Walking Into the Heat

A thought occurred to me as I trudged up the hill at the start of my run yesterday. A heat advisory was in effect for our region because it was balls hot. And humid too. Readings close to 90 degrees and 9 million percent humidity shot the heat index up to "WTF are you doing running in this soup?"

But really, it wasn't so bad. The nice thing about running the Buckeye Trail is the tree cover. And because of the hills, I don't think twice about taking a walk break, whether it's because my legs are tired or because the heat has obliterated the oxygen in the air. 

My legs were a bit weak, but not heavy as I expected after not running for a week. And while the heat was oppressive and forced me to slow down, I didn't want to die at all. And so I wondered, have my lunchtime walks helped me acclimate to the heat?

The temperature has been hovering amid the fiery furnaces of hell all week, and each day I've walked close to two miles at midday, wearing jeans, a short-sleeve shirt and sometimes shoes. (I think I cooked my soles a bit on the baked sidewalks on Monday, so I've been taking it easy with the barefoot thing in this heat.) I'm not a totally gross, sweaty mess when I get back to the office, but I've been close. 

I almost took off my charcoal colored shirt during yesterday's walk, but I thought I'd look like a major douche-bro. Instead, I just rolled up my sleeves to make it look like I was wearing a collared tanktop, which was more of a classy douche-bro look. We've got another heat advisory in effect today, so hopefully my lighter colored shirt will help me out.

Between the 30-minute trek along the trails and the pull-ups and chin-ups after my run (and this morning too), my whole body exudes that pleasantly dull ache. I've missed that feeling.

On Poaching Water

Every time I've run this particular section of the Buckeye Trail, I've seen four or five jugs of water by a tree at the entrance to the trail where it crosses a road. It looks to be the same jugs each time. I assume it's a running group, but is it really possible that my random running schedule coincides with that of some group? With a park ranger station just across the street, I've wondered if they put the water there since there are no drinking fountains nearby. 

I parked at the ranger station and had my own ice water nearby, but what if I needed that water? Have you ever seen drop bottles and considered "borrowing" fluids in the event of an emergency? I'm a monster, aren't I?

Total Suckage

The scale presented the straw to my camel's back. The screen flashed a number so high that I kissed my wife goodbye. I was going for a run.

It takes a lot to get me out for a run early in the morning. For some reason, I awoke 15 minutes before my alarm, which I usually let snooze for half an hour before getting up most workday mornings. With nothing else to do, I stumbled downstairs and stared off into space for a few minutes before deciding to do some push-ups.

After two sets of 10, I wandered back upstairs, where the scale greeted me from inside the room that will soon contain a screaming baby. It had been several weeks since I last weighed myself. And after a holiday weekend, I wondered.

The screen flashed a high, round number, and I was like, "Nooo, that can't be right." I reset the scale and stepped on again. "Shit."

This morning's reading matched my all time high. And just like the last time my weight had reached this unfortunate milestone, I went for my first run in forever. Instead of lacing up an old pair of Etonic cross-trainers that were a size too small, I went barefoot because I didn't need to add any more weight.

After five minutes, my lungs were burning. My legs were sluggish, but they didn't feel sore until afterward. How far I've let myself go.

Setting my watch to 30 minutes, I managed almost 3 miles, which isn't so bad considering it had been since June 18 that I last ran any distance whatsoever. My feet felt pretty good.

When I returned, I did two more sets of 10 push-ups because, man, that number sucks. It just reminds me of how much of a slug I've become. Maybe this is the motivation I needed to get back on track. I hope so.

A Minimal Fad: Confessions of a Torchbearer

First, Nitmos made the comment. Then, Runners' World reported the sharp decline in sales. Finally, the nerds at The Science of Sport wrote a lengthy piece on whether it was just a fad. Is it true? Was barefoot running and minimalist shoes soooo last year?

In referencing the Runners' World news brief, the Scientists noted that the "lasting legacy" of the barefoot/minimalist movement was the development of conventional shoes that are lighter and lower to the ground than previous models.

"[The 'barefoot bubble'] has driven the realization that the bulky, heavy and excessively cushioned shoes were not necessary and probably didn't do what they purported to," writes Ross Tucker, of The Science of Sport website. "The shoe industry as a whole has adjusted its paradigm, and that is certainly a good thing, in general."

While sales might be down, the benefit to those who still ascribe to a "less is more" approach to running footwear is that Big Shoe now has options that suit their needs. Companies like Merrell and New Balance have created entire lines of minimal running shoes that run the gamut from extra-thin and lightweight shoes without a heel drop to incrementally thicker options with slightly raised heels.

