Join the team for an exercise in pure hilarity!

I've got a marathon to think about in a week. 

I'm sending good vibes to my good friend running the Rock Creek Stump Jump tomorrow morning. 

If all goes well with his race and my marathon we'll be doing the Badapple ultra at the end of Oct.

I've got a solid 6 man team for another mudder in November.

Doesn't this look like fun? Care to join?

We want you on team Knuckledraggers! I would love to have a 40 person team. We are not looking to finish in record time, we're not even planning on moving particularly fast. It's just plain fun and we'd love to have you along.

Post here or find me somewhere for the registry info.

Virtual (Spirit) Run 2011: Gold Coast, Australia

This weekend saw the launch of the first ever Naked Running Workshop. 

A group of 13 enthusiastic runners took part within the stunning surrounds of the Currumbin Valley Ecovillage (on the Gold Coast). 

Sorry, no nudity, only naked feet!

After spending time running, talking, running, eating then talking some more, the announcement was made to the group that we would be taking part in an Official Run Smiley event - a Virtual Run to be held in conjunction with the NYC Barefoot Run.

I found out this type of run is also called a 'Spirit Run'. After attaching the official event bibs, we were on our way, running 'in spirit' with our barefoot brothers and sisters in New York. Such a great concept, and one I have subscribed to for years but never had a name for it.

For many of the group this was a breakthrough barefoot running experience, making it all the more special. We were blessed with new, smooth roads and paths along with wide open grassy spaces to hang out with the resident kangaroos.


It was great to feel connected to the rest of the Run Smiley tribe, and also to those lucky enough to run in NYC. Would love to get over there next year and test out the Barefoot Ted rickshaw service!

A big thanks for organising the Virtual Run and lots of smiles and high-fives to you all from down here in Oz! :)

Visions of moving bodies and forces of nature

I've had a number of creative habits like playing music and creating art in my life. None of these ever came to me as visions where I could see finished products in my head and went about making them real. For me it's always been about thirsts that needed to be satisfied. I get a longing and I start looking for something to satisfy it. Or there's a pressure inside me that I have to let out or I'll fall apart.

That was my creative life (not much time for it now) but is also the way I live my life. At some point I figure out that what I'm doing day to day has left me with a hole I need to fill. I do some internal work and either end up with a new hobby or obsession, or end up making major life changes. I used to get it with music and I used to get it with self destructive behavior. I can't live with the longing and I'm not able suppress myself very well. Nor do I want to. 

Running is one of those thirsts. When I'm out there I feel like something is gushing into me, filling me up. With running it has to do with walking out the door and feeling like I could stick with the training program for the one hour I did today, or take a turn that would make it into a 3 or 7 hour and my body will take it. There are days where I come back at 9am after running 15 or 20 miles and I'm full of the power of that, just roaring inside my head like crashing waves. I've already run 20 miles and it's 9am, CRASH! What else can I do today? ROAR!

Somehow barefoot or minimal really adds to that. The term minimal is coming to be associated with a certain kind of shoes but for me it's more than that. It means just me. There are no springs in my heals to add to my effort. Don't get me wrong I love gear and there are days where I've got my phone on my arm, sunglasses, running hat, compression gators, etc, but I think my best days are just shorts and nothing else. Those days there's no help. It's just what I'm able to do. I think if I had a loin cloth and no neighbors that's what I'd be wearing. That's what running is, something you can do with just your body moving in space and your breath flowing. 

There are all of these organizations out there like Movnat, and Crossfit that are about a different kind of fitness that involve a body with heavy stuff to move, and trees to climb. More than that there are the ever proliferating DIY sites for people who want to simplify by fixing stuff instead of tossing it. There's Slowfood for people who want to know about where their food comes from and what it doesn't have in it. All of these things resonate with me because they're about simplicity, but they're also about the integrity of the self.

Minimalist running is about acknowledging where technology has served us wrong and going back to what worked for millions of years. It's about taking another look at what has become the accepted best practice with all of the associated dogma and testing whether starting from scratch might not be our best bet at the moment. I work in a lab and scratch is where you end up over and over until the line of inquiry you're following turns out to be a fruitful one. 

