This was the last of my usual races where I took off my shoes.  Last year, after I had long been running barefoot/minimalist at all of my other races, I just wasn’t sure about all that mud.  My feet had been soaked in my Vibram Five Fingers at the Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run in September 2008, and blistered in a way that I didn’t think happened to me in VFFs.  So in February 2009 I decided to wear New Balance 790s, purchased for possible use in my 2009 100 miler that I eventually ran in VFFs, just to be safe.  In the year since, however, my commitment to minimalist and barefoot running increased, and I had even toyed with running the race barefoot.  Other events on my day’s calendar didn’t allow me the time to confidently set out barefoot though, and so I decided to wear my Trek KSOs.  I figured the Treks would provide a little traction in all the mud this course is known for, but I also had my regular KSOs on hand with a new pair of socks if I needed to change because of any hot spots or blisters from wet feet.  With that I set off on what five years earlier was my first ultramarathon, the Hagg Lake 50K.

The trail around the lake is a bit under 15 miles, so there is an out-and-back on road at the beginning.  It’s mostly on gravel going up a big hill, just to make sure we don’t get the wrong idea about the race being too easy just because it’s mostly “flat”.  As usual I was racing to the start when the cow bell sounded and sent the runners on their way.  And so I started dead last without my number on or pins to put it on.  It started in my hands, and then was shoved into my pocket with plans to get pins when we passed by the start again, and was only dug out of my pocket again for the finish.

A pleasant surprise early in the course was that instead of detouring onto the road early in the loop around the lake, as we had done for the last 5 years, we crossed a creek where the bridge had been out all the previous years.  The bridge was still out, but we were given a way across and a volunteer was on hand to make sure we made it successfully.  Then onward around the lake.

I was going at a chipper pace, but didn’t feel like I was overdoing it.  About 15 miles into the race, however, I faded a little hard.  It didn’t feel like I had run too hard, it felt more like I was just having a tough time making it past “the wall” to efficient fat metabolism.  The group of runners I was leading all eventually passed me and I settled in with the cohort of runners behind us.  I was also playing my nutrition a little fast and loose for this “short” race, having mostly “sports food” rather than focusing as much as possible on water and fruit and then spiking that with extra calories as needed.  At the last aid station on the first loop I switched to my “cleaner” eating, made sure to get some electrolytes, and would drop my hat and gloves off by my car before starting the second loop.

Like an annual tradition, the winner of the 25K came charging up behind me as I ran the last bit of trail before starting the second loop.  I seem to run about 30K of a casual muddy 50K almost exactly one hour slower than the fastest runners run 25K on the same course.  After changing things up a bit I began to feel better, and was able to start pushing the pace again.  Doing some math I saw that a sub-5 hour finish was in my reach, something I’d only done once in the 5 previous times I’d run this course, and that motivated me to keep my pace up.  It was a bit tough at times with the mud bogs and slippery slopes.  I was passing people again, and started catching glimpses of some of that cohort ahead of me that had left me behind.  I’m not competitive in my running, but passing people still feels good.  On my second loop through the muddiest part of the course, in the last 7 miles of the race, I stopped dodging the deep mud and puddles and just pushed through.  I had a pace to keep up.

I managed to get in the middle of the now diffuse cohort I had been running with before, ahead of some and behind others, and really started charging in the last couple miles.  I hadn’t started my watch for a few minutes after the race started, so I didn’t know exactly how much time I had left before 5 hours, but I knew it was close.  It felt good to run fast, and to be able to run fast.  I wondered what my time would have been like if I’d been able to run to exhaustion instead of spending some time in the middle in an extended “ultramarathon moment”.  I crossed the finish at 5:02:23 on the official clock.

Running in something other than shoes still gets quite a bit of attention, but I noticed with this race people had heard of it.  Many knew me, as my reputation as a barefoot runner has spread in our running community, and of course there has been much media attention to the topic.  Instead of being outside the box I was a living breathing running example of something many had only read about, but at least most had that exposure.  Some people thought my muddy Vibrams were bare feet under all that muck.  Next time?