Another common theme among barefoot/minimalist runners was the idea that runners don't need to change out their shoes every 300 to 500 miles, a figure that was conjured up to sell more shoes. While these runners may not provide big sales, they will be more loyal to companies that provide them the type of footwear they desire.

The biggest "win" for the barefoot/minimalist camp was more attention paid to running form. It's not the shoes, or lack thereof, but how you land. This idea has led to a multitude of academic studies over the last couple years to figure out how runners can better avoid injury.

After experimenting with a wide variety of running footwear over the last four years, I finally settled on two pairs of shoes that fit my 3F criteria, while incorporating barefoot runs 10 to 20 percent of the time. While the proselytizing has largely died out, my preference for barefoot/minimalist running has not.

Nitmos' implication of my carrying a torch for some long forgotten band was more on the nose than he may have realized, though. You're talking about a guy who prefers music that was last popular during the 1920s and '30s. Jonas Brothers forever? More like Skillet Lickers forever!


Maybe someday I'll be considered a barefoot/minimalist running revivalist.

Secret Speed, Obvious Onlookers

It was supposed to be an easy run. The early afternoon was cool but sunny, and the ground felt good under my feet. After my last barefoot run, the goal was to avoid any blisters and focus on good form. And maybe that was the secret.

Saturday offered the best of what was pretty unseasonable weather for a Memorial Day weekend. The sun shined, but the temperature never got much above 60 degrees. I had just mowed the lawn and wanted to get in a few miles before showering.

My watch timer has been set for 35-minute sessions for a few weeks now, so it seemed high time to bump it up to 40 minutes. Most of my mapped out neighborhood runs fall more within 30 minutes, so my route was just wherever.

As it turned out, there seemed to be an inordinate number of people staring at my shoeless spectacle along the way.

An older man stared agog, mouth drooping to his high waistband, the rake dangling in his hand like a misplaced modifier, bewildered.

Another man sat on the ground before his corner flowerbed, but his torso twisted away from his work to admire my careful running form.

A couple of high school girls drove by and honked, which seemed to require an appropriate response (i.e., pistol fingers back at them).

But the coup de grace was a group of sassy ladies pushing baby strollers and cursing about my lack of footwear.

They shouted: "Where your shoes?"

I replied: "At home."

There was more, but this is soon to be a family blog, so I won't print the obscenities. You'd think my bare feet were some major offense to their delicate sensibilities, but their language belied a definite lack of such delicacy.

Maybe it's time to brainstorm some clever responses to such inquisitions. What would you say?

Perhaps my modesty propelled me faster than my intentions of taking it easy. Maybe focusing on good form begets faster running. Or it could be that most of my runs come on hilly trails, which replicate sprint workouts.

Whatever the cause, Saturday's barefoot run was more than twice as long as the one last week, but almost a minute faster per mile.

There has been only one other time this year with a faster pace, but that run in January was a mile shorter. Gotta love these surprise speed sessions.

Just Keep Going

The sidewalk was hot Friday afternoon. Despite my watch acting as a time governor so I didn't do too much, too soon, that's exactly what I did when I logged my first barefoot run of the year. The ball of my left foot, between the first and second toes, was tender from either pushing off or a result of the scorched earth. But it wasn't so bad.

Sand Run was crowded Saturday afternoon. Sticking to a loop along the Mingo and Dogwood trails, my run avoided the throngs of walkers and runners, and apparently the GPS signals too. My calves and quads were sore from the barefooting the day before, and so was the tender spot on my left foot by the time I finished. But it wasn't too bad.

Trying out a new reel mower Sunday afternoon already had me sweaty. After a couple glasses of water and a damp rag to cool me down, I hit the sidewalks again for a shod run around the neighborhood. The sun felt like a hot iron steaming down on my already tired body, but I just kept going. When I got back home, I had topped my highest weekly mileage to date. It felt quite good.

Flashback Friday: Faster, Weaker

My arms were powerless. My body hung squirming from the bar. There would be no more pull-ups today. Had the urge to rediscover the puke threshold sabotaged the rest of the workout? Or was it that these weeklong breaks between workouts keep forcing me to take a step back after a step forward? Maybe it was just the heat.

Yesterday's visit to the Sand Run Parcours Trail occurred on Northeast Ohio's return to summery weather, with a temperature in the high 70s, which is probably the hottest it's been during a run this year. Can you say "sweaty mess"? I knew that you could.

Although running the par course has become a weekly event this month, breaks of five or more days between runs remains a fairly regular thing, because obviously these short runs are really tiring. My own frustration over my lack of consistency sometimes causes me to do something really stupid like seeing if I can get myself to puke by starting off the workout in a near sprint. By the time I got to the pull-up bar, my body felt wobbly.

