Posts tagged running

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Barefoot Running in the Winter in Ohio on a Budget

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I’ve turned a corner in my barefoot running life. It takes a long time for someone like me to build up mileage under normal circumstances, but barefoot running requires an even slower build up, so when I completely started over with barefoot running last year, I knew it would be a while until I was back to normal-for-me mileage. Then I moved to this neighborhood full of hills and I thought I might die. Then winter came and I thought I might die in a snow bank on a hill with frostbitten feet. But I didn’t! And now I’m back to my normal. And it makes me happy.

From almost the very beginning, it was clear that I wanted the feel of barefoot running, but with some shoe-like things on my feet because I couldn’t get the hang of not pushing off of the balls of my feet in order to minimize friction and avoid blisters. Back in those days (uh, 10 months ago), Vibrams were the recommended minimalist shoes. But I think they’re ugly and, though less expensive than regular running shoes, still more than I wanted to spend. Nowadays they have these minimalist shoes, which look totally rad:

Bad for Budgets!

But they’re $160 and it enrages me to spend that much of my clothing budget on a single item, so I’ll probably never buy them. Instead of real minimalist shoes, I bought $10 water shoes from the grocery store. To be honest, one of the reasons I started barefoot running last year was because I needed new running shoes, but I didn’t want to pay for them. I’d heard about barefoot running so I looked into more and gave it a try. I read Born to Run and all of the foot science stuff in there made so much sense to me, unlike most things I read which leave me mostly confused. And then I read some more things. But then I switched to wearing water shoes, so was I still running barefoot? Some of the internet says yes, but I have issues with exactness so I DON’T THINK SO! I’m a minimalist runner, but that phrase isn’t heard on NPR and whatnot so I’m saying “barefoot,” but you all know I really mean “minimalist,” right? In real life I say, “Well, not really barefoot, but almost.” which is too wordy for typing.

Good for Budgets!

After barefooting it for a few months, I put my regular old Asics on just to wear while having a garage sale and I threw my back out. The sciency stuff about barefoot running tells me that that was because the bulky Asics affected my gait so much that my back didn’t know what to do with itself so it tried to commit suicide. So I put those shoes in the Planet Aid box and bought myself some minimalist shoes that I could walk around in and not be embarrassed by (I’m looking at you, Vibrams. Yes, you’re embarrassing. And this is coming from me. Have you seen how I dress? If I think you’re embarrassing, then you have a problem). I believe that minimalist shoes should be cheap, so I bought these:

Lovely, under $40, room for my foot to experience its whole range of motion, no bunion pain, and no back pain. I had already built up the strength in my foot tendons and muscles by being close-to-barefoot at all times all summer, so I didn’t have that part of the curve to deal with. But the amazing lack of bunion pain when wearing real-live shoes caused a happiness to bubble up within me, the likes of which I usually don’t experience unless there is some sort of good food involved. Every single time I bought a new pair of shoes, I’d have bunion pain until my foot wore down that part of the shoe. I thought it was a fact of life. Turns out, I was suffering for no reason! And then I married barefoot running. (I didn’t really because I’m not adding a 2nd husband to my marriage until ALL people can get married to inanimate objects, ideas, or even just other people who happen to be the same sex. Wait, is that the “slippery slope” conservatives talk about? Haha, so dumb.)

When winter came, I knew I had to find a way to get through it without real shoes. I put some SmartWool on, upgraded to $30 water shoes, mostly because it seemed like I needed a little extra weather protection around the bottom of my feet, but also because we had sold our house and I was feeling so spendy! The shoes and socks were perfect if there was no precipitation or melty snow on the road. In other words, that combo was perfect for roughly 4 days of a mid-Ohio winter. Wet feet + cold weather = bullcrap. So I asked the internet to tell me what to wear instead, but the internet forgot that I don’t spend big money on single items that I can’t even wear to fancy places where I never go. It kept telling me to get those awful Vibrams and whatnot. I told the internet to try again and it found Seal Skinz for me. Good internet. Now that it’s allegedly almost spring, I have some things figured out. If it’s cold and wet, I wear my water shoes, SmartWool, and Seal Skinz.

