Sunday was like a first date. Catious in every move, flirtatiously pushing any buttons that came to mind all the while toeing that imaginary line that hovers in the gray area of lust. I kept my pace low, took frequent breaks, and really listened for any aches and pains. I had already layed out ground work for the past few weeks, changing my stride, lightingThankfully I've been planning for this transistion into a lighter and more minimilistic shoe for sometime, so everything felt in order.
Fast forward to Tuesday, where I said the hell with caution. I ran all uphills and BOMBED downhills with a reckless abandon that I never afford myself. Every footfall was solid, with a few exceptions when running through an ankle-deep creekbed, and no matter how technical the trail got, I did not slow down with a fear of slipping because of loose terrain.
I have not been this excited about a trail shoe since I first started wearing my old Brooks ASR's back in the day. Wearing them now, they feel like tanks in comparrison, but they were a great transistion from pavement to dirt. I still wear them, just not to run because they are damn comfortable (and yes, they ARE falling apart at every seam but are damn comfortable).
The juggling of life, family, and the general outpouring of a runner's sole (roll on snare).