It seems those prescribed walk breaks along the course help you recover from each exercise before getting to the next station. Furthermore, I had forgotten my watch, which I use to time my recovery between each rep at the pull-up bar, and I know I usually spend a good five minutes there. Instead I rushed myself and wasn't able to match my previous outings. My arms crapped out after six pull-ups. OK, maybe it was more like five and a half.

By this time, sweat was spurting from my brow. My  body sagged like it had a sad. My mind wandered to cope with the total bummer that were the remaining exercise stations. Do you know what this nice weather reminds me of doing? Running barefoot. I haven't done that in a really long time.

Doing 10 push-ups felt the way it would if you were William "Refrigerator" Perry but had the arms of Kate Moss. Leg lifts seemed to be rupturing my quadriceps. Forget about not embarrassing myself on the balance beam. In the end, though, it was another course record, shaving a full three minutes off last time. Sadly, the puke threshold eluded me.

Cold Feet, Leafy Feet

A short jaunt around the neighborhood seemed a good idea. On the drive home, the sun had shone itself. But that was just a tease. By running time, clouds had invaded and the wind picked up a brisker pace than these bare feet.

Leaves have started to blanket Akron in colorful death. Rather than warming those it touches, this blanket chills. Hands tucked inside long sleeves. A head that could use a hat. The cold ground keeps the soles from warming.

Acorns litter the sidewalk. Deft placement vs. painful steps, the contest is a draw. The street circling the park feels warmer and smoother.

Forget the downhill of the outbound portion of the run. It is unnoticeable until the uphill of the return. Finally the feet feel warm. Just in time for home.

Race Report: 15,000 Strong

Everything sold out. The organizers of the Akron Marathon did another fantastic job coordinating the 10th year of the event. This was the sixth year in a row I've participated in my local big race, but my first time running the relay event.

Team Booze Hounds Inc. joined 14,995 other participants in a tour of Akron's best neighborhoods and landmarks.

The weather was perfect. The temperature at start time was in the mid-40s and slowly rose to the low 60s on a clear day. My teammates arrived in downtown Akron at 6:20 a.m. We got "E" lined up in the second wave somewhere between the four- and five-hour pace groups.

As in years past, a ringing bell marked the start of the race, but this year we also were treated to a fireworks display throughout the 10 minutes it took for all the participants to cross the starting line. The race was on.

Soon after watching the start, we escorted "R" toward her relay exchange point, then walked back toward the crowds to get a good viewpoint for "E" to come back through downtown after crossing the All-American Bridge (aka the "Y" bridge).

We met up with Mrs. Viper's mother and grandmother, who would be spectating as they have the last few years.

"E" passed by and snapped at us, "You owe me a beer." 

After we cheered him on, we walked back to the starting line where we left our spectators at a bench to wait for "K" to come through. Then, the three remaining team members walked through the University of Akron toward the third relay exchange point.

By the time my wife and I got back to the shuttle buses to our exchange zones, we were cold and stopped in a Subway for coffee. We said our goodbyes and jumped on our respective chariots and were off.

The team plan was for the finishing runner to text the remaining members that next runner was on the course. By the time I reached my exchange zone, I still had not heard from "R" that she had handed off the baton (a slap bracelet) to "K," our fastest runner.

I jumped in line for the portable toilets, the coffee having done its magic, and kept checking my phone for updates. Finally, as I made my way to the corral, a text came through. "K" had started a half hour ago. He had hoped to come in under an hour.

The wait started to make me anxious. There was a GU station right at my exchange zone, so I grabbed a vanilla bean packet for breakfast and jumped back in line for the toilets just to make sure everything was out.

By my math "K" would arrive at a quarter until 10 a.m. I still had a decision to make: shoes or barefoot?

A couple factors weighed on my mind. It was chilly, and the first couple miles of my 4.5-mile leg of the race were in shade. While five of my last six runs were barefoot, the last one was Sept. 5. Also, I had never raced barefoot before.

I slipped a foot out of my Altra Samsons and felt the ground. Not the smoothest terrain and a bit cool. I kept my heels out as I waited for "K," trying to decide if I should go for it. Finally, it dawned on me that this may be the last chance I have to complete one of my goals for the year.

Soon after making my decision, I heard my bib number announced. He we go. I stripped off my jacket and shoes and stuffed them into my gear bag. I snaked up to the edge of the crowd and held my arm up for "K" to see. I bellowed his name. His head snapped to attention. He gave me the baton, and I gave him my bag. I was off.

Sand Run has been my most frequented running location since I began running in 2006. I know this terrain like no other. I've run barefoot here on sections of single-track hiking trails and the multipurpose path, but never on the road where I ran now.

