It was probably inevitable that I would start running barefoot one day. I have jogged long comfortable runs recently whilst chanting "easy and light, easy and light" to myself, focusing hard on the correct foot strike and body posture. I think it is working, I think the barefoot style suits me.
The secret Santa gifting at work last Xmas meant that I ended up with one of the best presents I'd ever received- the book "Born to Run", a brilliant history of long-distance runners, the Tarahumara indigenous tribe in Mexico, and an introduction to barefoot running. I have read further evidence about this naturalistic running style and feel that modern running shoes with their hugely padded heels and high drop (the vertical distance between the toes and heel) encourage the unhealthy habit of heavy heel-striking (instead of the forefoot striking the ground first) and forcing disabling amounts of energy through the joints. A barefoot running style encourages fore- or mid-foot striking, small steps instead of large strides, a straight but relaxed back and a sensation of falling forward from the feet up (after all, running is simply controlled falling). And a persistent focus on easy, light, smooth, fast.
So far (four runs) it has worked. They have been easy and comfortable and I have felt less joint soreness and have recovery quicker. Instead of taking two days to recover from my last 20km run (half marathon) I was refreshed after a few hours. I ran home from work this week (13km) and felt as if I could have turned around and run straight back.
My long run (20 km) last weekend took me on a new route along the sea front and toward Belfast docks. I ran and I thought and I felt relaxed and free. I noticed things around me without the usual distraction of impending exhaustion- the huge, shiny seahorse sculpture welcoming travellers in towards the docks and the safety of land, the perfectly efficient ergonomics of road networks designed with international lorry transit in mind, the knowing smiles from other members of the running clique.
It was the perfect (for running) weather combination of bright sun and slight chill which keeps me cool as I run and also takes all the moisture out the air providing a quality of light unparalleled on a summers day. The tide was high, almost to the edge of the path, the sea was green and barely rippled. It reminded me of medieval glass. The sea made no noise, there was no wind, I didn't even hear one dog bark. Easy and light, easy and light.
I ran past long-distance runners and we exchanged full smiles, a cheery hello and a raised wave. I identified them by their clothing which was chosen to keep them warm instead of cooling them down, neck warmers, cosy hats, sensible leggings. I ran past two young women who ran long strides and kicked their legs up behind them. Their style was springy, pushy, competitive. Their ponytails swished back and forth and their clothes were expensive and immaculate. As with all runners I pass I nodded and waved but they were too busy chatting to notice me. I passed a regular jogger I often see. I imagine she and I appear similar to most people who don't run- we look a long way off from the lithe, sinewy athletes one might normally expect to run a long way- but we have passed each other before at points which, as only local runners know, can only be reached by running over 10 miles in one go. I nod and wave but her thoughts appeared too focused to look my way. I pass a friend of a friend who, like me, is the wrong side of 40, tall with a big paunch and a lolloping, inelegant running style. He always has a pained expression on his face as if he has been forced at gunpoint to run for his life. He breaks into a rare smile and waves enthusiastically as we pass and I give him the thumbs up and shout "all right mate". I know it is only when he runs that he is sociable because he is so painfully shy he would walk straight past me on the street if we were strolling. I also know he can run a marathon in his sleep, runs over 100 miles a week and regularly completes "ultras" of 50 and 100 mile distances but to look at him you might think he couldn't run the length of himself.
Often, when grieving, I have had to let go- some things are simply not worth the effort. I have also had to hold on tight to some other things as if my life depended on it. It has been easy distinguishing between these two, the hard work has been comprehending the depth of their significance and putting in the work. And when I do, life can be good again.
