This is part three in a four part report on my recent barefoot/minimalist running. The first part detailed my unshod journey - how I took off my shoes. The second part was a detailed race report of the “Hundred in the Hood” in Vibrams, in which I ran the PCT Ultra 100 Mile Endurance Run wearing Vibram Five Fingers. This post provides a detailed race report of my barefoot running of the Portland Marathon. The fourth and final post will give my less detailed impressions of reaching these two minimalist accomplishments on back-to-back weekends and where I see myself going from here. I hope you enjoy the race report!
One week after running the “Hundred in the Hood” PCT100, my feet seemed ready to run again. I had come out with a couple of blisters right behind the toes that were my main concern. But after a week they had recovered to a point that they were not going to stop me from going down to the Portland Marathon start line. I was positively non-committal about finishing. I had run the marathon as little as two weeks after a 100 mile trail run, but cutting that recovery time in half for my tired body and battle worn feet to set out on my first barefoot marathon was not something that I was sure I could do. I saw myself finishing, but I wasn’t committing to it.
The morning of 4 October 2009 came, race day. I got online and saw reference to lots of rain. It had rained all morning but the hours of the race still looked like good weather. I made sure I had a jacket, and wondered how the wet streets would affect my run. I have done all of my barefoot training in Summer. Mostly in the Summer of 2009 when I set out on a training plan to get my feet and form ready for a barefoot marathon, but also all of my other attempts at barefoot running. All in all I wasn’t too concerned.
I make it downtown, park at the local university when I see the usual backup of traffic with marathoners trying to park as close to the start as possible, and start making my final decisions. Rain? No. Leave the jacket. Race “chip” loop thingy? Use the zip tie I’ve positioned on my left ankle. Drop bag to wear sweats to and from the start/finish? No. I head down to the start ready to race.
The conversations start immediately. A group of Japanese girls make comments I can’t understand and give off a flurry of surprised laughs. People ask me if I’m running the whole way barefoot. People ask me if I trained barefoot. People ask me why, Why, WHY? I do my best to answer with levity and humor. One woman says her son has Vibram Five Fingers and will be thrilled to hear about me. A woman with an Australian accent shouts the name of a barefoot runner - I didn’t hear which one but she said “he was a famous barefoot runner!” I find my way to the lineup of runners, position myself near the 4:15 pace group, and settle into longer conversations with the runners around me. I’m near a man who has run one marathon in Southern California and has come to Portland with a friend for this marathon. I discover that mentioning last weekend’s 100 mile run doesn’t feel like the right way to proceed in conversation. Many things about today are new.
As the start approaches, people start jumping the fence to get into position. Up until this point the cold of the street on my feet has been my main concern, but now I’m worried about somebody landing on my toes. We all get into place without incident, and we hear the first firing of the start gun. And another. And another. We’re starting in waves. Finally our section of runners is moving and I cross the chip-reading mat. I start the stopwatch on my phone and we’re off.
The cold wet road feels funny on my feet. I can’t tell if I feel more or less than usual. I hope that I’m not altering my form as a result because that could make for a long day. Temperature changes have caused me to blister before due to changes in running form. I settle into my pace and stop worrying. Things are feeling good. The questions pick up again now that the runners are mingling past each other. I discover that when somebody asks if I’ve run a marathon barefoot before, and I say “no”, that this seems to let them totally ignore me as somebody else’s problem. A couple of miles into the run I’ve made it into some real conversation. A woman goes beyond the “are you running all the way barefoot” and “have you done this before” to ask the meaty question “why?” I explain about how we’re made to run, how shoes are largely incompatible with that way of running, and my desire to avoid injuries. Another runner saddles up beside me. Avoid injuries? What do I think about shin splints? Am I concerned about staff infection? I do my best to answer these questions, and get into another great conversation. This woman is an assistant track coach, and seems interested in my combination of reasoning and applied experience. We chat a bit more, giving the brief runner biographies that get exchanged during a marathon, and then part ways again. A man and woman in orange ask me if I’m making a point by running barefoot. I say no and ask if they’re making a point by running in orange. They say no, but say that I should do this to raise money for a cause. They seem experienced in such things and I tell them about the blog. A man who seemed to think that some barefoot runners on the Run Hit Wonder 10K were crazy points out that at least the street is wet for me, providing less friction. I point out that the goal is to set the foot down and lift it up, that friction was not a real concern with proper form. He points out that it will be better for me because there is less friction. A woman is very excited to run with Barefoot Guy (the whole town seems to have got together and agreed that this is what they would call me). She shouts at her son to take pictures of us together as we pass him. A man who has read Christopher McDougal’s Born To Run takes the opportunity to question a living breathing barefoot runner. People on the side of the road are very excited about Barefoot Guy. A woman asks why I’m barefoot and believes me when I joke that I forgot my shoes. A man talks to me about meditation retreats, seeming to sense that Barefoot Guy has something in common with him that many other runners don’t. I try to respond to positive and original comments throughout the day. I cross paths with the assistant coach again, and we settle into conversation in its long form. We chat about all things marathon and plenty of things barefoot along the industrial out-and-back, through NW Portland, and onto St. Helens Rd. We pass the half way mark and make it a couple more miles toward St. Johns Bridge. Many of the routine comments go unanswered as we are engrossed in conversation. Finally I need to make a pit stop and she continues on.