The asphalt on Sand Run Parkway is pocked with craggy sections borne of Ohio's brutal winters. Before I even got started, the comments started. A race volunteer cried, "Put on some shoes!" She looked legitimately concerned.

Within the first mile, fear started to close in. What if this was a mistake? 

My feet were going numb from the cold. I slipped to the left side of the road and ran on the white line, which was smoother and a bit warmer than than the rest of the road. Two runners wearing Vibram FiveFingers commented on the strategy of a "real barefoot runner."

An interesting part of Sand Run is the ford where the eponymous creek crosses the road. It's fun to drive through and create a giant tidal wave. For the marathon, they have a bridge, which in years past was a narrow metal structure with a sharp, gated surface. Again, the fear.

When I got to the ford, my fears subsided. Because of the large crowd, they had instead created a bridge with a series of steel plates typically used in construction to cover excavation holes.

Instead, the grooved concrete leading up to the bridge proved to be the toughest test of tactile fortitude.

What may be my crowning achievement for this race is the fact that I did not start too fast. This was critical in my ability to run the entire way, including the big bad hill that they added to the race this year to paradoxically make the entire course flatter.

Instead of running the entire length of Sand Run park to Revere Road, the course turned onto Sand Run Road (yes, at the intersection of Sand Run and Sand Run). The steep hill reduced many fellow racers to a walk, but not me.

The final stretch of my leg of the relay is a long, slow incline. During the full marathon, this section has always been tough for me, as it crosses the 20th mile. This time, however, I felt stronger and stronger as I picked off those ahead me one by one.

About a mile from the final relay exchange, I passed a fellow relay runner who grumbled, "Are you kidding me?" 

My pace quickened. Firestone High School approached. A woman with a walkie-talkie said my bib number and added, "He's barefoot." I broke into a sprint.

Weaving between other runners, I spotted Mrs. Viper at the end of the corral. She held her arm out for me to slap on the bracelet, passing the baton. I gave her a kiss and wished her luck. I called my mother-in-law to tell her the exchange had taken place and headed toward the buses to get back to Canal Park for the finish.

The bus was packed. That guy I had passed shortly before finish was right behind me. He grilled me about barefoot running as we boarded. The bus ride was perhaps the scariest moment, as the grooved flooring of the aisle was uncomfortable to stand on and people all around me threatened to crush my toes with their giant clodhoppers. But I survived.

Once inside the stadium, I grabbed my food bag and two cans of light beer and roamed the outfield of Canal Park, where the AA minor league Akron Aeros play. The cool grass was soothing to my tender feet. I parked myself along the fencing to watch the finishers and wait for my wife to arrive. It would be about an hour for a just-before-noon finish.

Watching the marathoners file through sucker punched me. The range of emotion on their faces. Joy and anguish, smiles and tears. Oftentimes all of the above. I felt left out.

That feeling of triumph never gets old, but perhaps I had taken in for granted. 

I needed to see this to remember why I had done it myself the five years prior. I'm happy I participated in the relay, but I wish I had been able to find the strength to train for the marathon.

Mrs. Viper arrived early. She rounded the corner into the stadium looking strong, tired and happy. I reached my arm out to her and screamed her name. She ran over to give me a pre-finish kiss, crossing the line before getting upstaged by a marriage proposal.

The team finished in 4:47:34, beating my time of last year, a secret goal of mine. My pace was 10:19 per mile. Three of my teammates were running their first race ever. Mrs. Viper ran her longest race ever. And I ran my first barefoot race ever. All in all, we had a great experience.

We capped the race with lunch at Rockne's, a local pub chain, and I downed a giant glass of Great Lakes Octoberfest.

Mrs. Viper and I have vowed to use this experience to keep us active.

We're planning to ensure exercise at least three times a week to start.

And we started the new habit with a three-mile hike Sunday afternoon to shake out our legs.

And we're planning to run again today.

And we're already looking toward our next races.

And, and, and, and -- and, well, you'll just have to wait to read about the rest.

Flashback Friday: Racing Me

On the home stretch of our three-miler this morning, as we crossed a section of gravel and debris on the sidewalk that made me slow down, my wife suddenly turned on the jets. Oh, so that's how it's going to be, I see.

We were less than two blocks from home. She had a good 10-yard lead before the terrain allowed me to speed up. It took a moment to find my ketchup catch-up gear, but by that time the race was won. Mrs. Viper had chicked me.

She even turned around and gave me the "good job" handshake. Why don't you just spit in my eye and rub salt in my wounds while you're at it?

We have a four-miler on deck for our "long run" this weekend. She'd better watch out.

