I know it's a bit of a hot button topic among the world of runners who stand at either end of the equator on the issue: barefoot running Vs. shoe running. One is viewed as a throwback to the evolution of humans that spent much of their existence running naturally away from Predators (unless you're Carl Weathers, Danny Glover, or Adrien Brody, who run towards them), and conversely, towards prey (& berries & fruits & such), and the other view is what made Bill Bowerman & Phil Knight richer than finding the road to El Dorado baby! In summation, the argument is that shoes interfere with your biomechanics by forcing them to fit into a broadly researched, pseudo-scientific, mold, while shedding that padding our feet have grown so use to uncovers a long dormant goldmine of human perfection.
So, what happens when we really do lose the shoes...
Straight out of the Kentucky Derby gate, I'm not betting on either side to win the race, just sitting in the saddle for the duration of the ride. I know the above paragraph may sound a bit biased at the moment towards the barefoot movement, it's not explicitly meant to be, but it's probably because the fumes of today's very first barefoot run gave me a bit of an unexpected runner's high. I was sitting on the fog shrouded New Jersey beach early this morning building a scale model of Nijojo Castle by hand from memory with my 3 year old cousin and the thought struck me, "I wonder how a barefoot run would go right about now?". I stood up and went. The consistency of the sand varies greatly, closer to the water is a harder surface then the fluffy patches farther inland, with a no-holds-barred smattering of seashells in between. Yea, shells were a major drawback to the experiment, but I was more interested in what being barefoot did to my form than about the potential pain from stepping on shells. I don't want to sound cliche and go off on a rant about how liberating it all was, but I will say that I felt an immediate difference. Within a 15 minute run, my calves felt like I was really relying on them to do all the heavy lifting in a way I haven't experienced before while running in shoes.
From reading various articles over the past year or so, keeping a close eye on developments in minimalist/barefoot running, I knew the first thing that was going to change is that shoes tend to force you to strike the ground at the heel, putting stress on the knee as it absorbs the vibrations that shiver ye timbers. Now with barefoot, the pattern shape-shifts so that your forefoot/mid-foot is taking the blows, and dispersing the shock more evenly over your foot, before the force makes its way up the remainder of your leg, where your calf muscles are now reacting to the ripples running this way requires them to handle. So even right here, we see a logic to why it immediately feels so different, and could potentially become a game changer (if not simply a form changer) for promoting injury free running. Anyone that's ever seen a Parkour professional, like Levi Meeuwenberg, leap from rooftops at astonishing heights, only to roll out of it and keep running as if he just pounced upon the soft mallow mascot belly of the Stay Puft Marshmallow man, will see how the art of displacement, is what's reliably being displayed.
A while back I read a book called Chi Running by Danny Dreyer (I have yet to read Christopher McDougall's Born to Run, but it's definitely scribbled on the post-it note in the back of my mind listing things I need to check out) that addressed this mid-foot form as a way to prevent injuries. This has long been a conscious effort I try to apply to long runs when I start to feel that tinge of pain anywhere in my knee. Usually, when implementing this style, I yield the best results when using a treadmill (most likely due to the consistently level ground), but I certainly focused on trying to mid-foot strike in those later miles of the marathon when every step felt like Tanya Harding's hired goons bludgeoning my potential championship knees at every stride.
I have high arches. I also, occasionally, tend to underpronate. I mention this because I have long thought barefoot running wasn't really going to be an option for me, since, as a supinator, I probably don't have an adequate area to absorb the impact and assist my natural running abilities. Thankfully, the sand erases this concern by letting me run freely, since the ground conforms to my needs, rather than a shoe made for a mass market like Nora Roberts's newest page-turner romance, the shape of my foot, as I imagine is universally true, is obviously highly individualized. The sand knows this, and writes a story specifically for me.
Now, don't take this as an argument specifically for barefoot running. As a long distance runner I'm far more in favor of finding a shoe that fits right and keeps me comfortable over the many miles I tend to trek during any given day of the week. So as much as humans might be meant to run unencumbered, I'm also sure humans were probably never meant to run marathons either; yet here I stand, one among many who have overtaken that beast of a feat by more than just the skin of our feet. I for one, am glad there was more than just me between myself and the ground for those 42km (26.2 miles). Others feel free to argue differently, I'm open to hearing y'all out, but this barefoot running, while an interesting experiment at the beach, probably won't replace my normal running routine; this just stands as a healthy alternative to it, while I'm in a city with enough sand on the ground to indulge such evolutionary throwbacks. I guess I could consider barefoot running transitional aids like Vibrams, enough runners I've spoken with speak highly of them, but they certainly seem so expensive for something that's less of a shoe, and more of an elaborate sock. I'm not fully convinced, as of yet, but I'm still curious enough to keep considering the option. We'll see...either way, I'll certainly keep you kids in the know.
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