without it.
At the end of that sole-searching (all puns intentional) I delivered healthy, massive twin boys. Then slowly, I got back into running.
For my 25th birthday, The Husband took me to his favorite sporting goods store in Casper, so that I could find a good pair of shoes.
It was the wrong shop for me.
I told the salesman I wanted zero-drop (which means heel-less) shoes and he chided me, called me foolish, and said I’d destroy my feet within three years.
I left in a huff. The Husband waved an awkward goodbye to the salesman, who’d sold him plenty of crappy foot plastic over the years.
I stomped right over to some crunchy little climbers’ boutique and bought a pair of Altras.
Those are zero-drop, but still clunky.
A couple years later and after many ankle and foot exercises, I graduated down to Lems.
Then finally, down to the Luna sandals I now wear in the summer.
And the other day, I got my first pair of Vibram toe shoes for running in the winter.
It’s been 10 years since a salesman called me foolish, and I’m still running.
I’m not a stud or anything, but I am having a great time in my socially freakish shoes.
As a reporter, I don’t get to keep many pet and conspiracy theories. But I have hoarded this one, and will continue to do so:
Major shoe manufacturers are tricking your feet into dependency by offering heel lifts and supports that at first beguile you into thinking you’re fast – but at the end, warp the natural, masterful design of your feet.
Your feet are a masterpiece on their own. Interwoven arches, counterbalancing tendons, intricate bones.
And if you believe that – if you actually believe that – then you might even believe in letting them touch the ground once in a while.
Clair McFarland can be reached at clair@cowboystatedaily.com.