To bring it back to the personal running is just about me moving for as long as I can, figuring out I can always do more, and then doing more. I don't know where it's going. I don't have any visions although I have some plans. I never have believed in long term planning, too many things in my life have shown me how easily those plans can slip away. All I know is that right now running is the flood that fills my soul and the fuel in my tank. It helps me center myself so I can be a good dad, it helps me show my kids what determination can do and how determination can be about enjoyment, and it just feels damn good to have gotten myself in shape for a marathon in two weeks and more to follow this year.

Thanks to all of you who are reading these posts and giving me feedback. It means a lot and I love you guys.

Good running and good living!

Ninja running in Fall

I didn't have a chance to do a run on Sat but it's really neat to see the posts about NY and the virtuals. I wish I could have made it but here are some thoughts on fall running. It's my first post on RSC. Thanks so much for the invite, it put a big smile on my face:).

Ok, I give up, it's fall. It was an early start this year and I kept the Indian Summer thing in the back of my head, but today I was rooting around for warmer clothing and put all of my shorts away. I went for a barefoot run last week after a frost and the cold pavement was just too uncomfortable. I couldn't loosen up and the cold ground combined with my tightness just felt like it would be too easy to injure, so I put on my Merrills and continued.

I haven't been running barefoot lately, but I have been running. That's a change for me as the cold usually sends me into a pattern of staying up late watching movies and "not feeling up to (fill in anything active) today". My mom used to say that running in winter felt like flying to her. I remember waking up in fall and winter and she'd just be coming home, sweaty and glowing, full of energy. I grew up in a neighborhood where the white lady running around at 5am in the dark, was hooted at by guys in hoopties who thought she was a hooker. She had some fire in her and would holler at them until they took off. No one tries to pick me up at 5am and it took me a long time to figure out that glow she came back with.

Now I get it. I'm cold at first but within a few minutes of starting my body is doing the furnace, I warm up, find my pace and after that I'm cruising. It's hard to get in the habit of waking up in the dark and going outside in the cold, but it is so totally rewarding. The trick for me is to get up the first time my eyes open. If I start the snooze routine it's over.

The best thing about the fall run is being up during the sun rise. I get to come back to a warm cozy house with my babies waking up. They are full of energy and smiles. They hop out of bed and commence to buzzing about in their happy lively way. There's no delay while they wake up, they just go.

I'm trying to channel that energy. It's funny that my kids and their total aliveness remind me of my mom and hers. Here are some of the tricks I use to get me going.

1. Like I said, get out of bed the first time you open your eyes. Any snoozing leads to more snoozing people, and you know it. You know it when you do it and it feels so good. You'll savor it all the more on the days you get to do it.

2. Have some good running gear for the weather. Not only is it fun to have the gear, it really pays off at the beginning of your run. Some running tights and a neck sleeve not only make you look like a ninja, but start you off warm rather than waiting to warm up.

2.5 Did I mention you get to look like a ninja?


3. Be as excited as my kids are. I have a lot of tips in my writings that are about managing your mindstate. I am totally committed to the idea that if you mimic the physical cues associated with a feeling, you will feel that feeling. Act like you are excited, smile, breathe quickly, open your eyes wide, bounce around a bit.  You will get excited, whether or not you started out that way. I like to think in terms of chronology. Ordinarily something stimulating happens then you smile, you start to breathe faster, etc. If you switch up the order the effect is the same in reverse. This works and is really important!

So to summarize, get out of bed right away, dress up like a ninja, and act like a 4 year old.
Just a great way to start any day!

Good running and good living!

Knuckledraggers

Getting Away With It

"Doesn't this feel like it's something you shouldn't be doing? Like this is something forbidden you're getting away with?"

The question is posed by Christopher McDougall as he introduces Brian Fidelman to barfoot running in Central Park, NY. And for some reason the question stuck with me. There's a lot of stuff we're not supposed to do. Smiling when running is one thing. Running too much is another: As Mårten Klingberg points out in Swedish Runner's World, training 3 times a week constitutes about 2% of your total time, and yet he is the one getting strange looks for training 7-9 times a week.