If it’s cold and dry, just the water shoes and SmartWool. If it’s over 40 degrees and dry, it’s warm enough to wear just the water shoes and light socks. And that is so, so lovely. I don’t have to, but I usually choose to wear a light pair of running socks with my water shoes because, without the socks, the smell that grows within the disgusting shell of those shoes is life-threatening. Our house is small. If my running shoes smell bad, the whole house smells bad. Also, I like socks because I usually take the liner out of the bottom of the shoes because it tends to slip around and be weird, and then my feet don’t have to cope with leftover sticky stuff. That has only been an issue with the grocery store shoes, though. The Speedo ones still have their liner and I’ve been wearing them since December.

All of those things, including the walking around shoes, come to less than $100. The only part of my combo that will have to be replaced regularly is the water shoes, and now I know I can go back to the $10 grocery store shoes because the Seal Skinz eliminate my perceived need for more weather protection. I used to spend over $100 on shoes 3 times per year. Because that’s what they told me I needed to do and I am ever so compliant. I’d spend that money and still have bunion pain for weeks until I wore down the state-of-the-art cushioning that made my shoes more expensive. Stupid!

I’m totally going to make a list of all of the good food I can buy with the money I’m saving. And then I’m going to eat my way through Columbus barefoot. The end.

 

 

Lena and Lib yellow onesies

Fat Talk is for Babies

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Because it’s the New Year and everybody is resolving to do All of the Good Things and None of the Bad Things, I wanted to share something with you. Here it is: It’s ok to be a woman and have a good body image.

Before Thanksgiving, this post from Psych Central showed up in my Google Reader: How to Have a Fat-Talk Free Holiday Season and I immediately subscribed to that blog because, of all of the things in the world that I hate, I hate fat talk the most. I hate that I’ve done it when the conversation has been steered that way. I hate that when I started running I would feel guilty about it around women who don’t run, and then I’d say I only run because I really like to eat when, really, I run because I like the way it feels. I really like to eat, too, but that’s not why I run. I like to eat real food. Real butter, real cream, real sugar, and I eat what I like to eat without guilt. I don’t care what size my body parts are. I don’t weigh myself. I move how I want, I eat what I want, and I buy bigger pants when I need to. And I just don’t give a care.

It wasn’t always this way. When you’re a girl, you grow up with this culture of fat talk. How much do you weigh? What size are your pants? And it seems like that’s the most important thing. You’re supposed to look in the mirror and point out all the (unchangeable) ways your body sucks. My mom dieted a lot. She looked in the mirror and sighed, but she never turned a critical eye on my body. She never gave me “helpful” advice about weight loss and she never said, “If you eat that, you’ll get fat,” and, because of that, I think it was easier for my sister and me to grow out of that self-loathing that was just a product of our culture and not really who we were. I don’t like that culture. And, yes, I said “grow out of that” because I think it really is a maturity issue. There is nothing more immature than focusing on the outside when the inside is where the truth of Everything is. The inside is where the worthwhile work is and we can’t work on that when we’re distracted by the outside bits.

The other day, Lena (11) asked me how much she weighed and I threw a little bit of a hissy fit, telling her that she weighs as much as she’s supposed to weigh, and that weight is just a number and the same number on one person will look different on another person, and it’s also just a way for women to compete with each other. Women (and girls) step on the scale in the morning and use that number to make or break their day when it doesn’t mean anything. Every body is different. She was like, “Uh…A simple ‘I don’t know’ would do, crazy lady.’” Ahem.

I can remember being just about Lena’s age when I realized that I weighed more than my friends. It had never occurred to me before, but everybody was talking about it and it was…what was it? I was going to type “devastating,” but it wasn’t that. It was…odd. It was kind of like, “Oh, ok. I’m heavier. I guess that sucks?” And then I played that role with the sighing and the, “Ohmigod, my legs are huge!” But I was grateful for my powerful legs that helped me be super awesome at sporty things and stuff. I was supposed to think I was gross, but I was glad to be strong. Again, I think I was able to focus on strength because that was important at home. Nobody at home was telling me I was fat or warning me I was going to get fat someday or restricting my food intake, not even in a passive-aggressive-eyebrows-raised kind of way. Thanks, Mom.

