Night Running on Birthday Feet

Well, tonight was the first night for the fivefingers. I know, dangerous, fad, harmful, blah blah... But, I must tell you, I feel like a kid again. Tap, tap, flipper-flap.

When I was little, I hated shoes. I believe it was mainly because I grew out of them so quickly and they always did not feel right. I remember wearing shoes too small (I grew too fast), too big (so that I would grow into them in a few weeks) or men's shoes because they "do not make shoes that big." I always had different shoes on the basketball or track team. School issued sport shoes did "not come that large for women." I once had a shoes salesmen make me cry because he said I had mutant feet and that they were so big for my age that once I was grown up, I would have to have special big shoes made. Bastard. Thanks for giving an 12 year old with size 11 shoes a complex. My own mother once told me, "Honey, you know, your feet are large, but they have such a pretty shape." Pause for growls and thoughts to yourself about what you dislike about yourself the most.

Okay. Now, breathe... repeat. Breathe again, better? Smile. Breathe some more.

So, now, things are different. I can go into a shoe store and FIND SHOES. And, not just the little store where the old women would go to in downtown Sherman. We are talking cheapies from Target, to Macy's to Nordstrom, Zappos, to LUKE'S LOCKER (where, I love them, their shoes, socks, tri clothing, truly, I love them) to anywhere the Internet goes. Yes, my friends. This yeti is happy now. Size 12.5 ladies running shoes? Eh, no problem. REALLY??!

Whenever someone looks at my feet, or makes a comment of "I cannot believe they make them THAT big" I just smile and make them realize that yes, yeti need shoes, too. And, it must suck to be short. (I only refer to those who are rude to me. I love all!) At hashes and other social events, the yeti find each other. Long limbs, tall frames. We mingle together like slender water birds. What do we talk about? Shoes, our feet, and what can be crushed beneath them.

So, I am off topic here. We were talking about the lovely shoes pictured. Guess what? They are UNISEX. Meaning, men can wear the kid sizes, so they desire. They are worn barefoot. My toes can wiggle with pleasure, the arches hit correctly, and my heels are not complaining. I purchased the ones with laces mainly because of my high insteps and wide toe box. Also, my feet swell almost a half size when I run, hence the 12.5, instead of just 12 (which, in non running shoes, I wear 11). Such a math formula for toes and heels.

Now, for the fun part. Product testing! I was told by my fivefinger friends, ONLY DO A MILE. One mile. Do not go nuts, because muscles that have been sleeping for decades since you were a kid pattering around a mother telling you to go put on shoes would awaken angrily from their long slumber. (insert raised eyebrow) I wear ballet slipper like shoes to work, I only seem to wear socks to run or bike in, and kick off any type of shoe as soon as I get home. My beloved cowboy boots are my only exception. Oddly, my most expensive shoes ARE running shoes. I cringe paying over $30 for a pair, when I would never bat an eye dropping $100 on a good pair of running shoes. They make me happy. We become friends over the many miles. Pointy shoes with heels? Not-so-much. But, when the time calls for showing off a cute dress? Um, yeah. I like rockn' heels that make me 6'1".

My first half mile, I felt, good. Nothing was binding. I did not slip around, feel heavy, or like I was fighting my feet. I was tuned into my iPod, Dorothy dog's leash on my arm, and, the weather was perfect for a night run. Two miles. Hrm, no change. I could feel the different types of concrete and asphalt on the road, much like biking. Maybe biking has made me more careful about where I make my path. Or, maybe the fact that I run with a dog, but I did not step on rocks, glass, or trip over cracks. Nothing. Then, one of my earbuds fell out. While trying to fix, the other fell out. Ugh. Get. Ear thing back. In... Tromp, trom... wait. Pat? No, Pah. Pah. Pah. Pah. Hrm. My feet were making non-feet running noises. Soft and quiet, sneaky. Three miles. Pah Pah Pah... water stop.

I must admit. Please no scolding. Dorothy dog and I did 6 miles. Nothing hurts. Really. My knees are great, the high arches on my feet are happy, toes wiggle with more! more! Calves good. Lower back, fine. I ran a slower training pace (mostly out of caution, 11:30-12:00 instead of 9:30-10:00), but felt, good. The only thing I noticed running that was different, was, well, I need a more supportive jog bra. But, I needed one of those regardless with all the miles I'm running and the extra beer and cookie weight that still lingers. And, once I get back to swimming? Bye, bye boobies. But, hello, pretty arms and back!

Live happy, my friends. And, keep pah, pah, pah-ing.