Wave Back

I’m trying to be the guy who waves to everybody I pass on my run. It’s not hard when I get out at 4 pm for a good 10 miler, as the majority of the rail trail using crowd is still at work, so I don’t have humanity overload syndrome. HOS – is that a thing? It is now.

I didn’t always wave to people when I ran, despite feeling some degree of affinity through shared exercise, as I just didn’t think people wanted stranger acknowledgement. I tended to reserve my subtle shows of appreciation to other runners only, and sometimes only to those I knew were really putting in work for the sake of running and not to check off their Instagram fitspo hashtag requirement. Yeah, I was (“was”) a judgey judgerson.

Since scrapping my treadmill training (Oh, I didn’t address that yet…another post) I’ve been on the familiar stretch of rail trail I put so many miles on over the years, and I decided that while I’m out in the world alongside others, I should go ahead and express my appreciation for them being out in the world as well. So I started waving to people, or at least acknowledging them with eye contact, a subtle smile through pressed lips, and maybe a low hand out to wave, or just two fingers for a “what’s up”. It’s as simple as that, but I decided to do that to EVERY person I passed, even if when I turned around we saw each other a second time. Runners, walkers, cyclists, bike commuters, neighborhood folk, dog walkers, people sitting on benches, men pushing carts to the metal recycling plant, drunk dudes on benches, randos…everyone.

I want to be known, in part, as “That guy who always waves at me.”

It won’t necessarily matter in any deep, important sense, but a non-threatening gesture of acknowledgement and cooperation can only bring value to a relationship should some more serious situation arise. Who knows. Regardless, I like acknowledging people and I like being acknowledged.

Here’s the rub though. MOST people don’t acknowledge back. It’s a near extreme buddhist practice in detachment to wave to every person you pass, knowing most won’t return the kindness and you’ll be left fighting off a rising disappointment and callousness. The key is to not care, to just wave because you know it’s nice. But again, most people don’t respond. Cyclists are pretty notorious for not exchanging waves. Maybe it has something to do with their speed of travel. Or hell, maybe I never see their response when they zip by. Women often don’t respond unless they have made it a point to acknowledge others before you even reached them. I really don’t hold anything against anyone for not responding, especially women. I often didn’t wave to them previously because in a patriarchal society of constant objectification and sexual harrassment, I didn’t want to play into any notion of that at all. Ultimately, I just said “fuck it” and started waving, but not too pointedly or with extended eye contact or creepy smiling or anything. Just a quick, “I acknowledge you” and keep moving. I’ll do it even when I know they are looking away from me intentionally. It’s all good. I’m gonna err on the side of kindness.

Acknowledging others can be tricky though. You don’t want to always assert dominance with extended eye contact, which is absolutely A THING with males. We evolved from primates don’t forget. Our animal nature is a part of us and I’ve absolutely seen total strangers get into fist fights because one alpha male looked at another alpha male too long, neither of them wanting to break eye contact in an act of submission. Seriously, IT’S A THING. I make it a point to “see” others, but not too quickly, to show respect, but not weakness. It’s a funny primal relationship males have to walk…or run.

On the other hand, most people that don’t respond to stranger acknowledgement is because a stranger is a stranger. Kindness can be risky, and when we are genetically coded with survival behaviour, it’s safer to keep to oneself and not build any sort of relationship with someone you don’t know, of which you’ve never build trust or had reason to. How many times has the kindess of a stranger turned out to be a ruse for some other intent, whether it’s to bring you into their religion, give them money, or an outright physical assault. Humans haven’t lived on top of each other like this for essentially our entire existence, and so our tribal relationship directives still take precedence in most of our interactions, especially with strangers. Keep to yourself until you are around those you trust.

Maybe that’s a little too much analysis for a simple wave, but that doesn’t make it all untrue.

