MistlefrostbittenTOE Half Marathon

I don't know any details yet other than I finished 1:36something. That's because I was in the emergency room during the award ceremony.

It turns out fellow Barefoot Josh was prophetic when he cautioned me about the weather. Wet and wind are not my friends.

I left the house with temps warmer than forecast - around 42 degrees, but raining heavily - wearing thin socks inside my gortex socks inside my aqua socks. It was a little tighter than I thought it would be. That thought was nagging me the whole drive into Winston-Salem. It was really bugging me.

I picked up my shirt and number and went back to the car. "I'm wearing the Vibram's," I decided. So I make the switcheroo. Decision made.

At the starting line waiting for the gun, the Vibram's got soaked. Which made my feet cold. "Well that sort of defeats the purpose," I figured. So I took them off.

The race went perfectly. My left foot wasn't tight, my hip was fine. My toes felt a little cold, but not as cold as my gloved fingers. After the first mile at 8 minutes on the nose, I ticked off the remaining 12 at a steady 7:15-7:30 pace. I had enough to pick it up at the end. I was exhausted, but very happy with my effort. Until I looked at the bottom of my right foot. I want to be honest and forthright about my barefoot running experience, but I don't think I'll be posting any pictures of the foot anytime soon. Just google "frostbite," if you're into that sort of thing.

Fortunately I parked right next to the finish line. I got in my car and gingerly put a couple pairs of socks, stepped in my sandals (I brought everything today) and hobbled to the ambulance. They said "yup, it's frostbite. Do you want us to take you to the hospital, or can you drive?" Is it that bad? I panicked to myself. "We have to ask." I drove (my car, not the ambulance).

You get funny looks when you tell a nurse that you have frostbite from running 13 miles on a cold wet December day. Sort of a cross between No Shit Sherlock and I Might Need To Sedate This Lunatic. When the doctor showed up, he asked my which injuries were from the race and which existed prior. He (understandably) assumed that a barefoot runner would have messed up feet. "Doc, my feet were beautiful this morning." Those words hit me like a brick. Especially the past tense-ness of it.

An excruciatingly painful warm foot-bath, some bandages, a tetanus shot, some Advil, and a miserable drive later, I'm home. It doesn't hurt too badly, although I almost wish it did. I assumed it had to be freezing to get frostbite. Plus, I recently ran ten miles in similar conditions, and my feet were fine. Iris (the wife) thinks I might have started the damage on my very cold short run yesterday. Who knows. All I know is 1. I can't run for one, maybe two months 2. When I can run again, it can't be in the cold 3. My base training for Blue Ridge is over, and 4. I'm feeling very depressed and embarrassed and stupid.

So there you have it. After 490 barefoot miles, I'm done for the year. At mile 477 the feet looked and felt great. Since I can do little else but sit for a while, hopefully I'll start posting some art.

That is, until I cut off my hand in a watercoloring accident.