I’ve never been good at writing race reports.  Maybe I’d be better at an interpretive dance, or a song in the style of Ewok Celebration that combines a sort of speaking in tongues with story telling and impersonation with a driving beat.  Alas, I’m really no good at those either but now I have two momentous runs backlogged that I’ve promised I would document.  In a way they stand together as one feat of the feet. Here is my report on the first of those runs.

In the first report of this 4-part story I described my progression as a barefoot/minimalist runner.  If you’ve read that then I’ve already given away how this ends, and since I just pointed the reader towards it I’ll let the cat out of the bag.  Over the course of the last two weekends I ran a 100+ mile trail ultramarathon in Vibram Five Fingers for the first time followed by a road marathon barefoot for the first time.

I ran the “Hundred In The Hood” PCT Ultra 100 Mile Endurance Run on 26-27 September 2009.  I ran it in Vibram Five Finger KSO Treks, making this my first successful 100 mile run without running shoes.  I had run portions of this course many times, including three times previously in Vibram Five Fingers (VFFs).  Because of the course change of the 50 mile version of the event in 2009 I had only run a full 50 miles of this course once, and that one time was also in VFFs.  The early morning start provided a new challenge on the course, being the first time I had run it in the dark.  I was equipped with two strong lights, the Petzl MYO RXP on my head and Petzl Tikka Plus on my waist.  After kicking a log or stump or something that cracked in a way that I hoped wasn’t my little toe during the 2009 Where’s Waldo 100K, I realized that seeing the trail well would be one of the most important measures to take in running 100 miles without running shoes.  I was also lucky enough to get the KSO Treks before Vibram said they would be available, and even had enough time to go for a decent run in them to get a feel for how they performed.  And they performed great.  At first I was a bit concerned that with their additional tread they reduced the “barefoot” sensation enough that I would run with poor form or tune out at kick another log.  However, I quickly adapted and I found that felt like my KSOs and Sprints had felt on shorter ultras while giving me some extra protection.  I don’t know how much they actually helped, but they were definitely a huge psychological boost to my confidence.  The sun rose between the first and second aid stations, and I’d made it through the first major challenge of the day.

(photo by Jim Rustvold)

After the first out and back to Frog Lake and back to the start finish area at mile 28, I began to feel some slight hot spots behind my toes.  I took my VFFs off, checked them, adjusted my socks, and proceeded.  About 28 miles later at Olallie Meadows I changed my socks, and found that dirt was collecting in the areas that I felt the hot spots.  I don’t know what I could have done to avoid them, but they weren’t too bad.  Just as one’s legs tire on a long run, one expects some foot discomfort after running all day whether in shoes, some sort of running sandal as I think of the VFF, or barefoot.  This was how my feet felt the run on this trail on this day in these VFFs.  My feet felt better after changing socks, and I proceeded down the trail with my crew member Tomas pacing me to the next aid station in his VFF KSOs.  I could tell that the hot spots were not going to go away though, and so I made note of their progression but tried not to think about them too much.

I dropped off my pacer at Olallie Lake and proceeded on the last leg to the turnaround.  If there was one time I was glad I had the Treks it was here.  This leg included some of the most technical trail I have ever run on, at times just running on large and jagged rocks covered in smaller jagged rocks.  I would have slowed to a crawl without the bit of extra tread giving me enough protection to move without evaluating every step.  Even though this section took longer than I had budgeted due to the technicality of the trail, I was still well ahead of schedule.  I had expected to need my lights at the previous aid station, but was able to put it off until the second turnaround at the mile 65 Breitenbush Lake aid station.  Even then I was able to make it about half way back to the Olallie Lake aid station, which would come at 72 miles, before needing my lights.  I had calculated splits that would get me to the finish in under 24 hours, but concluded that the early splits were too long and the later splits were too short.  I had now made up enough time that I was confident that I could get my 24 hour buckle unless something went drastically wrong.  In positive spirits I went into the night.