I still wave though, because I know I mean no harm and it’s not just acknowledgment that is important, but the repetition of acknowledgement that really makes strangers less strange. I’m back on my 10 mile a day base, cutting a groove into the rail trail I’ve run for a decade now, but I’m not the only routine oriented user on the path so already the faces have become recognizeable and initial acknowledgments are now bordering on expected pleasantries. The ultra skinny ultra runner I’ve seen for years. We wave to each other. The very pregnant woman who smiles to me before I even get a chance to return the favor. We wave to each other. The bike rider who always offers encouragement as if you’re in the middle of a marathon race. We wave to each other.

No matter the response, I aspire to be that guy who waves to everyone, who is not seen as a threat, or a self-absorbed athlete, or another arrogant white dude. I just want to be the guy who people say to each other, “yeah, I don’t know that guy, but he always waves to me.”

So, maybe, wave back. Or not. Me and buddha don’t care.

Movement

The dog caught sight of me coming up the trail and took chase, running along side me with an intense, but playful, cadence. Fortunately, a fence separated the space between us and I didn’t have to match pace to stay out of harms way, but the dog had to abruptly pull up as the end of the enclosure neared. They circled back and anticipated the next runner to come along, this stop and start of movement a highlight of the day.

Entering into the space where intersecting cars either slow to give way to runners crossing the road from the rail-trail or continue on at their pace knowing they win the collision battle, I made quick judgements on my ability to frogger my way to the other side unharmed, the compulsion to not break momentum, to keep moving, directing my risky behavior. I cleared the two lanes and continued forward down the trail, feeling a swiftness and control I had not experienced in quite some time. I didn’t just push forward, but sprung off my toes, covering significant ground before my next footfall met earth.

Today was one of those days that leaves nothing in the way of movement. The sun couldn’t stretch to see anything beyond the horizon to horizon cloud cover. The air was light and full of deep breaths. Lungs could expand to the body’s interior walls. Gravity lessened it’s pull by just a few levels, so it seemed. The naivety of youthful movement pulled me down the trail with an injury be damned carelessness.

It was just one of those runs, ya know?

I value movement in ways people reserve for economic status, celebrity stardom, and supermodel sex appeal. I turn my head for velocity.

I’m fortunate to have found a job that has it’s own sort of movement, for those that want it. Construction involves fits and spurts of intense labor – lifting, climbing, walking, muscular exertion. I’ve noticed only a couple types of construction workers. There are those that do the work, but would rather not, and there are those that do the work, and have a seemingly instinctual drive to do it as fast as possible. This doesn’t necessarily mean it is bad work, for I’ve also noticed that those who do it fast are able to do so because of their knowledge and experience. It’s quite incredible to watch the speed and efficiency of “old heads” in the industry, like bulls in a china shop, just tearing through material while the rest of us struggle to keep up. There is almost an athletic challenge, a competition, to performing and completing as much work as possible during a day. I enjoy this movement, but I also know to save some of that energy for the post-work run.

And it is energy that drives us forward. This sort of mystical substance that is within us and outside of us and IS us, as if we are less individual beings and more the physical forms of kinetic energy that has found it’s way into motion and is unable to stop. We want to move as a fundamental component to not just our humanity, but our beingness, in concert with all other bodies in motion. This shared kinetic release is my running.

In the most cruel twist, our society mets out punishment through the restriction of movement. People are put into cages, allowing only so much kinetic release, as a stated safety measure, but in reality it is a torturous punishment of stagnation. Spaces designed to restrict movement keep people in cages, and movement privileges are restricted to only an hour or so a day. Further punishments involve further restricted movement, when people are put into solitary confinement where the space is even smaller and the ability to release kinetic energy that much more difficult. The body suffers, but the mind goes first.

The worst offense of our institutionalized apathy is the restriction of movement by those beings simply born into the circumstance. Cows, pigs, chickens and all animals viewed as products (food or otherwise) are kept confined into small spaces, their movement restricted in order to ply their bodies into the most profitable forms. The physical and psychological torture is unimaginable. Mother pigs lay between bars barely wider than their bodies while piglets nurse for an immorally short time before being taken away to similar restrictions. Veal calves are tethered to chains and fed emaciated diets to restrict movement and muscular growth.