So there I was. Nurturing a slowly disappearing cold on a business trip to Milan. By the second day the mucus floods had started dissipate and I aimed myself down-town to at least catch an evening of food and tourism. Milan is one of those cities it is easy to pass by but once there you wonder why you did. For a geek like me, just patting the walls of Teatro La Scala, or gazing in awe at the magnificant Cathedral is enough. It is easy enough to pass by, but when you're there the history strikes you nevertheless: Milan for example, is after all a city founded some 400 years before Christ and one of the most important cities in Italian history, and hence, also in early European history.

The cold and the trip had conspired to stop me in my tracks. It was now 4 days since I run last, and being on the verge of getting seriously addicted, it... itched. And yet, with another business day to go I didn't want to do something stupid. At least, not sober.

On my way back to the hotel I realized that conveniently located a kilometer or so before my last stop was BQ, Milans best beer pub (according to Ratebeer). Well hell, I had half a bottle of wine in me already but I'd be a very bad beer nerd if I didn't stop by. And so I did. And the Baüscia LA 30 was nice indeed. As was the Grassroots Brewing Nighthawks at the dinner. And... there it was again, the itch!

"Doesn't this feel like it's something you shouldn't be doing? Like this is something forbidden you're getting away with?"

So tell me: why shouldn't I simply run the way back to the hotel? Slightly inebriated in the middle of a Tuesday night in Milan? In jeans and a jacket? I mean, seriously, I do have my Merrel Trail Gloves on, so it's not like I'm not being prepared!

This slightly big (by Italian standards), slightly goofy (by any standard), and indeed somewhat beard-y, fellow sprinting out of the door (after paying, mind you) and off in the night with a big grin on his face must have looked silly, but what do I care? When the weather's nice Italy is the place to be early autumns: the Mediterranean night is just to kill for. Warm but not too warm. Humid, but just so. And people everywhere on the streets. Running along the pavement with my jacket in one hand, sidestepping puddles, tricking a bit on a low rail and grinning all the while; I've been in love with Italy for a long time, this will just be another reason.

"Doesn't this feel like it's something you shouldn't be doing? Like this is something forbidden you're getting away with?"

Oh hell yes!

Acts of Transgression

Last week, I ran five miles home from my education workshops – five miles in the rain. And not just a drizzle, but the wonderful sort of torrential deluge that can come out of nowhere in the summer, drenching pedestrians everywhere and flooding intersections ankle deep in minutes. I wasn’t taken by surprise; the forecast had called for rain in the early afternoon, and in fact I’d spent the whole day hoping that the rain would hold off and unleash itself just in time for my run home. I wasn’t disappointed.

*

I love running in the rain, especially the sort of warm, soak-you-to-the-bone downpour that I was caught in last Tuesday. I’ve written about how I love running in the rain before, and it’s come up more than once on the Run Smiley Collective: most recentlyTroy was singing in the rain, but also Zapamamak and Tri-Living have rhaposized about wet runs and puddles under foot. It makes sense that my fellow collective members would love being out in a downpour: running in the rain is one of the smiliest ways to run. I always enjoy my runs, and they (almost) always make me smile, but when I’m running in the rain, I usually have a ridiculous grin plastered across my face. I literally laugh out-loud, raise my fists like skinny antennae to the heavens, leap into puddles, even skip once or twice.

Why? That’s what I was pondering last week (there has been a lot of pondering during my few-and-far-between runs this week) as I ran in the rain. Why is running in the rain just so darned fun?

For one, there’s the pure sensory nature of it; like barefoot running, running in the rain engages so many nerves and surfaces of your body that don’t normally get used during the day. Every inch of your skin comes alive, and even if you do have shoes on, suddenly your toes are shocked awake by a puddle full of cold water. If you don't have shoes on, or are wearing hauraches, its even better.

But its more than the sensual joy involved. Running in the rain is like jumping in puddles, or drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, or climbing a tree, or running barefoot: they are all activities that we were supposed to leave behind in childhood, things that mature adults don’t do. Other serious grownups will frown at you (“Put some shoes on!” “What are you doing up that tree?” “You’ll catch a cold!”) though honestly just as many adults will smile at you with a bit of wistful jealousy in their face.