For the record, this was our second training run for the Akron Marathon Relay and second time waking up to run before work. What the hell is happening to me?

Back Talk
Wherein we've become morning runners

Jess has kicked your ass by commenting on every post so far this week and providing support for this recent trend of actual running: "Yay! Congrats on getting out there. Sometimes just getting out of bed is the hardest part!"

Answer: Morning is the worst, but my goal is for us to wake up early every day and either run or walk the dog on recovery days.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates! Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Some Actual Running

It was a struggle, but we did it. We woke up early. That was the hard part. The running was a piece of cake, a piece of cake with a couple walk breaks and wardrobe malfunctions.

The alarms went off before 6 a.m., and we finally got out the door about 45 minutes later.

Mrs. Viper is supposed to be the morning person in this relationship, but I was the one who finally rousted us out of bed.

I chose to go barefoot. The ground was cool. It was a pleasant morning for a run.

We ran a three-mile loop from the house. Mrs. Viper looked strong. Despite feeling a bit itchy, her scar didn't bother her too much. We covered more than a mile before our first walk break.

My right ankle was feeling a bit wonky. Apparently, it has gotten used to my slothful ways.

My wife's shoes started to bother her feet. First, the one seemed too loose. Then she wanted to take out the insert. Then the other one felt weird, so we took out that insert as well.

Because of her scar, it was too painful to reach down and mess with her shoes, so I bent down to do the task. The scene of a barefoot guy tying his wife's shoes amused me.

The final mile proved a tough test, what with its long slow incline becoming steeper as we returned to the Highland Square area. We had another couple of walk breaks, but we finished strong.

As I write this, Mrs. Viper is registering herself and the rest of our team. It's official. We're in training mode.

Flashback Friday: Nausea

This morning was a test of mettle. The bandage needed to come off and had started to leak blood. The clear covering, like tacky cellophane, had filled like a blister. Last month's experience told me we should do this sitting down.

Even starting to describe the process makes me hyperventilate. Picking at the edges of a fresh incision. A scar that has barely begun to heal. Trying to find purchase to peel the thin layer off the tender skin. Below, gauze the color of gore.

The cellophane layer came off easier than it had the last time. Practice makes perfect. But this time, the gauze stayed on the skin, stayed on the incision. The thought of pinching a corner of the bandaging and peeling it off the wound made my stomach turn.

My feelings of nausea were in part because of the sight of blood, which dripped from the covering, but more from knowing how my wife was feeling. The pain. The discomfort. The queasiness. All from my efforts to get this stuff off her sensitive skin and then clean it with hydrogen peroxide so she could return to work today without fear of leaking blood through her uniform.

These are the words of a worried husband, his wife prone to giving 100 percent, even when her body isn't ready for it. This day can't end soon enough.

Back Talk
Wherein we announce a potential goal for the next race

BrianFlash suggests a way to slowly recover my training prowess: "Perfect solution -- get out there and run shoeless! After I had been running lots of mile[s] in minimalist shoes, I went out shoeless and had to stop at 3. That's all the untrained soles could take."

Answer: One of my goals this year was to run a race barefoot. Considering this may be my only other race this year, I've toyed with the idea of doing it barefoot. However, my soles aren't that untrained, as I still walk around without shoes, often over my rocky driveway.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates! Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Hitting Bottom

Perhaps it's a good thing that it's already August. July started off strong, with a 10-mile run to cap a 25-mile week, but then the bottom dropped off.

My running schedule was delayed a bit that second week, as my next run wasn't until the hottest Independence Day ever, then I hit the busy parcours the next day, and then nothing for three weeks.

The run-less streak finally ended last Friday, with my Crazy Eights routine. By that time, however, the damage was done. Here's last month's statistical rundown:

• Total Miles: 23 miles (5 runs)
• Total Time: 4.71 hours
• Highest Weekly: 7 miles
• Average Weekly: 5.75 miles
• Average Pace: 12:17/mile
• The Monthly Dif: -24 miles (47 miles in June)

Yep, that's my lowest monthly mileage of the year. Those stats are just depressing, especially in light of supposed marathon training.

The other day, I attempted to devise a quick-ramp-up plan to get into 20-miler shape, but then I lost the motivation Monday to get started. The run was delayed until last night. My body still hurt a bit from my intense workout over the weekend.

The three-mile barefoot run was enjoyable, but the thought of trying to turn around and run five miles today seemed like a recipe for injury.

The thought occurred to me that I'm not respecting the distance. I think I can just fake it and be able to run 26 miles in two months. Am I just fooling myself?

Instead of taking control of my running and making a decision about the marathon, I've instead acquiesced to the "whatever happens, happens" scenario. Like some John Irving character, I'm putting off a choice and instead doing nothing, hoping that it'll all sort out itself.