Our understanding of the sanctity of movement is also our impetus to manipulate it against the less empowered.

The privilege of my movement is not lost on me and I work to consciously keep focus on my ability to release energy, to keep moving, to run. The act of running becomes so normative and repetitive that we can, easily, lose sight of the privilege to run, but also the joy of going from conserved energy to explosive momentum. After each work day, no matter how physically strenuous, I find my way to a place where I can move unrestricted. I take off heavy shoes, restrictive jeans, and feel a lightness take over as I pull on running shorts and tie up my shoes. The first few steps get me going and then an energetic force takes over and it becomes difficult to stop. The transition from fatigued to invigorated is always an incredible moment, no matter how fleeting, and I do my best to pay attention and catch it before it settles into forward motion.

My running is a personal celebration of movement, and when I find a rhythm in my days, that act goes from a celebration of movement to an explosion of momentum. Right now, I’ve found that rhythm and I can feel the kinetic energy lit, ready to explode. It would be an insult to all those who have been forced into restriction to not practice this celebration, to sacrifice the gift. I have no plans to revert this energy to passivity, with the hope that every restricted being finds the barriers to their movement suddenly disappeared.

Let’s get this movement.

Running / Politics

I like to write about running because it’s a subject I know a lot about, and it’s easy. It’s intuitive and fascinating, in a nerd out kinda way, but moreso, it’s also a break from devoting time to subjects that inhabit more complexity and involve more brainpower. Writing about running is something of an escape from the things that really matter in life, but quite often I feel guilty devoting so much time to something as selfish and irrelevant as running, when so many other issues need a powerful voice. I wrestle with this dynamic and after so much hemming and hawing and emotional frustration, tend to settle on the irrelevance of my effect anyways. Words are just words. But I know that’s not true. The words of others have shaped my life deeply, not just in thought, but in action, and that’s no small thing. Hence the struggle with wasting words on selfish pursuits. I could go on, but those words would definitely border on wasteful, so what follows are two subjects, as a way of balancing out this dichotomy with which I struggle.

First, Running.

The treadmill effort I’ve begun has me thinking a lot about what benefits and drawbacks there are to devoting the majority of one’s training to this immovable machine. I’m not a stranger to the treadmill at all, so I know it has it’s benefits, but the treadmill has always been a poor weather supplement to my training rather than a primary component, so it will be interesting to see how things shake out when I actually hit the road. What follows are some of my initial considerations related to training and how a treadmill helps or hurts them.

MILEAGE

I’m definitely not worried about accumulating mileage on a treadmill. There is really no obstacle to running miles on a treadmill versus outdoors, as long as you can find a gym that doesn’t put a limit on your time or has impatient runners waiting for their turn. The only confusion I have is how it actually measures mileage. Running outside involves moving your body over a defined, measurable physical space, but when you’re running in place, how does the treadmill know you’ve actually covered a proper mile? Is it an equation of treadmill rubber and speed or am I overthinking this?

INJURY

I definitely think the treadmill has considerable more give to each footfall impact, so when the mileage builds and the workouts get harder, the risk of impact injury should be lessened. I certainly have a history of having breakthrough workouts in my training only to be followed by overuse injuries, so it will be interesting to see if treadmill workouts reduce some of that pattern. On the other hand, running outside allows one to intuitively regulate muscle strain through speed adjustments according to the terrain, where on the treadmill you are essentially trying to keep up with the rubber, or even have the rubber keep up with you. It will be an effort to find that sweet spot and manually adjust the pace rather than just having the body adjust for me, lest I let the rubber overwork my muscles because i don’t want to concede to dropping the speed. Finally, running in one direction will build strength in certain muscles, but the muscles involved in turns, whether soft or abrupt, will go neglected. I wonder if lateral muscle strength will be compromised and cause issues down the line or during a race.

