It was a very tiny audience at the YMCA last night, so it felt more like I was blathering on to people on a group run (as is my wont) than addressing an audience. Good for everybody. I think. At any rate, it’s always fun to talk to complete strangers about nipples and chaffing. There was only one man there (well, two, but the second one was just dragged along for company), but he held up pretty well with all the sports bra and running skirt talk. I gave them the blog address, with the thought that y’all might be able to help address any questions that came up for them too. (And to increase readership in my bid to take over the ultrarunning mom blogging corner of the blog market.) Most seemed pleased with the “find a shoe that fits your foot-spend about $100- and don’t worry too much about the jargon” message. The barefoot running question didn’t come until the end — and it was from the non-running dragged along guy. I explained the barefoot argument and the basic science used to support it — said it made sense to me — and then recommended they buy shoes to train in. I told them I thought it was a great idea to run barefoot in a nice grassy area after their run for a short while, but that was as far as I extended my neck. (Other than to give the whole talk wearing the New Balance MT110s).
I did get to tell my favorite Eliot running story. We’re running somewhere together and Eliot says, “Liza, do you think people can look at me and tell from my gait that I’m not a runner?” (Eliot’s an accomplished climber. He runs with me from time to time because he’s a nice man.) I look over at him. He’s wearing swim trunks as running shorts. Smart wool socks pulled up mid calf. And a pair of running shoes he found in the desert on a climbing trip. “Honey, it’s not your gait…” Of course, last night I pointed out that if you’re running, you look like a runner and that people who are worried about their running wardrobe have missed the point (but running skirts really are cute…).
PS. Doise, Your sister is great!