Running barefoot, or climbing a tree, or running in the rain is an act of transgression. It’s breaking the unspoken rules of adult behavior, which is to be responsible. Running barefoot will get your shoes dirty: put on shoes. Climbing a tree you might fall and twist your ankle: don't climb trees. Running in the rain will get you wet and ruin your clothes and you might get sick: don't run in the rain. Being responsible means avoiding risky behavior, but it also means to do everything for a reason, to be purposeful in all one's actions. None of these activities have any purpose other than to be fun, which contains a strong wiff of irresponsibility about it. And that is exactly why they are so fun, because they are, in a sense rebellious, wildly individual, even self-indulgent.

At its essence, since there is no real need for it in the modern world, running itself in this day and age is trangressive. That’s why so many responsible adults feel the need to shroud it in purpose with GPS watches and heart-rate monitors, lap-splits, PR’s and BQ’s. To make it a responsible act, something that makes sense and can be justified.

Q: “Why are you out there running at six in the morning?”

A: “I’m training for a marathon.” They nod knowingly.

Q: “You’re seriously running the 13 miles home after school? What are you training for?”

A: “Nothing. I just want to.” Long, blank stare.

There are easy answer to the question, “why do you run?” and some of them are true for me: to loose weight, to lower my cholesterol, I’m training for a race, I hope to qualify for Boston, to raise money for cancer. These are reasons: they add purpose, people understand them. But the truth is, if you waved a magic wand and I could be 175 pounds with 2% body-fat and perfect blood-pressure without ever running again, I’d still run. If you eliminated every race from the future, so there would be no competition for me to train for, I’d still do my long-runs on the weekend, still aim for an ultra distance in the next year. Because when it comes down to it, I run because I like to, because I want to, because it fulfills some need in me that nothing else can, a need that I can’t even quite put a name to. There is no need for my running, no logical place that it holds in my life.

I run because I want to. I run because I can. I run because it serves no purpose, it helps me break the social contract of always being responsible and productive. And I run with a smile, because I’m having fun, and enjoying your run -- really just enjoying it -- is an act of rebellion.

To run.

Alone.

In the rain.

(Also posted @ . . .whenitalkaboutrunning)

My (abbreviated) Story

I was born a BFR. I was a BFR until I was about 1.5 yrs. old.

In HS, I ran XC, but not BF. I was on JV. I was slow. I always wanted to run a 26.2.

Then I got married. Then we had kids. We raised them. I still wanted to do a 26.2.

I had dreams of a BQ someday. So I got a GF305 with a HRM to monitor my MHR, log my LSDs, and PRs. I studied the BQTs for my AG. I XT'ed. I worked to increase my VO2Max. I started a BLOG.

But every time I ran 10K or more, I got injured. ITBS in one leg. PF in the other foot. Always DOMS. Lots of RICE. Had my first DNF due to a hamstring pull.

Then I read "BTR". Then I became a MR. Bought 3 pair VFF, and huarches. No more ITBS, or PF, or even DOMS!

But I did TMTS, got TOPF. But ignored it. Ran 5K race. SFX, 2nd Metatarsal. 3 months off.

Then I became a BFR again, 50 years after the first time. I didn't do TMTS. After 1 yr. I can run at least 18K BF with no pain. Happy BFR.

Then I learned about Run:) I joined the RSC. Happy, :)ly BFR. BQ? Who cares.

The End (for now).

Beast and Ball

I went running last night in the sweltering heat. I thought it would be just a run but then the beast came out. I was on fire. I ran. I leaped. I took turns at dangerous speeds and angles. I dodged vehicles (not literally, so breathe). I laughed in the face of danger (pebbles and stones). When I wanted to go faster, I just did it. I conquered the urban jungle. I was the monkey, the eagle, and the lion.

When I, the beast, entered the park, I began hunting a tree to fulfill the request of The Urban Runner. Howbeit, that search got negleted quickly.

This sanctuary of nature also hosts our little league baseball fields. Empty baseball fields flood my mind with childhood memories. I was lured to the field to relive a particular memory. Like Fields of Dreams, I enterd a different time and place as soon as I passed through the fence opening.