Back at Olallie Lake I had my first late-in-the-run experience, as I barked at Tomas for trying to give me a second bottle for the 3 mile leg I had before me.  Apologizing and recognizing that I was feeling the effects of running for a full day, I recognized that the night run had begun.  While there I saw my friend Rich who seemed to be having a tough day.  He had been well ahead of me earlier in the day and by leaving while he sat in a chair I had now passed him.  I took off for the next aid station.  I remember little about the run to Olallie Meadows Campground except that it felt like a long 3 miles. I had settled on having my headlamp on its spotlight mode with my headlamp and waist light focused on approximately the same point ahead of me.  The area ahead of me was lit up like day, which is exactly what I needed.  I was feeling good and on account of putting my headlamp on so many miles into the course I decided I would skip having my crew change my batteries when I would see them for the last time at the next aid station and carry extra spares instead.  With my plan for the next aid station set, I descended the 3/8 mile rocky trail to the aid station.  I found a bit of chaos there.  This was the last point that crews would see their runners until the finish.  Crews had been up all day along with their runners, and everybody was a bit frayed.  I was grazing at the aid station letting them take care of my needs when my crew pulled me away to take care of my needs.  Only they didn’t have my needs covered and instead were serving as liasons to the aid station where I was doing pretty well on my own.  All’s well that ends well though, and we got my needs covered and some soup to boot.  I climbed back up to the PCT ready for my run through the night.

In the confusion of the previous aid station, I saw that Rich was sitting in the chair looking like he’d been there a while, which confused me since I’d seen him in the same state at the last aid station.  I asked him if he was teleporting between aid stations.  I wished him well before heading out on the trail, and then set out for my long night of running.  It would be over 10 miles to the next aid station and I settled into a couple hours on the trail.  I made some good progress down the trail without much to complain about, passed some of the jugs of water that were put out in lieu of one of the aid stations, and generally shuffled along at a pace that increased my buffer time ahead of a 24 hour finish.  Maybe half way to the 86 mile Pinheads aid station who came running up behind me but Rich!  He was running faster than I was but sitting for 15+ minutes at a time at the aid stations.  We arrived at a large climb and settled into our hike up a big hill catching each other up on our days.  It was good to have some company and it definitely made the long climb more pleasant.  Another runner who I had been leap frogging with, running faster than he but taking longer at the aid stations, passed us like we were standing still.  See you at the finish Tim!  Everybody’s definitely reaping the fruits of their training and race day strategy at this point.  I’m feeling steady, and am continuing to increase the buffer I have to finish under 24 hours.  My feet are feeling fine enough.  I’m still aware of hot spots but trying not to think to hard about them, and succeeding at that.

The long climb abates, and soon we’re at the Pinheads aid station.  Curt seems a little less sarcastic about my VFFs than he usually is at the end of Where’s Waldo 100k, and points them out to another volunteer.  I’m asked if they hurt, and I point out that some foot pain is expected 86 miles into a run no matter what is on your feet but that they’re treating me well.  I’m feeling good, and think it’s a bit cruel that they have bottles of whiskey among the other ultra foods.  I’m feeling good enough that a belt of bourbon sounds just fine, thank you very much, but I know better.  I have some soup, fill my bottles, grab some gels, and announce that I’ve done everything I need to do.  They help me find my way back to the trail and I’m off for 7 or so miles of downhill.  Rich was still in his chair when I left, but I figured I would see him again as he charged down the trail in a bit. Instead we would correspond the next day about how the last miles and eventual finishes treated us.