Way back when my sister had her first daughter in 1993, she and I made a commitment to never let that little girl hear us talking bad about our bodies. No looking in the mirror with disgust, no “If I eat that, I’ll get fat,” nothing. That commitment lead to the eventual realization that I just don’t care how big or small my parts are, but I feel like I have to fulfill this womanly duty of talking as if I do when I’m around women who do that. So I don’t do that anymore. Fat talk is for babies. I love fat babies and I’ll talk all day about yummy fat baby rolls, but if you say, “Ugh, if I eat that, I’m going to have to work it off,” I will roll my eyes and walk away. I might have a good body image, but I’m still pretty bitchy.

So, if you’re a lady type*, who grew up with the lady culture of fat talk and you feel like you’re gross, I’m going to promise you that you’re not gross and you don’t have to talk like you are just to make other ladies more comfortable. And you deserve to eat good food. So let’s all go read Eleven Body Image Practices to Pitch in 2011 and throw away those negative body image things we do. Because our daughters are watching us. And if you’re struggling with feeding your children, go ahead and check out Family Feeding Dynamics while you’re at it. Go ahead. You’ll thank me for it.

*Maybe you’re a guy type, but you still struggle with body image. I don’t know what it’s like growing up with so much testosterone that I could punch a wall, but I know that everybody could benefit from loving themselves just a little bit more.

A Buck and a River and a Face Stomp

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I raced a buck along the river this morning. A young 4-pointer, he was on the trail as I came around a curve. We startled each other and he leaped into the woods, ensconced in the comfort of his home. The leaves had mostly fallen, enabling me to spy as he sidled (no longer afraid) down to the shallow river. He glanced back at me, so I stopped running. He gave the river a sniff, then picked his way across with steps at once hesitant and sure, analyzing the river’s depth with each footfall. Once on the other side, he gave a couple of shakes, and looked back at me. I started running again. He humored me by slowly trotting in the same direction for almost 100 yards. In this way, we shared our morning.

What? I can’t write some nature junk once in a while? DON’T PUT ME IN YOUR BOX! I’m just kidding. I belong in that box because the real reason I paid such close attention to that buck is because I thought it would be spooked enough to gore me. And I thought it was stalking me. I saw 2 more deer that day, a doe running for her life with a HUGE buck running right behind. My first thought was that that doe’s totally in for some non-consensual sexy time. But, really, they were being chased by a dog so it’s all good. It’s all good until the buck stomps that lab’s face in, I guess.

That settles it. I’m not spraying deer piss on me before running anymore.

I hope I don't go to jail for messing with this image.

Feckless Friday: iTunes Edition

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itunes

I know you like to read about my own fecklessness (I can tell by my stats that Panic! at the Whole Foods Edition is your favorite post, Sadists), but I’m outing iTunes today. Because I’m mad and they won’t return my phone calls. And I’m outing you people because you can still participate in Feckless Friday by tweeting or facebooking or calling me and telling about your (or other people’s) fecklessness even if I skip a few Fridays as I am wont to do because of my fecklessness! Ok? So play along.

Anyway, iTunes? Why are you doing this to me? I like to make a playlist of podcasts, mixing “The Moth” in with “This American Life” and “School Sucks,” or what have you. I need to be able to push skip when I’m listening to “School Sucks” and they start talking about statists and how dumb it is that we all want states. I can’t do that now. Now, when they veer off the school subject on to the Paultard subjects, I have to stop running, take off my arm band, pause my workout, choose “change music,” find out that I can’t just choose “change music” and find another podcast, oh no, I have to choose “end workout” and then I have to look at my milage and subtract what I’ve already run from the total that I want to run and then start a whole new workout with a new podcast, which means you’ve committed the ultimate sin by forcing me to do maths! And then my Nike+ bar graph isn’t as pretty with long, tall slender bars. Instead, it has short, stubby bars with decimals. DECIMALS! Because that is the extent of maths I had to go to. It makes me want to write a letter in all caps with lots and lots of exclamation points. And maybe handwritten. But probably  nobody would be able to read it through the tear stains. So fix it, iTunes. Everything was fine until you did your stupid 9.0.stupid update. Stupid.