Yesterday, I read that the Akron Marathon only has 100 places left open for the full, and right now the budget says an entry fee is out of the question until later. I'm starting to accept how this will likely end.

Flashback Friday: Of Altitude and Bareness

It seems all my altitude training paid off, as last night's barefoot three-miler was blisteringly fast. My phone clocked me at a 9:04 pace, a new fastest, and my lungs felt better than they have in weeks.

This weekend's schedule calls for another three-miler and a seven-miler, which I'll likely run on trails. It's been a couple weeks since I've completed all the planned runs on my pre-training schedule. I'm hoping to change that trend.

Last week, I was forced to cut my attempted seven-miler to six miles because of fatigue. While I'm still coughing up gross bits and suffering from a stuffy nose, my energy level is much better than it was during that run.

The weather has been more than ideal for March and is forecast to remain in the high 60s and 70s for the next several days. It's almost criminal not to be running.

Back Talk
Wherein we address the resident heckler

Nitmos seeks to put salt in the wound: "You know what would have prevented that left big toe hot spot?"

Answer: Grapefruit rinds? Although socks would have likely done the trick.

Happy Hour is just around the corner, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend and don't get too out of line this St. Patrick's Day. Remember to cast out the snakes and don't order an Irish Car Bomb in the vicinity of an Irishman. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Flashback Friday: About Those Goals

With two weeks left in the year, it's a pretty safe bet that I won't be achieving any more goals this year. Yes, you've stumbled into one of those "looking back" posts. It is Flashback Friday, after all.

Way back on Jan. 3, I spelled out the things I hoped to achieve. Just so you don't have to go back and read that post again, here's what I wrote.

The Requisite Goal SectionAs we enter the new year, we all feel the need to make new goals. In the past, I've made grand and specific goals. This year, my goal is to be a "better" runner and teammate.
Enthusiasm: The Enthusiast is embarking on her first half marathon in May, and my goal is to help her get there. Notice, I didn't say "coach her there." Instead, I plan to be a dedicated training partner and fan. She has been my biggest fan, and now it's my turn.
Attitude: I've never been one of those annoying happy runners you see, and I likely never will be, but I'd like to be more upbeat about running. While I do obsess a bit about my stats, it really shouldn't be my focus when I'm a solid mid-pack runner. The reason why I run is not to gloat about numbers, but to feel good physically and mentally. It's time to focus on the joy of running.
Bare essentials: What was I just saying about numbers? Last year, I hit a point where I had nearly logged 10 percent of my total mileage without shoes. This year, I'd like to make that a reality by adding more barefoot runs to me routine. Of course, I'll wait until spring to doff my footwear.
Marathon: The Akron Marathon falls just two weeks after the Enthusiast and I get married. I probably would have passed on it this year if running it for the fifth consecutive year didn't mean I get VIP "Legacy" status. Last year, I finally broke the four-hour mark. I'll try that again.
Redux: I didn't even come close to doing it last year, but I'd still like to try to run 20 miles per week for the whole year. I've already failed at this goal once, won't cry about it if I do it again this year.

Now, how'd I do?

Enthusiasm: Well, Mrs. Viper's first half marathon became a DNB. This just wasn't the right time.
Goal Grade: Incomplete.

Attitude: Judging by the ridiculously small number of miles I ran this year (oops, there's those stats again), I'd say I didn't focus much on running at all in 2011. My experience during the Akron Marathon, however, showed me the joy being part of the running community.
Goal Grade: C for coming along.

Bare essentials: Had I run barefoot last night like I said I might (coughstoryofmylifecough), I would have 100 miles of running barefoot this year. As it stands now, I have run 18 percent of my total mileage without footwear. Last year, I ran 71 miles barefoot, whereas I've run 97 miles this year.
Goal Grade: A for awesomepants.

Marathon: Well, I ran the Akron Marathon as planned, so that's something. I was a bit shy of the the four-hour mark, but I nailed my "married PR."
Goal Grade: B for better than nothing.

Redux: Do I really need to say anything about averaging 20 miles per week this year?
Goal Grade: F for failed so hard.

What are my goals for next year? Well, you'll just have to come back for that post.

Back Talk
Wherein some people don't know how to count.

Jamoosh doesn't think much of my new (since ended) streak: "Can there really be a streak of one? Regardless, congrats on ending one streak; just don't start another of the same ilk."

Answer: No, there can't be a streak of one, as a "streak" denotes a series. Thankfully, I ran serially Friday and Saturday for a two-day streak of runs.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates! Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Getting Settled

The streak still stands. Eighteen days and counting without a run. Moving remains the only exercise I've completed in this time span.