I swaggered up to home plate staring down the pitcher. (I ignored the real life guy that drove up in the pickup truck staring at me strangely). I got into my batter's stance. The pitch came into the sweet spot. I swiftly swung and hit that imaginary ball over the heads of the outfielders. I took off for 1st as the ball rolled out to the fence at the 200 yard marker. I headed to 2nd where a glance toward the outfield told me to press on. I took a wide turn around 3rd and knew I could stretch this baby to a homer. One hard smack of my foot on home plate brought the fantasy team out of the dugout as I cheerfully jogged back. Illusory high fives were given as a big smile sat upon my face.

Back to that tree, I put one barefoot on a couple of trees but didn't feel ready to master any. Maybe next time. In the mean time, I challenge all the run smileys to hit a few home runs of their own.

I resumed my standard form of a 30 something mom, wife, runner and headed out of the park to run a bit further, walk a bit further, and run a little further again. One thing was constant in whatever form I was in, I smiled.

A Rose By Any Other Name

I'm Still a Barefoot Boy

I came across this poem today and really enjoyed it. It's not about running but it talks about the same kind of feeling we enjoy while running. Hope you enjoy it. I'm still a barefoot boy at 52! (cross posted at Downtown Runner)

The Barefoot Boy
By John Greenleaf Whittier

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy, -
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art, - the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye, -
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy

Oh for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild-flower's time and place,
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy, -
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O'er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

Absence and the Fonder Heart

This last week my sister came to visit from California. She still lives in the San Diego area where we grew up. She has only been out here (NY/NJ) twice in the 20 years since I moved east. So this was a big deal.

I took the week off from work. We took her to see “Jersey Boys” on Broadway. And the “Top of the Rock” (top of the Rockefeller Building).

And Times Square. And the Statue of Liberty. And Ellis Island. And rode the subways. And Buses. And Boats. And Trains. And even a pedicab down Broadway during rush hour traffic. (And lived to tell about it)

We ate out a lot. Sardy’s. Cracker Barrel. Starbucks. Even the Peanut Butter Company, which is a little place in Greenwich Village that has great PB&J sandwiches, among other “light” fare. My sister LOVES PB so we had to go there. Had to.

Anyway, I could go on and on about the week. I also found a little time to whip the garden into shape. And stay up late to talk and play games and generally NOT be at or think about work. Everyone had a great time.

But. I. Only. Ran. Once.

Between the heat, rain, long days in Manhattan, and all of the family fellowship time, I only headed out for a 4 ¼ mile jaunt. I also walked the same route with my sis but that didn’t count.

So I can’t wait to get back out there! I will figure out a way to get a run in tomorrow somehow no matter what. The weather forecast is good so it looks like I’ll have a number of options, either in Manhattan or here in Jersey.

Why the excitement?

Are you kidding me?

The feel of my feet on all of the various surfaces. Warm. Cold. Rough. Smooth. Wet. Muddy.

The alive feeling of my heart rate consistently within 20 percent of max.

The moment that I first break a sweat and feel the evaporative cooling kick in.

Synchronizing my breaths with my cadence. Three steps in. Two steps out.

Enjoying the looks on people’s faces as I cruise by. Or go by them silently, sometimes inadvertently startling them.

Not knowing how far I’ll end up going, leaving it up to how I’m feeling.

Stepping on a pebble and quickly shifting my weight to minimize the impact. Marveling at the sensory functions built into this thing called my body.

Getting rid of that I-feel-lousy-and-lazy-and-know-I'd-feel-better-after-a-run feeling that starts two days after the last run.

Knowing that I’m doing something that is good for me, makes me happy, and therefore makes me easier to work with and live with.

Boy have I missed it. Stay tuned for a report on all the running goodness…

Run:) and National Running Day

As might be apparent from the fact I've posted three times in three days, I'm pretty excited about this whole run:) idea, because its everything I love about running, and everything I like writing about. I had just decided to give my self-permission not to catalogue every single run on my blog, to relax and let my blog not be about accurate recording of miles and times but for it just to be about joy. And that's when I stumbled across Katie's blog, and the Run:) collective.