PSYCHOLOGY

Running is equally a mental game as it is physical, and in this regard I think the treadmill has the upperhand in building psychological strength, if through the suffering of time standing still anyways. It can be a real struggle to find a story in your head to keep you from looking at the mileage barely ticking by, recreating the watched pot never boiling scenario. If you can find your way through multiple 20 milers on a treadmill, than anything during race situations will be cake.

LIFE OBSTACLES

Running in poor weather is hard. Not to say running on a treadmill is always a party, but at the very least it’s always available, no matter the weather or the time of day. The siren call of excuses is always deadened when a strip of rubber in a temperature controlled environment sits dormant, just waiting for you to hit “GO”. Then again, running through adversity, especially when you don’t feel up to it, has it’s own psychological benefits and the treadmill just acts as a happy medium.

WORKOUTS

Workouts on a treadmill are going to involve a bit of tweaking. Running outdoor workouts can involve a lot of speed variability and intuitive adjustments. Workouts on a treadmill are going to involve speed variability, but with less immediate adjustments, such as quick intervals. Getting up to 800 pace will take longer than if done outside and backing out of it will take some time too. I imagine creating workouts that are a little longer in duration to compensate for increasing speed. On the other hand, extreme hill workouts will be easy to create in a topography as flat as the Midwest! I’ve always benefitted greatly from hill workouts, so it will be fun to crank that elevation up and mix in some speed.

OVERALL EXPERIENCE

Training for a race is best done in a way that simulates the race you’ll be running, and that will just not be possible on a treadmill, unless someone sets up a treadmill marathon…any takers? The overall experience of running indoors, in place, will ultimately, but temporarily, deaden the running experience in monotony, if I let it. The challenge to this experience will be finding the excitement and novelty of this absurd training regimen. And in the end, I’m hoping the challenges of running on a treadmill have a sort of more difficult, and therefore more beneficial, stress on the body, which will translate into a new (post-diagnosis) marathon PR.

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And now, Politics.

Like, “what the fuck.” But also, “of course.”

These have been my internal reactions to the recent news that Alabama and various states have made progress on criminalizing abortion. This is fucking absurd, but it’s only fucking absurd because I surround myself in a bubble of intelligent people, radicals, rational thinkers, and generally good people. When I am forced out of that sphere of intelligence, the whole charade is like, “Duh, of course this is happening.” But that doesn’t mean it’s any less enraging.

I struggled with saying anything about this issue, if only because the way social media works, everyone wants to jump on an issue and make some flippant statement to 1. Get catharsis and 2. state which side of the issue they’re on. I get it, I have that impulse too, but I hate that these cathartic expressions are the end of it. There is a tide of response that crests into a flood, then expression fatigue takes over and everyone moves on. Very little is done except for some donations thrown to various organizations, which is good, but also very temporary. The control over our lives demands more than just a bit of cathartic expression, appeal to vote, and then back to Netflix. This is why I even struggle to write this, knowing that it’s part of this wave of cathartic release in place of actually doing anything about the issue. But for what it’s worth, hear me out.

I DO want more than cathartic expression. I want resistance, but not in the trump-era sort of resistance liberals feign to project, nor the Handmaiden’s tale cos play sort of resistance the same liberals with a more dystopian outlook take part. I’m talking genuine resistance, whether it be full scale occupations of government buildings, ceaseless home demonstrations of politicians, and/or attacks on “pro-life” centers posing as abortion service providers. This escalation to social war is the appropriate response to the democratic process and control over our lives, period. This is not hyperbole.

It’s frustrating as hell that the majority of people still cling to their romantic notions of democracy’s sanctity, as if the outcome of every election is going to turn inherently liberal because democracy itself is “good.” Democracy is a tool, in the hands of whoever wants to wield it, with no moral compass, period. It does not rest comfortably in the notion that humans are inherently good. It rests in the context of survival, cooperation, and power grabs, and the victims are everyone. Hence, “Of course.”