Mrs. Viper and I took a break from getting settled yesterday, as we returned to work. Last night, we worked the phones to tell our previous ISP/cable provider to get bent in favor of a competitor that is installing service today, rather than a month from tomorrow. So much for the value of customer loyalty.

Today, we'll return to unpacking and arranging the remaining rooms. This work needs to be done by the weekend, as we've invited people over for a house warming and Christmas tree trimming soiree. Therefore, my only exercise on the schedule is moving stuff around the house and chopping down a tree.

You'll be happy to note that I'm trying to retain what little barefoot prowess I may have been making the house a shoe-free zone. My feet are either bare or clad in socks when at home. It's the little things that count.

Many Happy Returns

Newlyweds return to the location of their first vacation as a couple. A return to Baseball Mecca. A return to Cooley's. A return to Bear Pond Winery. A return to Brewery Ommegang. A return home. A return to running. A return to work delayed another day. A return to blogging. And thus I return.

It has been a delightful respite from everyday life these past 10 days. The Enthusiast and I embarked on an eight-hour journey to Cooperstown, N.Y., for our honeymoon last week. Our return to the birthplace of baseball included a return to some of our favorite spots -- Cooley's Stone House Tavern, Bear Pond Winery, Brewery Ommegang and (for me) the National Baseball Hall of Fame -- but it also included the discovery of many new experiences.

We stayed at the Inn at Cooperstown as part of the "Bed & Brew" package, which included a meet and greet and share with the other guests, wherein we all brought our favorite craft beers and/or home brews to sample. The Enthusiast and I brought our remaining stash of last year's porter and two six-packs of Thirsty Dog's 12 Dogs of Christmas and Great Lakes Brewing's Oktoberfest.

There were many a beer to try, and many for the first time, but the one that stood the test of the ensuring brewfog was Hot-Jala-Heim ("Beer with Bite"), a chili-flavored beer by Horseheads Brewing in Horseheads, N.Y. I'm kicking myself for not stopping when I saw the exit for Horseheads on the way home because I doubt I'll be able to find this beer locally.

The main event for our package deal was a tour, tasting and five-course dinner pairing at Brewery Ommegang. The Enthusiast and I were shocked at how much the brewery had changed since our last visit three years ago. The company has greatly expanded under Duvel's ownership, adding a large storage facility and a just-opened tasting room with a restaurant and retail shop attached.

New to Ommegang's lineup is its BPA, a Belgian-style pale ale, which kind of bridges the gap between Belgian and American pale ales. Frankly, I wasn't overly impressed by this brew, as it tastes like a dull IPA. However, the rest of the brews were delicious as always. We picked up a bottle of Aphrodite, but sadly lost it while unloading the car. I hope to find a replacement bottle somewhere.

Other notable booze purchases included Bear Pond's Winter Bear, hard cider and apple ice wine from Fly Creek Cider Mill, and a three-liter bottle Abbey Ale brewed especially for the Inn at Cooperstown and signed by the brewmaster. (As the innkeeper said, "It's the single-serving size.")

As for running, I managed to get out for three miles barefoot yesterday. It's been far too long since I last ran, let alone without shoes, so my feet got a little chilly on the cold pavement. Now it's time to start working off the weight gained since the marathon.

Flashback Friday: Don't Spare the Whips

At least that's what I tell the Enthusiast, but that's another story. We're short on time this morning, as my office summer picnic is today, and I have drive out to BFE to a canoe livery.

This morning's five-miler was a bit chilly to start. Is it almost autumn already? I think I missed summer. Somebody press rewind.

Let's get right to it ...

Back Talk
Wherein I don't have time for this shit.

Jamoosh doesn't delay his opinion: "There is nothing wrong with a 4:30 marathon."

Answer: I didn't say there was. I'm just managing goals. That is my "A goal" for this year's Akron Marathon.

Jess cautions against morning runs: "Supposedly, everyone's feet are more tender first thing in the morning. Careful of developing PF from running barefoot first thing. I've read that even stepping onto hard floors right out of bed is damaging to the soles of the feet."

Answer: That sounds like a load of horseshit. Lock that theory up with the bogeyman. If I injure myself getting out of bed, I promise to die of shame.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Me and the Hybrid Guy

Not even a mile into my run this morning a guy was yelling out his car window at me. I had to wake up early this morning to run because the Enthusiast and I have a meeting with our DJ tonight.

The cool morning gave me the shivers, but my bare feet enjoyed the lack of burning. It took me a good quarter mile before my feet could ramp up to a quick turnover. Yes, BrianFlash, I shoot for four steps per second, or 240 per minute. My goal is to make 180 steps per minute (or three per second) my minimum turnover rate.