Charging down the hill, I start to feel my hot spots holding me back.  I pair a caffeine tablet with one tablet of ibuprofen in hopes of taking the edge off of the pain and fatigue I’m starting to dwell upon, and would do the same one more time a couple hours down the trail.  My feet aren’t bad but they are bringing me enough pain to keep me from running without considering it - and the rest of my body is feeling the long run as well.  Perhaps this keep me from bombing down the hill, but I’m still moving along well.  Mostly it’s a long fun stretch of downhill and before I know it I’m at the W/S Meadows aid station.  The volunteers recognize me and my VFFs from Where’s Waldo 100K and the Pacific Rim One Day Run and there’s questions about them.  They treat me like I’ve got my wits about me, which seems encouraging.  I get some help changing the batteries in my lights, detecting an ever so slight decrease in light output that suggests that the regulated output has run its course.  I eat a bit of sandwich and take off with my full water bottles for the rest of the downhill charge.  One more aid station to go!  On my way down I discover that I can run ignoring my pain induced hesitation without any increased suffering.  It’s tremendously liberating and I continue my charge down the hill, even passing a couple of people.  I reach the river, the bottom point of the end of this journey.

In my mind this is a small uphill before I tackle the last big hill.  Only it’s never ending.  And it’s brutal.  A runner and her pacer pass me like I’m standing still.  I didn’t think I was moving that slow, I figure they must really be in good shape.  I’m starting to talk to the forest about the cruel injustice of this hill.  I’m wondering how I’ll make it on the next BIG hill if this one is giving me so much trouble.  At least it’s keeping my attention off of my feet.  For the most part.  I think I complained to the forest a bit about them too.  What seems like a day later I reach the top.  I’m rewarded with signs that I’m near the next aid station.  That was the big hill!  It’s all downhill from here!  I meet up with the speedy pair at the Red Wolf Pass aid station.  I have some cola, a gel or two, make sure I’ve got a full bottle, and charge on.  I let the speedy pair know I’ll be seeing them later, figuring that they’ll pass me again shortly, and they bid me adieu until the finish.

The last leg of a 100 mile run is sweet.  The last leg of a 100 mile run is brutal.  I like to say you can always run 5 more miles.  I think it’s true but I don’t know if you get any refills on that source of last effort.  If I had to run the last leg a second time I don’t think I could, because even though it’s a beautiful thing to have the next stop be the finish line it always feels about three times as far as it actually is.  It doesn’t help that this seems to be a different path back than it was out.  Every time I see some signs of civilization - a road, a trail marking of some sort, a sign - I’m sure that I only saw one or two of these on this stretch earlier in the day and that I’m about to pop out at the finish.  Nope.  Another turn.  Another road.  Another glow stick that doesn’t mean I’m done.  I pass a runner and pacer, with another mirage of a last turn ahead, and say “I never thought we’d make it here” and he says “we’re not there yet.”  I spend a few moments pondering where “here” and “there” are and whether we’ve made it to either of them.  Sort of a “no matter where you go there you are” type of endless wandering.  I’ve moved on to several more rounds of pleading with the cosmos to let it all end when I finally hit the road.  Indeed, we are down the road from the trail where we entered that stretch of woods so many miles ago, but we’re close enough to the finish to smell the campfire.  I charge down the road and around the corner.  Tired runners, crew, and volunteers clap.  Pictures are taken.  Hats and buckles are awarded.  Cola and snacks are fetched.  A chair is provided.  The warmth of the fire comforts my battle worn body, mind and soul.  I finished in 23:35.

As a middle of the pack runner, I figure the main point of interest in this race report is that I ran in my Vibram Five Finger KSO Treks.  But really, for me it would have been a more dramatic story to tell if I didn’t feel I could do the run without shoes.  I’ve been doing virtually all of my running for the last two years without them, and for me this finish was the non-event of not needing to deviate from my preparation.  That said, I felt very triumphant to reach this pinnacle of running events without a piece of gear so often considered essential.  My “barefoot” act of faith, that the 4.5+ million years of evolution as bipeds has produced the best tool for the task at hand, was supported.

What was there left to do but take off the sandals and see what I could do with just my bare feet?  Depending on how those hot spots recovered, that would be my plan for the next weekend.  Stay tuned for part 3 of 4 of this set of reports, my story of running the Portland Marathon barefoot on 4 October 2009!