Of course this is happening because the populace continues to uphold democracy as an untouchable procedure, and happily hand over their ability to make decisions for themselves into a class of people who seek to make decisions for everyone else. And all the liberals cry, “you’re not helping the people!” while the people who elected them rest content. Every so often the power struggle flips, but then flips back, and meanwhile no one takes the time to see that no matter the party in power, power is in power. Control wins. Servitude is solidified. And everyone handed them the chains. You can’t cry out that politicians are taking control over your bodies when you uphold the process that gives them the ability to take control over your bodies. You give them permission every time you cast your vote, hoping the chips fall in your favor.

If I must be labeled, I guess I’m in the anarchist camp, though I’m uncomfortable with that association. Still, the Circle A argument is pro-choice, because choice rests in trusting the agency and freedom of the individual, but it goes deeper than that, because we reject the ability to control at all. It can be an uncomfortable position, rife with privilege and various convenient comforts, but we resist the democratic process and all those involved precisely because it enables these situations to arise, where politicians of the Christofascist sort are given the ability to destroy our lives, psychologically and physically. All the rational and reason in the world doesn’t matter to them. Their decisions are less about the issue itself (or at least the nuances of it) and more about using the issue as one more lever of control, to both restrict their enemies and build bonds with their allies. Our lives are pawns in their game.

So yes, this specific issue is infuriating, that they are criminalizing women who are raped, that they are compelling women to commit suicide in order to avoid going to prison, that they are imprisoning women, men, and children into lives of misery due to any variety of circumstances and stresses that modern life puts upon those who are in lesser economic status, all due to our natural, biological drives. They are creating a dynamic for abusive men to rape and impregnate women as yet another tool to keep them in their own twisted servitude. All of this…It’s fucking insane, and also, of course.

We can’t rest on the democratic process to “fix” this. We have to reject the democratic process wholesale. It has ALLOWED this to happen. It’s part and parcel of it’s very existence.

Look, it’s extreme, in the way people want to view the world, but we live in a context of us vs them and the social war has been raging for quite some time. Y’all have been in the middle of it, whether you knew it or not. Despite the borders of this country and the idea of a melting pot and the flag y’all salute (you think that ritual is about pride and not social control? Psssshhhh), we are naturally divided. There are political classes against people. There are the have and the have nots. There are the frightened and the free. There are the safe and the seeking safety. It’s all a big battle and the worst trick is they have you playing their game with the elections and the courts and the “coffee with a cop” and all that bullshit they throw at you to make you think you’re part of this grand human project, so that when this kind of shit happens and they ruin your lives, that you’ll just eat it up and wait your turn to vote them out of office…that doesn’t always work. So then what?

We are the victims of these people and they get away with whatever they want, because our misery doesn’t affect them. Hell, it enables them. We HAVE to stop asking them to be nicer. We have to ruin their lives. They need to be uncomfortable. They need to not sleep. They need to live in fear. They need their privileges stripped away. Home demonstrations. Screaming them out of public places. Gluing the locks of fake abortion providers that are fronts for christofascist moralism. Fuck em, fuck em all. They bring fear and misery and suffering upon our lives with the “civility” of democracy, which is just the prettied facade covering the ugliness of physical force (police, military, scared white men).

If this ability to prevent us from living out our inherent biological freedom is to stop, we need to stop playing the game we didn’t invent. We need to stop furthering the system of control we were simply born beneath. We need to see this social war for what it is, a struggle for our lives, and one that isn’t accomplished through niceties. Right now they’re winning because they got us believing were all on the same team. Break ranks. Find your friends. Draw a line in the sand.

Treadfulfilled

I’m doing this thing, on a treadmill. I’m not entirely sure where the motivation came from, but one day it wasn’t there and the next it was. Everything felt right and I’ve learned over the years to kick the door open when it starts to crack.