And don’t tell me that I can still make a podcast playlist, because I know that. I can make all the podcast playlists that I want, but when the little menu of playlists comes up for me to choose which ones I want to sync? Well, there are no podcast playlists available for syncing. Not allowed! They should have a pop-up that says, “Did you enjoy making that totally useless podcast playlist? It was fun to watch you do that for absolutely no reason. We’re all laughing at you from inside your computer.” Because that’s how it feels. And I can hardly function.

Undead

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You guys, that was a bad flu. I think it was the H1N1, according to a chart that Kristen sent me, but we don’t have confirmation because we didn’t go to the doctor because there’s nothing they could do for us anyway, thanks to the fact the Liberty already has her very own handy-dandy nebulizer for breathing treatments, and the rest of us just needed ibuprofen. Lots and lots of ibuprofen. The ibuprofen was my best friend ever in the whole world. The ibuprofen took the pain and chills and heat away. I will name my next baby “ibuprofen.”

I couldn’t even watch tv, read, play with the internet, or eat very much. I had 3 review books just sitting here waiting for me to read them, but I couldn’t even lift them, let alone focus my eyes and then also think about what I was reading in order to write a coherent review. It was an extremely unproductive, painful illness. It was one of those where you find yourself re-thinking your last will and testament. I didn’t really like it much at all. After the sickness part was over, there was this extreme exhaustion that we just couldn’t shake. I took at least 1 nap every day for 10 days. I haven’t done that since having babies and toddlers. I miss napping with babies and toddlers. That was fun. Falling over half-dead because you moved around a little bit earlier in the day was not fun.

I was too wiped out to run the 1/2 marathon. I told myself the night before that I wouldn’t be running so I might as well just go to sleep, but that didn’t work because my nervous brain knew I was going to try to run it, so I had my traditional no-sleep-the-night-before-the-race, which is the thing I hate the most about races. The next morning, I was very weak after putting my d-tag on my shoe and pinning my bib number to my shirt so I said, “You know what? You’re dumb if you think you’re going to run this race,” and threw in the towel. But I did have enough adrenaline/drugs in order to go watch my sister complete her very first 1/2 and she did great! She kicks so much more ass than I do because she didn’t just run the 1/2, take a shower, and then sit around in stretchy pants all week. She ran the 1/2, took a shower, did her hair, put on make-up, and put on JEANS. Now Bryan is going to expect more than my usual post-race week of sloth if I ever run another one. *sigh*

I did really enjoy watching and yelling, “Lookin’ good, runners!” and stuff like that. That is, until Bryan and my niece and nephew got there and started making fun of me for cheering. Meanies. I think they were just jealous because nobody ever cheers for their lazy asses.

It was a too-short visit, but I’m glad they came. I didn’t really have my appetite, but when I think about all of the things we ate, it seems funny to say I didn’t have my appetite. I eat a lot of food and I get sad when I can’t eat a lot of food. Also, my mom visited for a whole week and she’s all about the eating out and feeding us snacks. I couldn’t even enjoy it and now I’m hungry. And sad.

As usual, this flu hit Liberty the hardest. She has lung issues and if we didn’t already own a nebulizer, we would’ve gone to the  hospital. Last night was the first night she didn’t need a pre-bed breathing treatment, and I’m sure she’s over it. Nevertheless, I will leave the nebulizer, her meds, and all of the little attachments for the nebulizer out all over the house for another 2 weeks or so because I always feel like if I put it away too soon, she’ll relapse. God hates it when I feel confident, so if I put it away, he’ll zap her, I just know it.

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