(photos by Tomas Quinones except where noted)

I keep finding myself writing a history of my barefoot/minimalist running while working on the race report for last weekend’s “Hundred in the ‘Hood” PCT100.  It seems that story needs to be told first.  Some of it was told in my recent interview with Aaron from Transcend Bodywork.  Some I haven’t shared before. Here it is.

I tried my first jogs without shoes in 2004.  During the marathon training clinic I participated in while preparing for a marathon that Fall I heard the recommendation to do short barefoot runs in the grass as a way to improve form and strengthen muscles.  I was intrigued enough to try, running on the road rather than grass.  I was not intrigued enough to weather past the blisters I would occasionally get when something was a little different than the days where everything went fine.  Usually on hot days.

Occasional forays into barefooting.  Blisters.  Back into shoes for fear of sabotaging my next race.  This was the pattern for a couple of years. 

When I wasn’t barefoot I was running in the motion control shoes that I
was fitted with at my local running store.  Watching me run on a treadmill with a video camera trained on my feet, they showed me conclusive proof that I was one of the biomechanically flawed masses that had to be fixed by science in order to run without injury.  I seemed a bit crazy to give barefooting a chance.

In 2006, at the Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run (AC100), I spent some time on the trail over Mt. Baden Powell with Barefoot Ted.  He was doing his first 100 miler wearing Vibram Five Finger Sprints.  They looked rediculous to me, and I figured he was somehow equipped in ways that I must not be, but it furthered the intrigue I had for this way of running.

One of the hats that I wear is that of a physical anthropologist.  I would like to have thought that this would lead me much more quickly to the conclusion that we are made to run barefoot, but first I was busy working on the simple idea that we are made to run.  This was not the foregone conclusion that I thought it should be.  Our culture tells us that we have weak feet and that running destroys our joints, that we are apparently not made to run.  Anthropology had no standard answer to the question.  Eventually I convinced myself that we were made to run, and found compelling anthropological studies that supported the conclusion.  From there it was an easy step to conclude that we were made to run barefoot.  And then it became the goal.

If we were made to run, then it was not a few biomechanically blessed who did not need special shoes to run.  If we were made to run then it was a few biomechanically disadvantaged rather than the masses who truly needed modern designs to let them run.  Most of us were just weak from lack of using our feet.  If we were made to run, then I should be able to run barefoot.

I picked up some of the Vibram Five Fingers I’d seen Ted wearing at AC100 and  started running occasionally in them.  About once a week.  I would run around 10K in them about once a week for much of the next year, letting my tissues and form rehabilitate and adapt to the different demands of running without running shoes.  The following Fall I decided to cross-train over the Winter on a distance unicycle, the roots of Distance Minimally were being laid.  This worked great except that when I ran my first ultramarathon of the year in February my feet were sore from peddling a wheel all Winter more than they pounded the ground.  I decided to do all of my short runs in my Vibram Five Fingers as a way to keep my feet strong while cross training by unicycle.  Soon my definition of “short” got longer and longer, until a couple of months later I toed the line of a 55K race in my Vibrams for the first time.  I was certain that I could do at least half the distance without shoes, and was prepared to change if I needed to.  The run went great, the full distance in Vibrams, and a personal record on the course to boot.  I was hooked.  I wanted to see how far I could take this.  I prepared for my next race, a 50 miler on the Pacific Crest Trail, and set a PR for the distance in my Vibrams.  Confidence increased, I did a 100K the next month with success.  I was ready to toe the line at AC100.