I haven’t felt much motivation to run, let alone train, for anything in particular, in part because I’ve been so consumed by a job that is both deeply rewarding and deeply time consuming. Although my days are supposed to end at 3:30, I never knew if I would be staying until 4, 5, or even 8. Running in the midst of such irregularity is a problem for me. “Run like a clock” the saying goes, and as soon as my scheduled time to be out the door passes I’m like a balloon popped and deflated. For months I would get out every so often, sometimes a few times a week, sometimes only on Saturdays, sometimes not at all…for weeks at a time. The thought of leaving work and changing into running clothes and running some lonely pathway in the winter dark sounded like the most psychologically torturous idea ever. Even if I could find the excitement to run for a day or so, the idea of doing that continuously, non-stop, like the old days, wasn’t even a humorous consideration. But as things go, I couldn’t stop running entirely.

Then for whatever reason, the idea of getting a Y membership and running on a treadmill came to me. It was as simple as that. Just get the membership and then you have a place to run, around others, no matter the hour, no matter the weather. And I couldn’t find the excuse not to. I didn’t want to find the excuse honestly. I always did think it would be hilarious, and interesting, to train for a distance race solely on a treadmill, just to see how it would translate. With that idea in mind, I found myself on an endless stretch of rubber, throwing sweat on people dumb enough to run next to me, staring down a wall of TV’s, figuring out how I was going to psychologically pass the time so I didn’t keep looking at the mileage. And it worked. One week at 5 miles a day, then another week at 6 miles a day and now into the third week at 8 miles a day and I’m still looking forward to getting back to a base of 10er’s and begin throwing in speedwork.

I don’t have a race I’m training for yet as I’m still enjoying the buildup, but I’m sure the impetus to throw down on the streets will hit me as my fitness increases. I’m not trying to look too far ahead though, because I’m trying not to get too invested in the excitement of finding this training passion again. I don’t know what to expect really, being out of the competitive mindset for so long, and putting all my training on a machine, but maybe that unknown is all part of this excitement. A decade of running can get a little monotonous,  and you’ll see runners often try to switch things up to keep that initial excitement going. So I guess this treadmill thing is my way of switching it up, and although it’s ridiculous, that’s where I thrive. Like running in freezing rain, or 39 miles on my 39th birthday, or any number of absurd things I’ve done with my running just to keep things interesting.

So here I am on a spinning strip of rubber, throwing sweat on anything nearby, and loving it. The full parameters I’ve set are that I have to run at least 4 days a week on the treadmill, specifically the two speed workouts and long run, but I allowed some wiggle room for running with friends or hitting the trails. Otherwise it’s putting in serious work and getting nowhere, literally.

I haven’t ever wanted the fire to die down, and even when I tried to snuff it out it remained persistent. I think this last time I really thought running might fade into the distance, too far out of reach, disappeared in the shadow of a job that fulfilled me every day, but that lack of warmth was only temporary, like a trick birthday candle. Before I knew it the heat was under me again and this new attempt to find accomplishment took over yet again. And, of course, the reward still remains more fulfilling than anything I’ve ever taken on. I love my job and I love everything going on in my life, but still, nothing replaced how running makes me feel. I’m just psyched this is all coming together again, and for what seems like forever, I’m back to days filled with little more than the duality of work and running and work and running and work and running. I haven’t been here in quite sometime and I’m glad the fire didn’t just stay warm, but got hot.

Let’s go press that start button.

The Functional Gimmick

We walked into our local running store, checking out the new location and browsing the current stock. I haven’t been inside running stores frequently, but the formula had been set awhile ago, so no trends or gimmicks dominated the shelves like recent years past. The trickling offerings of maximalist or minimalist shoes are just that, tricklings, reshaped to conform to the middle ground of cushion and support. The massage sticks are still the same pieces of plastic twisted into a new shape for the neophilias, but are still just about self-flaggelation during Netflix binges. Clothing is still technical and the women’s style is always more diverse and appealing than the men’s (which is bullshit). Even the nutrition bars and powders have pretty much remained the same, because how different can some oats and sugars really be? All the gimmicks have become absorbed and cannibalized by the market, while the tried and true remain tried and true.