So far my run has been uneventful aside from the unique conversations. The coldness of my feet passes and I seem to adjust fine to the wet road. I’m not too tired from last weekend’s run, and seem to be maintaining a steady pace (looking at my results afterward would support this, I was like a metronome). I was feeling some body friction that I worried would alter my form, but some petroleum jelly took care of that. I wished I had a steady supply of carbs to insure my fuel level, but I seemed to be doing fine. People are slowing down on the approach to the St. Johns Bridge, but I’m just getting warmed up. I start a lot of passing. The results stat page would say I passed 797 people after the half-marathon mark and 31 passed me. Looking back I can believe it. I didn’t get much faster but I think a lot of people started slowing down. I’m looking forward to the stretch from the St. Johns Bridge to mile 21 or so where a lot of pictures will be taken.
Now that I’m a good ways into the run there doesn’t seem to be the doubt that people had at the start. I hear a lot more people calling me crazy though. There are great crowds over here and they’re all very excited about Barefoot Guy. I try to return the favor. As people start hitting the wall I hear more comments from those around me. Some say “at least I’m not barefoot like that guy.” Some say “even Barefoot Guy is doing better than me!” I get used to a wide range of exclamations as people realize they’ve been passed by Barefoot Guy. Some say “how’s being barefoot treating you?” And I say, “fine, how are those shoes treating you?” Some say just fine, some say not so fine. I ask if they’ve thought of taking them off. And of course there are plenty of people on the sidelines saying “OWWWW” or “doesn’t that hurt?” I laugh it off and tell them “it’s like a massage!” As I pass 20 miles though, the furthest I’ve run barefoot, I can tell my feet are starting to get tender. Nothing that bothers me, and good interactions with the crowd and runners can distract me from the tenderness. I’m happy to be approaching the final stretch of the marathon though.
By mile 23 I’m working for each mile I run. I’m still having good conversations and running fine, but the soles of my feet have become the limiting factor in my run. Suddenly I don’t find it so funny when people say how much running barefoot must hurt. Not that its at all unbearable, but I realize that everybody else is told “you can do it”, “you’re awesome”, and “you’re almost there!” I’m getting “doesn’t that hurt”, “OWWWWW”, and “you’re crazy!” The equivalent would be if they said to the other runners “aren’t your legs tired?”, “I’ll bet you want to stop running”, and “aren’t you tired?” Why is it OK to demotivate Barefoot Guy? I start yelling back at them. ”Is that supportive?” or “Is that what I want to hear?” I wonder if my nickname is about to change to Barefoot Dick. One of the runners I’ve changed places with for 10 miles or so comes up beside me and jokes “you do know about the 0.2 miles of hot coals and glass at the end, right?” We laugh about it and I ask if there will be syringes too. I’m beginning to slow down as the last mile is on particularly rough pavement and some of those 31 people probably pass me at this point. But the crowd is now thick and they’re very excited about Barefoot Guy. There’s only two more turns, and it seems that with every step the crowd is getting larger. My pace picks up again, I know how close I am, I have the smile of a person about to complete a momentous goal. I’m not charging ahead trying to come in ahead of any additional runners I am able to. I’m just happy to cruise into the finish.
And finish I do. In about 4:10. I don’t hear my name called. I don’t hear what I had written in the comments of my race registration. That this is my 10th Portland Marathon and my first barefoot marathon. But that doesn’t take away the fact that I have indeed made this accomplishment. I get my medal, space blanket, pin, and take a bottle of chocolate milk. I notice that I’ve got blisters on my toes. That’s never happened before, but it doesn’t hurt and this whole thing is a learning process. I decide that instead of grazing on the food at the finish I’ll head home to share this time with my family. It seems to take forever to make it out of the fenced off finish area, but I finally do and am among the finishers scattering out across town. A couple tells me that they ran a half marathon the weekend before. I decide I can mention again the race I ran the weekend before too.
I’ve run many marathons and even more ultramarathons. This would have been a rather routine marathon at a training pace if I hadn’t decided to follow through and run it barefoot. It was not my plan to run a marathon the week after a 100 mile trail run, but the result of chance. I was signed up for the Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run until it was canceled due to wildfires. The PCT100 was scheduled for the next week, and I was happy to be able to run it. I expected my first barefoot marathon to get pushed to my next marathon, but not being one to arbitrarily say “I can’t” I decided to try this marathon anyways. I’m very happy I did. As a pair these two runs have convinced me just what great things we are capable of as we are made!
