After waiting six weeks, the barefoot god, Toesy McMetatarsal, allowed me out the door. But what kind of a run was it going to be? Would it be everything I have been dreaming about, as a glorious second honeymoon with a supermodel? Or would it end quickly in awkward pain resembling an adolescent tryst?
Well, both really.
I told earlier about my rules about running, that is, to have fun and disregard the rules. I intended to start with a game. The idea was to fill a vial of water from the Sandefjord, run it over the island to the other side, then dump the water in the Mefjord. Total trip would be something like 2 miles over mostly trails, but with a little asphalt and gravel for good measure.
I walked down to the water near my house. It was cold and dark and cloudy. I was a little concerned about potential rain but figured it would be fine either way. Not a pansy. I filled the vial and set off running. Some things immediately became apparent. First, my feet had lost the ability to run over things without noticing them. They seemed to feel every pebble and every stick as I ran to the first dirt road. Dirt is wrong to describe the road actually as it was gravel. Normally I would have had no trouble negotiating this section but this time I was forced to walk it.
I was a little shocked and disappointed but figured it would get better when I hit the trail head. It did not. I have run this trail once before when it was overgrown and remember it being fine. I was forced off the trail into the farmer's field it bordered. This was heaven. The ground was freshly plowed the week before and was muddy.
The wind picked up and it began to rain. No problem, I thought, rain means more mud. It began to get colder as the sky opened up in a cloudburst that featured high winds and, of course, big fat hailstones. I soldiered on for ten more minutes.
My feet began to go numb! The rain and wind had made them mostly dead to feeling. What feeling I had remaining was pain as my foot hit a rock or a stick. The intense cold seemed to magnify the feeling. It began to hail harder so I took shelter under a tree and vainly attempted to massage feeling into the feet. I continued, the field ended and I was forced onto a trail. The pain was unmanagable. My soles were totally unprepared for the gravel, the cold and wet just made it worse. I continued for 30 meters. (yes, meters not feet, this is Europe)
Soaked, cold, and with frozen hamburger feet I returned the way I came. It rained all the way home. I felt bad. Why was that such a crappy run? I decided that it was ok, the weather got me. And it did.
Reaching home the skies cleared, and the sun emerged to lure me back out. I weakened. I slapped my BF orthotic on the injured foot and danced with the Lord Asphalt again. New route in mind: to Smørstein and back. Smørstein is a rack (or was until it was blasted away for the road) that resembled a pat of butter. It is also exactly 1 km from my door.
Second thing became apparent: I was out of conditioning. I really had to struggle to reach the stone and make it back. It felt like 5k, not 2. But this actually made me happy! Why? Well, it was what I was trying for. Earlier, when starting out, my lungs could outrun my feet and I was struggling to hold myself back. Now I feel confident that the transition will continue in a safer manner. Whew, finally done.
Wrap up: One does lose sole conditioning when laid up from BF running. My feet felt very good afterwards, no real soreness at all. I do not believe that one loses the main kind of conditioning, those mysterious bones and joint and tendons with unpronouncable Latin names are still very toned. That's good news. Sole conditioning happens quick!
Next time, I will deliver the water, I promise.
Unless it hails again...
Well, both really.
I told earlier about my rules about running, that is, to have fun and disregard the rules. I intended to start with a game. The idea was to fill a vial of water from the Sandefjord, run it over the island to the other side, then dump the water in the Mefjord. Total trip would be something like 2 miles over mostly trails, but with a little asphalt and gravel for good measure.
I walked down to the water near my house. It was cold and dark and cloudy. I was a little concerned about potential rain but figured it would be fine either way. Not a pansy. I filled the vial and set off running. Some things immediately became apparent. First, my feet had lost the ability to run over things without noticing them. They seemed to feel every pebble and every stick as I ran to the first dirt road. Dirt is wrong to describe the road actually as it was gravel. Normally I would have had no trouble negotiating this section but this time I was forced to walk it.
I was a little shocked and disappointed but figured it would get better when I hit the trail head. It did not. I have run this trail once before when it was overgrown and remember it being fine. I was forced off the trail into the farmer's field it bordered. This was heaven. The ground was freshly plowed the week before and was muddy.
The wind picked up and it began to rain. No problem, I thought, rain means more mud. It began to get colder as the sky opened up in a cloudburst that featured high winds and, of course, big fat hailstones. I soldiered on for ten more minutes.
My feet began to go numb! The rain and wind had made them mostly dead to feeling. What feeling I had remaining was pain as my foot hit a rock or a stick. The intense cold seemed to magnify the feeling. It began to hail harder so I took shelter under a tree and vainly attempted to massage feeling into the feet. I continued, the field ended and I was forced onto a trail. The pain was unmanagable. My soles were totally unprepared for the gravel, the cold and wet just made it worse. I continued for 30 meters. (yes, meters not feet, this is Europe)
Soaked, cold, and with frozen hamburger feet I returned the way I came. It rained all the way home. I felt bad. Why was that such a crappy run? I decided that it was ok, the weather got me. And it did.
Reaching home the skies cleared, and the sun emerged to lure me back out. I weakened. I slapped my BF orthotic on the injured foot and danced with the Lord Asphalt again. New route in mind: to Smørstein and back. Smørstein is a rack (or was until it was blasted away for the road) that resembled a pat of butter. It is also exactly 1 km from my door.
Second thing became apparent: I was out of conditioning. I really had to struggle to reach the stone and make it back. It felt like 5k, not 2. But this actually made me happy! Why? Well, it was what I was trying for. Earlier, when starting out, my lungs could outrun my feet and I was struggling to hold myself back. Now I feel confident that the transition will continue in a safer manner. Whew, finally done.
Wrap up: One does lose sole conditioning when laid up from BF running. My feet felt very good afterwards, no real soreness at all. I do not believe that one loses the main kind of conditioning, those mysterious bones and joint and tendons with unpronouncable Latin names are still very toned. That's good news. Sole conditioning happens quick!
Next time, I will deliver the water, I promise.
Unless it hails again...