My feet seem more tender in the morning from my limited experience. Perhaps a day's worth of walking around toughens (or numbs?) them by the time I go for a run in the afternoon. Just an observation.

By the time I reached the big intersection, I was up to speed and my feet had settled into the run. I crossed the street and slipped behind a Honda stopped at the light. As soon as I cleared the opposite curb, the car made a wonky noise, and I realized it must be a hybrid. I was too late to check the branding.

The driver pulled forward a few feet and then stopped. As I passed the car, the passenger window rolled down, and the driver yelled, "Nice!"

Definitely a hybrid.

I gave the excited man a friendly wave and continued on my way. My four-miler was otherwise uneventful. My pace was slightly faster than my average for the past three weeks, and my quickest pace over four miles since July 27. Steady improvement.

Flashback Friday: Different Year

Last weekend was the Burning River 100, Northeast Ohio's own super-mega-ultra marathon. Instead of catching any of the action like we did last year, the Enthusiast and I slept in Sunday morning to recover from a friend's wedding the previous night, spent a couple hours with a house inspector, and then I ran a satisfying nine-miler in the dark to complete my training week. What a difference a year makes.

A year ago at this time, I ran twice as far during my training en route to a personal best marathon. This year, I strive only to set my "married PR" and achieve VIP status at the Akron Marathon. I look forward to the adventure of running a half marathon the morning after my bachelor party and completing a marathon while undertrained.

Instead of working to improve upon my race times this year, I decided to focus more on barefoot running and improved form. Last night, I finally got out for a run this week. The five-miler was my longest barefoot run this year.

I still notice a slight tendency to develop hot spots on my left foot, between the pad and first joint of my big toe and on the outside edge of my foot below the pinkie toe. The cause is pushing off with the big toe and then compensating for the resulting tenderness by rolling my foot toward the outside. The cure, I hope, is continued focus on a balanced landing and quicker turnover.

Thus, the great experiment continues. I wonder where I'll be next year.

Back Talk
Wherein we play house.

Ironman By Thirty can't believe a bank wouldn't have any conflicts about giving me a loan: "Whoa, whoa, whoa ... They gave YOU a bank loan to buy a house?!?! Didn't the lenders learn anything during the mortgage crisis? I would think that a banjo playing, barefoot running hippie on the loan application would have sent red flags all over the place. I suppose maybe the Enthusiast's stellar qualities trumped yours."

Answer: It certainly didn't hurt to have the lovely Enthusiast by my side when I applied, but I'm the sole borrower on the loan. You'd be amazed how far you can get with temporary sobriety and a shower. Also, leave the banjo at home.

Carolina John can't believe how much of a pain in the rear it is to get a home loan: "It's amazing to me how difficult it is to buy a house today. ... Now they practically make you give blood samples in the mortgage application process. ... Dave Ramsey says to only get a 15-year loan with at least 20% down, and the principal + interest should take up no more than 25% of your monthly income. I like Dave, he's got some really smart ideas."

Answer: I agree about Dave Ramsey, but we're just not in a place to put down 20 percent on a house. However, I'm following his snowball plan to reduce other debts so we can live comfortably.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Flashback Friday: Barefoot Technique

Every once in a while a pebble will embed itself into my sole. This must happen to every barefoot runner, unless I have uncommonly sticky feet. The sensation is not unlike a pebble finding its way into your shoe.

In the event of a pebble, I have devised two techniques to dislodge it from my foot, all the while keeping stride (more or less).

First is the sole scraper, wherein I plant my foot and purposefully drag it against the ground to remove the stuck pebble. This works most of the time, although sometimes requiring repeat attempts.

Second, if the first doesn't work, is a quick foot wipe, which requires a bit of flexibility and quick reflexes. I bring  the foot with the stuck pebble higher in the air and reach down with my hand to brush off the annoyances. This acrobatic maneuver could go horribly wrong, I fear, but so far, so good.

On the rare occasion that neither of above techniques work, I stop and remove the pebble.

Sometimes, I just grit my teeth and ignore the stuck pebble. I don't recommend this option unless you only have a short way to go until your run is finished.

Back Talk
Wherein the only bird gets the worm. 

BrianFlash, the only person to comment on a post so far this week, wonders if my forgetful legs might require a run/walk race strategy: "Are you considering Gallowagging in Akron? When I head into a long race undertraining, I think it works as a strategy."

Answer: I've never been disciplined enough to correctly follow a run/walk plan. And after reading about Jeff Galloway's baseless opinion of running barefoot or in minimalist shoes, I'm a bit dubious about subscribing to any of his advice.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates! Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!