Last week I ran 2 miles barefoot at 34°F (1.1°C). The asphalt was damp from several rainy days and lingering fog, so I had run 4 miles first in my Sockwas. I have found 2 miles to be an adequate warm up in such conditions, enough to allow a subsequent mile or two barefoot with comfort, but a rendezvous had been arranged with a daughter who needed some video that would get a “visceral response” for her college project. I was running with another daughter, also warming up to go barefoot, and the dog.
The dog. I love my dog. She is part Australian Shepherd and part Golden Retriever, with a touch of electric mixer, I think. She showed up in the road at 4 months of age and we could not find her owners. I fell in love with her. She is now 8 years old and impresses many people with how well trained she is. She will run for several miles beside me without pulling on her leash, unless she feels imminently threatened by another lunging dog. She will hold a “down-stay” for a couple of hours when we have need.
It is harder to deal with her herding dog instincts when I run with other family members. Even then, though her pace and dance steps can be irritatingly uneven, she doesn’t pull. I just need to be alert in order to avoid tripping on her. Even when she occasionally accidentally trips me, I have been able to regain my balance with amazing speed. This I attribute to my bare feet, and the occasional use of a minimalist foot covering.
This particular running day, she was doing quite well until we added the extra element of the video-taking daughter running back and forth, in front then behind us. Then, the dog was a little spooked by this sweat-shirt hooded figure that kept showing up in odd places, even when my daughter tried to call out to her in assurance. It didn’t help that the daughter’s face would be blocked from the dog’s vision due to the camera. For some reason, my dog relies on being able to see people’s eyes. She doesn’t do well with people in baseball caps or if someone is carrying something through the yard that eliminates the face from view.
Still, we thought we were managing it until she suddenly twisted backward without warning, knocking my lower legs with her body and catching one of her ankles between my right little toe and the next toe. I yelled loudly as my toe was wrenched sideways. This had never happened before.
Pain went shooting through my foot, however, I did not fall. My bare feet landed back on the asphalt path like I was a dancer who had just momentarily missed a step. I am not a trained dancer. My toes properly splayed and my conditioned soles felt normal. Judging by the type and force of impact, if I had been in traditional shoes, I would almost certainly have landed at least brutally on my knees. Quite possibly on my elbows, wrists, and face. Thoughts of remembering my broken face from the bike ride in Taiwan can to remembrance and I shuddered thankfully.
It took a couple minutes for the sharp pains to subside to almost nothing. I went back to running, though it was not at a fast pace that day. And I was being thoughtful and aware of how my foot felt. After another 1.5 miles, I notices the toe was getting sensitive and felt somewhat “flappy.” I mentioned this to my running buddy daughter. She told me she didn’t need to hear that and should we turn around then? By the time I got home, it was getting pretty swollen and I was concerned I may have broken it.
The next day, a bruise surfaced covering most of the instep of my right foot. My little toe turned a touch of purple. It was tender to walk, but I could ride the spin bike. I gave it a couple of days before I would try to run again.
Three days later, a slow 5.4 miles went quite well. It was mostly in my Luna sandals, because the most sensitive part was under the little toe. I had caught something under there a few times in the house and it had sent me through the ceiling. I wanted to avoid that while running. With half a mile left to go, I reverted to barefoot and finished the run with joy. Maybe the toe was just sprained after all.
Unfortunately, when my dog knows I am hurt, she tends to hang close and check on me more. This led to the statistical anomaly of her doing the same thing to me in the kitchen a couple days later. 8 years and nothing of the sort, then twice in one week. I think it might hurt worse to do it on a toe that has already been damaged…
One week later, things are on the mend to the degree that I am planning on trying to run 6-8 miles tomorrow. Something I will be able to do partly because I didn’t fall down and break a leg or an arm. Or a face. Would I have preferred not to injure the toe and foot? Of course! However, there are often variables in our lives that we cannot completely predict. This was one of those times. I am glad I was barefoot and landed on my feet. (In case you are wondering, I crossed my legs for the photo below so that the pinky toes would be next to each other.)
