Once upon a time in 2004, a small creature was cut out of my uterus.  Said creature then proceeded to wreak havoc on our lives in a variety of ways.  Exactly two years, six months and one week later another creature was sliced and diced out of me, eagerly adding to the chaos that we now call life.

It just so happens though that these small havoc wreaking creatures were the spring board to the life I now strive to live; that is – doing the exact opposite of what mainstream society might do.   Whenever I start to find myself on the side of the majority, I get to thinking it’s probably time to reconsider.  The world is consuming processed foods at an alarming rate?  Well then I’ll just stop cooking.  Everyone else returns their library books on time? Mine are always going to be late from now on.  Most people shower once a day?  Every other day if you’re lucky.

Hi, my name is Alison and Hyperbole is my middle name.  But you catch my drift.  If it’s what everyone else is doing, suddenly I start to wonder what’s wrong with it.

It all started with breastfeeding. Well, during pregnancy to be more precise.  A pregnant and eager first time mom planning to nurse for a year maybe, I started reading and reading and reading some more.  Thus began my journey to self-actualization and this crazy notion that you don’t always have to do things the same way everyone else does or even says you’re supposed to.  Of course there is a time and place to learn from the trials and errors and successes of other – but don’t be afraid to make some of your own mistakes too.  If you aren’t failing, then you aren’t trying.  And if you aren’t trying, what’s the point?

But back to breastfeeding neurosis for a second here – fast forward 9 months + 3 breastfeeding books + a couple of La Leche League meetings later and rather than having weaned at 6 weeks, 6 months or even a year, I found myself nursing a two and a half year old on an airplane, smirking as I flip through the aircraft safety card with a pair toddler legs dangling into the aisle, fully prepared to shoot squinty eyed glares at strangers or flight attendants that might raise an eyebrow.

Misadventures in human lactation aside, I really am getting somewhere with all this; and that would be my encouragement to both you and me to try crazy things and not fear being a little different.  I’m not suggesting being different simply for the sake of being different, but instead being different when some free thinking, knowledge, understanding and common sense dictate a move away from cultural norms and mainstream thinking.

This brings me to my latest experiment, and that would be running without any shoes on.

That’s right, barefoot running.  This concept first appeared on my horizon when I read a post by Matt of No Meat Athlete fame some time last year.  Since then, I’ve taken special note of barefoot runners.  I’ve found myself reading articles and blog posts on barefoot running and have even spent some time doubting the validity of everything I’ve read on the subject.  More recently though, I’ve been wondering what exactly it might entail to transition into something so seemingly radical and how long it might take to acclimate to this far from mainstream idea.

To be brief, the main idea here is that when you run with shoes on, you muck up your form.  Heavily cushioned sneakers keep you from feeling pain or discomfort you would otherwise feel if you didn’t have shoes on when you run all weird-like.  Sneakers keep us from finding the proper running form our bodies are designed to run in.  With sneakers on, you might land on your heel, which generates a sudden impact to your bones, muscles and joints.  It’s like hitting the brakes with every step.  We’re not supposed to run this way, and if you didn’t have sneakers on, you’d figure that out pretty quickly.

With shoes on though, you don’t necessarily feel the pain caused by your improper form immediately.  Instead, that pain rears its fugly head over the course of a few weeks or months and presents as shin splints, ITBS, knee or hip pain and you can’t figure out why it hurts.  You might go on to blame running itself, probably using everyone’s favorite “running is bad for your knees!” line or “I’m just not meant to be a runner…”   Both excuses that I used myself in my journey to actually enjoying running.

Alternatively though, if you run without shoes on, you automatically start running in a way that our bodies are best suited to run – that is, by landing on the ball of your foot and/or mid-foot.

I could go on for paragraphs (too late) with all that I’ve learned, but instead I’ll say that if you’re curious to know more, Google is your friend.  And rest assured that I’ll probably write more about it as my experience with it evolves anyway.

Now don’t get me wrong:  I still enjoy running in my sneakers and full well plan to run like the rest of the normal running world 90% of the time for now.  Fortunately in my case, as my mother, girlfriends, husband and large calf muscles can attest to – I walk on my toes when I’m barefoot.  I have no idea why – maybe I was a ballerina in a former life.  Whatever the case, I apparently run this way too, even with sneakers on.  I remember being fitted for shoes at a local running shoe store, where they video tape your feet from behind as you run on a treadmill.  They then play back the recording in slow motion to see what exactly it is you do with those feet of yours when you run.  When they played my blockbuster of foot movie back, the dude said “Your heels don’t even touch the ground!”  Oops.  Is that a bad thing?  Ummm, no, as I’ve come to find out, it’s not.

Still, I bet there’s room for improvement with my form.  I do notice that my knees start to hurt when my shoes are getting old.  This is why I’ve decided to eschew a summer of long runs and instead focus on increasing my barefoot mileage.  I plan to start by supplementing 10% of my weekly mileage with a couple of barefoot miles through grassy areas with a sprinkling of paved paths that are a part of my usual running routes.  I want to slowly get the skin on the bottoms of my feet accustomed to this off the wall idea while at the same time slowly strengthening the small stabilizing muscles in my feet that have atrophied thanks to their disuse from being swaddled in leather and shoe laces and served up on a foam cushioning platter for the past three decades.

In summary, breastfeeding leads to barefoot running. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.  And when I slice my foot open on a piece of broken glass or contract HIV from jamming my big toe into a hypodermic needle, I won’t say you didn’t warn me.