I was still a bit concerned about a 100 miler without shoes, unsure about going from 15 hours on the trail that was mostly in the light of day to over 24 hours on the trail including a full night.  But I wasn’t confident about wearing shoes for 100 miles either.  I hadn’t run in shoes in months, and even when I was used to them I would get horrible blisters on my toes and other damage to my feet from shoes.  I wore VFF KSOs, but I put shoes in several drop bags and included shoes in the gear that my crew brought to each of the aid stations.  Around 40 miles into the run I slipped into a stream in Cooper Canyon.  Soon blisters formed on my wet soles.  At mile 54 I changed into shoes in hopes that they would be easier on my blistered feet through the night.  Then I threw up.  I ventured slowly into the night with multiple goals having fallen out of reach.  I finished the race, and had a chance to chat with Ted about my effort at one of the aid stations down the trail, but I regretted that I had fallen short of my goal of a 100 mile trail run without shoes.

Weeks later I qualified for the Boston Marathon and set a marathon PR in my Vibrams, and then I repeated the buildup the next year, this time successfully including true barefoot running as well.  I ran 85 miles in a one-day race wearing my VFF Sprints.  I ran my 50 miler in VFF KSOs again, and won the “Show Us Your Waldo” award at the Where’s Waldo 100K for my repeat finish in VFF KSOs there.  And now I was ready to try the 100 miler again.  This time I ran it with success, lucky to get my toes into an early pair of KSO Treks, and set a 100 mile PR in the process.  It felt like graduation day, but I had one more goal in mind.  Tomorrow I toe the line for my first barefoot marathon. 

My feet still show some wear from my 100 miler last week, but hey, we’re made to do this.  I’m giving it a shot.

Justin over at Birthday Shoes has written a nice article on my minimalist adventures and introducing his readers to Distance Minimally.  It’s a nice writeup, if I may say so myself.  Thanks Justin!

I successfully ran the 100+ mile “Hundred in the ‘Hood” PCT Ultra 100 Miler trail run this weekend, wearing the new Vibram Five Finger KSO Trek.  I completed in just over 23.5 hours, earning a belt buckle for a sub-24 hour finish.  A race report will be posted soon!

I sat for an interview with Aaron Gustafson from Oregonically Grown and Transcend Bodywork to talk about running ultramarathons, running without shoes, and what that entails.  Aaron did a great job of editing my tea-fueled rambling into a coherent message.  Thanks Aaron!

I sent this out Sunday to some of the barefoot/minimalist running mailing lists I am on.  I share it here as a fitting first post on my blog about going the distance minimally:

I did my ~10 mile run today wearing my new Treks.  A wandering 2 hours on the network of trails in the Marquam Nature Park in Portland, Oregon.  Full of hills, mud, rocks, lots of single track trail, and one stretch of large-rock strewn “road”.  The VFF KSO Treks were pretty amazing.  I could feel the trail under foot, but I didn’t have to worry about it every step.  My feet could behave as feet, but with seemingly no threat of feeling the jabs of the rocks beneath them.  I was actually a little concerned - I was able to tune out a little too much.  I noticed my form slipping a bit, and was aware that the beefier sole would do nothing to prevent catching my toe on a log like I did on my last long trail run.  I wish I had enough time to train in the Treks to have that reduced awareness catch up with me so I don’t have to learn the hard lesson on my long run next week. I’ll be reminding myself to stay focused, and won’t be listening to an audiobook as I was today.

I climbed up to the highest point in Portland.  I never felt a lack of traction in my other VFFs but could tell I had greater traction in the Treks.  I jumped on and over a log blocking the path, and my foot slipped a bit.  That never happened in my other VFFs.  It seems the Treks sacrifice a certain amount of the dynamic grip I’ve come to enjoy for the static grip of their increased tread.  About 7 miles into my meandering run I reached the top of Council Crest, took in the view, and then bombed down the 3.2 miles of trail to my car.  I haven’t been able to bomb down a trail like that since I wore traditional shoes.  It was fun.

I fully expect that this will translate into improved performance on my race.  There is a significant amount of energy that is available for running that was previously going into caution on every step.  Part of me missed that awareness, and I am unsure if I’ll be trading out my Sprints and KSOs for Treks on all of my runs.  But for next weekend’s 100 miler, it seems like a godsend.