There is a marked predilection in the running community to take itself too seriously: from technical gear to hear-rate monitors t0 VO2-max workouts to obsessing over negative-splits and timed post-run protein refueling windows, outsiders can be forgiven for sometimes viewing runners as a group of masochistic kill-joys. There is often an implied false dichotomy between juicy-cheese-burger-cold-beer-lawn-chair living and the whey-protein-isolate-Gatorade-track-work life, as if one must choose between joy and effort, choose joy and health, choose between joy and running. Not that I am an official spokesperson or anything, but the Run Smilies reject this division. Actually, we don’t reject this division, because we don’t even see it – we are two busy having a blast running to even bother with such silliness as either/or propositions. I barely know any of my fellow bloogers, but I am sure some of us are vegetarians, while some scarf down a post-run burgers; some of us are barefoot runners (or moving in that direction), while some are devoted to our motion-control shoes; some can run a marathon fast enough to qualify for Boston, while some waddle through 5Ks and declare it an epic accomplishment; some run after a cold beer (or two, or three), and some, I’m sure, are straight-edge teetotalers. But we all run for one simple reason: it makes us happy. It might make us sweat, we might want to lose a few pounds, and sometimes we might strap on a heart-rate monitor or hit the local track for quarter mile repeats, but all these motives are secondary: our real motive to run is that running always makes us happy. It makes us smile.

I’m excited about joining this community of runner-blogger-smilers, and look forward to sharing my thoughts and ideas with a group of likened runners, as well as reading about their reflections on running.

*****

Yesterday was “National Running Day.” At first, I wasn’t going to actually run at all. There were practical reasons: I’d gotten just about 4 hours of sleep for the last two night, and the temperature was supposed to top 95 degrees with high humidity. There is also my innate rebellious, contrarians nature, which chafes at participating in “days.” “National Poetry Day,” “Bike to Work Day,” “Cancer Awareness Day.” I reason that if you care about those things, you should do something about them regardless, and agreeing to do them all on the same day strikes me as somewhat contrived and superficial (“phony,” as Holden Caulfield would put it. I just finished teaching Catcher in the Rye, so allow me some latitude). But as the day went on, I not only itched for run, but my twitter feed was filled with other runners heading out for their #nationalrunningday runs. I was jealous, and yes, maybe I wanted to be part of a “day.” So I headed out the door. Since I hadn’t planned on running, I didn’t have any of my running clothes, not even my shoes -- I jogged the half-mile to the track by Yankee stadium in my work-shoes, then kicked them off to go barefoot.

And this is where smile running becomes so important. Everything about my run should have been unpleasant. It was 95 degrees with high humidity, just before noon in the direct sun of an exposed track sandwiched between the Major Degan expressway, the elevated tracks of the 4 train, and the grey edifice of Yankee Stadium. I had no running clothes, so I was wearing cotton underwear and running in my heavy cargo-shorts, with my wallet and keys weighing down the pockets. With no wicking-shirt, I just stripped to my waist, and with no shoes I was barefoot on the hot track. And yet . . . every step was joyous. Not “fun,” mind you, or even “enjoyable,” buy it filled me with joy. It made me smile. The rivulets of sweat coursing down my back and the slight burn as my bare soles brushed against the rough surface of the track; the smell of fresh-cut grass from the mower circling the nearby baseball diamond. Every time I came around the southern end of the track, the breeze off the Harlem River would caress my warm skin, sending goose-bumps along my arms before I slipped out of its narrow current back into the stagnant heat. If it wasn’t for the merciless sun, the cold bottle of water I bought wordlessly from a tanned latino crouched in the shadow of the scoreboard would not have felt as refreshing, the fresh-cut pineapple chunks from the corner bodega would not have been as sweet in my mouth while I ate them, juice dripping down my chin, as I jogged back across Grand Concourse. I was flushed and hot and dripping with sweat, but I was smiling. And for the rest of the afternoon, as I tried to coerce teenagers into writing about epiphanies and coming of age, the slight burn on the bottom of my feet filled me with a secret joy, and made me smile again.

(adapted from the orginal post @ . . . whenitalkaboutrunning)