There's a name you call people who ride to the top of a snowy mountain, strap a couple of slick boards on the bottom of their feet, and launch themselves down a steep slope. Back in the Kansas flatlands, we called them idiots.
Interestingly, we Kansans would have called anyone who ran barefoot the same thing. I don't want to imply that Kansas is ultra-conservative, but Sarah Palin was recently booed at the Wichita airport for being too liberal. Rush Limbaugh once tried to build a house in Kansas but cancelled the project after protesters burned "Not Right Enough" into his lawn. He was also discouraged by Kansas' lack of beachfront property and morphine drug trade, and the single FM radio station which played both kinds of music: Country and Western.
So we just got back from our ski trip in the Austrian Alps. During the trip, I drew one conclusion: barefoot runners ain't skiers.
Don't get me wrong...I like to ski. My wife, Simone, has been skiing her whole life. Simone skis like Mozart composed music. It flows so naturally. And she's tried to teach me a thing or two.
I fondly remember our first training session years ago on the steepest black diamond slope. You know, the icy plummeting slope with all the moguls carved by the expert skiers. I'd ski ten feet, fall, lose both skis, slide another 50 feet down the mountain, climb back up over a couple moguls to retrieve the skis, ski ten feet, and fall again. Simone made it down the first slope in about a minute and a half. It took me over an hour. She laughed her ass off. I gave her the silent treatment for two days.
So other than being a little nuts, what do barefoot runners and skiers have in common? Actually, nothing.
Take equipment. I mean, come on, 700 Euros for a new pair of skis? A helmut for 200? Boots for another 300? Add a ski jacket, ski pants, socks, space-age undergarments, and now you've dropped over two grand. Of course, you can get cheaper, second hand ski stuff, but the average skier will look at you like you just farted at the opera. In skiing, image is everything.
Compare that with my running outfit. One day this summer I ran out the door with no shirt and no shoes and a pair of vintage shorts handed down from my father-in-law. The elastic had broken, so I was holding them up with a piece of string I cut off the bottom of the broken vertical blinds in the storage room. Under the shorts I had on a pair of stained underwear that likely belonged to one of my college roommates. Total cost: Zero.
How about after ski ? Oh, excuse me, "Apres Ski". I'm not sure I've ever seen more people put on more airs, drinking more over-priced trendy drinks, and being more snobbish. I'm not talking about the snowboarders. Those guys are young and broke. However, the snowboarders seem to be oblivious to the conformity of their trendy, anti-establishment, over-sized outfits. Someone needs to tell them wearing ridiculously large clothes doesn't necessarily make you a rebel. Especially when all your buddies are wearing the same fashion.
So what do we barefoot runners do after a run? Let's see. We first look for a hose to get some water. We then drop into a broken lawn chair to rub our feet. We don't wash them first. Someone breaks out a case of cheap beer. It might only be a six-pack. If it's a good day, someone gets a grill going with a couple hot dogs. We don't shower right away. And we definitely don't care if we look cool doing it.
God I love barefoot running.
*Posted here at BRS and at www.runbarefooteurope.blogspot.com
Interestingly, we Kansans would have called anyone who ran barefoot the same thing. I don't want to imply that Kansas is ultra-conservative, but Sarah Palin was recently booed at the Wichita airport for being too liberal. Rush Limbaugh once tried to build a house in Kansas but cancelled the project after protesters burned "Not Right Enough" into his lawn. He was also discouraged by Kansas' lack of beachfront property and morphine drug trade, and the single FM radio station which played both kinds of music: Country and Western.
So we just got back from our ski trip in the Austrian Alps. During the trip, I drew one conclusion: barefoot runners ain't skiers.
Don't get me wrong...I like to ski. My wife, Simone, has been skiing her whole life. Simone skis like Mozart composed music. It flows so naturally. And she's tried to teach me a thing or two.
I fondly remember our first training session years ago on the steepest black diamond slope. You know, the icy plummeting slope with all the moguls carved by the expert skiers. I'd ski ten feet, fall, lose both skis, slide another 50 feet down the mountain, climb back up over a couple moguls to retrieve the skis, ski ten feet, and fall again. Simone made it down the first slope in about a minute and a half. It took me over an hour. She laughed her ass off. I gave her the silent treatment for two days.
So other than being a little nuts, what do barefoot runners and skiers have in common? Actually, nothing.
Take equipment. I mean, come on, 700 Euros for a new pair of skis? A helmut for 200? Boots for another 300? Add a ski jacket, ski pants, socks, space-age undergarments, and now you've dropped over two grand. Of course, you can get cheaper, second hand ski stuff, but the average skier will look at you like you just farted at the opera. In skiing, image is everything.
Compare that with my running outfit. One day this summer I ran out the door with no shirt and no shoes and a pair of vintage shorts handed down from my father-in-law. The elastic had broken, so I was holding them up with a piece of string I cut off the bottom of the broken vertical blinds in the storage room. Under the shorts I had on a pair of stained underwear that likely belonged to one of my college roommates. Total cost: Zero.
How about after ski ? Oh, excuse me, "Apres Ski". I'm not sure I've ever seen more people put on more airs, drinking more over-priced trendy drinks, and being more snobbish. I'm not talking about the snowboarders. Those guys are young and broke. However, the snowboarders seem to be oblivious to the conformity of their trendy, anti-establishment, over-sized outfits. Someone needs to tell them wearing ridiculously large clothes doesn't necessarily make you a rebel. Especially when all your buddies are wearing the same fashion.So what do we barefoot runners do after a run? Let's see. We first look for a hose to get some water. We then drop into a broken lawn chair to rub our feet. We don't wash them first. Someone breaks out a case of cheap beer. It might only be a six-pack. If it's a good day, someone gets a grill going with a couple hot dogs. We don't shower right away. And we definitely don't care if we look cool doing it.
God I love barefoot running.
*Posted here at BRS and at www.runbarefooteurope.blogspot.com