But then there are the socks.

The wall of socks was a bit absurd, with something like 30 different offerings, all posing some sort of benefit related to performance or fit. Arch support, heel cushion, aeration, etc. It’s all ridiculous, but suckers love a gimmick. I, however, was actually searching for a gimmick this time, a gimmick of recent days past, hoping someone had pulled it from the box of bad ideas and realized, hey, this actually ISN’T a bad idea.

I was looking for toes. Toe socks. The prince to the king of one time gimmicks – the Vibram five finger shoes that were all a rage when Born To Run hit the market, but became quickly dethroned as the injuries and lawsuits mounted. Suckers gonna suck, but can you believe they got paid for being gullible? Anyways, those shoes (silly socks as we called them) were a damn joke and everyone with a touch of rational thinking in their body knew it, but as it turns out, what wasn’t a joke were the socks that were made to go along with the shoes. The socks with individual toe slots, which at first seemed ridiculous, but necessary, lined the shelves along with all the “shoes” as the jelly to the peanut butter. Good on the retailers who couldn’t sell a pair of shoes without the socks to go with them. Two for the price of two! You have no choice! And woe to the consumer who bought the shoes and went to put them on without thinking about the sock engineering component.

The problem, of course, is when the shoe gimmick disappeared (along with all those stupid injuries people gave themselves), the socks went too. Not enough runners picked up on the value of those socks outside of pairing them with the shoes. Here’s the thing though, those socks are awesome. I’ll admit, I was hesitant at first. Honestly, I don’t even remember why I got them in the first place. It might have been suggested that they prevent blisters, which I was struggling with during chemotherapy treatments, and so I tried them out. Getting them on was definitely a bit more work, having to situate each toe, deformed from countless miles of squishing and pounding and rubbing, into each subsequent hole, but once they got in there…man, it was nice! Like when you pull on a snug fitting glove and you somehow feel protected and badass and want to grab something or punch someone…it kinda felt like that. Like you could grab the ground with each individual toe and just tear forward. Sort of.

Then, yes, they DID help prevent blisters, and that’s the whole point of this story. They WORKED. The sweaty skin of each toe was prevented from rubbing onto it’s neighbor and therefore the blister build up was eliminated, or at least kept to a minimum. After using these a handful of times, it’s all I wanted to use, and I felt vulnerable putting on any other socks.

So imagination my frustration when I went to buy more pairs at the running store, of which I don’t do very often, and I’m told “We don’t sell those anymore, no one really does.” Like, damnit, someone makes a gimmick that turns out not to be a gimmick at all, and y’all don’t sell em? I mean, I guess I can get them online, but I’m not that kind of soulless person…the kind that buys stuff, especially clothing, sight unseen. And on principle, I shouldn’t have to dig into the dark web just to track down some socks when every running store in the city should be carrying products that work. But yeah, I know, capitalism and the market and the fickle interests of the neophilic consumer base who want to buy identity more than functional products. But damnit, I just want some socks that work the best.

Now, I’ll be fine. Socks are just socks. I’ve performed in apparel that is supposed to be sacriligeous. Hell, I won a 10k in racing flats 5 years past their market date and dead to hell from over a thousand miles of wear and tear. So I’ll get by in normal ass socks, but again, on principle, running stores should carry toe socks. If there is any hope for our future, it’s not in socio-economic equality, decentralized eco-villages, or the eradication of all gender standards….it’s in the re-emergence of toe socks in the running community. If running retailers can set aside their method of pushing gimmicks until the wallets run dry, and actually keep what works – getting rid of the baby and keeping the bathwater – then I think rational minds will have won out and we can expect the ills of society to follow.

Or maybe I’ll just be able to buy more toe socks. That’s all I humbly ask. Until then, I’ll make do with regular ass socks and the periodic blister, or just wait another decade until the trend comes full circle and I can rejoice in the comfort of toes snug like pigs in a blanket.