Feet of endurance

Day 19 of 130
Ks covered: 112
Ks to go: 990
General mood: Need a nap
Running highlight: 10K in 58min
Equipment status: New shoes and orthotics still in box waiting for test run
Body status: On the mend

Cows should be nice to me, because I could kill the beef industry just by taking my shoes off . Seriously, one look at the gore below my ankles could turn anyone vegetarian.

OK, I’m exaggerating, but there’s a reason runners’ feet don’t have the same aspirational status as dancers’ legs or NBA players’ biceps.  The wear and tear of running renders them, perhaps forever, slightly below tennis elbow on the anatomical hierarchy.

And my feet? Well, let’s just say that if feet are soldiers in the war of running, mine look more like grizzled veterans than the clean-cut graduates of West Point…albeit they do point west, when I want them too.

True, there are good things about my hooves. Mostly, it would be really, really hard to run without them (although not impossible aka running legends Oscar Pistorius and Terry Fox). They do help with balance and, give them a little polish and I’ve heard some can even look pretty. Talk to a podiatrist and they’ll tell you feet are important for spine alignment and stuff like that. And believe me, I have talked to a podiatrist or two in my time. The most recent looked at my feet and simply said “Woa.”

When asked for a more detailed analysis, he explained that on a scale of 1 to 10, (10  being the worst he’s ever seen) my feet are a 9.2 for over-pronation. Not a test you want to ace. Actually my feet are a minor obsession. Running has turned my toenails black and during one phase I spent so much money on my ripped-by-orthotics-feet that Johnson and Johnson started sending me shareholder communications.

Currently, I run with a disintegrating pair of 10-year-old leather “walking” orthotics. In fact, I’ve worn them for the past week as I walk past the new “running” ones sitting untouched by my back door. The trepidation of having my feet broken in once again is almost too much to bear.

But maybe it’s time for a more radical change.  Science says I should skip the orthotics and sneaker combo altogether and go for a pair of high heels. So what if that pair of Manolo Blahniks breaks both my ankles? My feet will feel awesome — move over Carrie Bradshaw! Or, I could go truly Kenyan and train barefoot. Recent studies tout the benefits, but I’ll be honest, I’ve grown attached to my toes so the frostbite may not agree with me.

Ultimately however, my feet get me there, one step at a time – unless I fall over, which happens roughly twice a season – so I am proud of them, and the whole litter of piggies. Since I last wrote, they’ve pounded through another 29K. So what if they look like gas-station jerky – they’re far enough away from my head that, at dusk, if I squint when I look at them, they seem just fine.

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