As I passed the young jocks running on an East Boulder trail, I grinned. Had I not been wearing fancy new sneakers, I’d have silently crowed, Nyah nyah. Suckers.
I’ve been running for eight years, you see. I don’t recall ever passing anybody.
But this newfound speed, I reasoned, could be attributed to the Newton Running shoes and their complementary style of running, which involves landing on the middle or front of the foot instead of the heel.
My glide past the fit youngsters, in other words, did not hinge on some sudden, and mysteriously invisible, rise of musculature subdivisions along my legs, and a rapid and inexplicable expansion of volume in my lungs.
I pressed ahead, stopping twice during the run, about a minute each time, because I was more winded than normal. I rarely stop while running. I paused, too, because my toes had grown numb, the balls of my feet, sore. I was landing on the balls of my feet and my midsoles. I’d only run in this manner during beach vacations, jogging barefoot on the sand.
I reached my driveway, examined my watch, and blinked a few times.
Thirty-four minutes.
I’d run the same circuit for several months. It always took about 42 minutes.
Thirty-four minutes. With two breaks.
I grinned again.
I kept at it with the shoes for a few weeks. My time crept up – by the end, the run was taking me about 36 minutes. I’d stopped taking breaks, but I always felt myself gasping for breath more than with my old-school running shoes, probably because my stride was shorter.
My toes still grew numb; the balls of my feet still ached; my calves occasionally throbbed during the day, and the soles of my feet sometimes stung, especially in the morning.
My feet were adjusting to the new style.
I like the Newtons. They’re light, they look cool, and they’re different from any shoe I’ve ever used: They do almost force runners to land on the middle or front of their feet.
I’m not yet a convert. I appreciate the upped speed, but I’ve never cared much about that. I run because I like running, and the toe-
numbness and foot pain ratchet down the “like” part of running.
I’m going to keep at it for a bit, though. I’m 42, and running injuries have entered my world. If running this way will help drive away the injury demons, I’ll stick with them.
And at some point, maybe, I’m going to unleash an audible nyah nyah.
And then run really, really fast.
Staff Writer Douglas Brown can be reached at 303-954-1395 or djbrown@denverpost.com
