Step 1: Lure your boss to a dark alley
Step 2: Tell him he's about to be downsized
Step 3: Steal his shoes and....
Oops, sorry about that. I apologize if the title of this post had you expecting something different. Most likely you are looking for: www.mybosscangotohe!!.org
Okay, so I screwed up. Couple of months ago I told my boss I run barefoot. Got the standard response: "Oh, um, that's....interesting." The look he gave me was the same I would expect if I'd told him my pet turtle had died and he was invited to the funeral.
My boss, the poor bastard (and I say this with all due respect, in case he ever reads this), has begun jogging recently after spending too many years working and not playing. And, like your average shod runner, he is in some serious pain.
So, traveling in Europe together this past week, we touched on the subject again. This time, he was all ears.
I gave him my standard two tips on running form: First, shorten your stride so that you can take 180 steps per minute. Second, land midfoot.
The next morning we ate breakfast at a hotel in Wakefield, United Kingdom. I could tell he'd been up early for a run. He took one look at me and said, "You, my friend, are an idiot! NO ONE can run 180 steps per minute!"
Uh oh. Note to self: 1) Prepare resume', 2) Remove objectionable emails and photos from company laptop.
I asked him if he was counting one or two feet. He said he had counted one foot, as I had explained, and the most he ever got was 65. I said, "I think I know why your knees are a mess."
Then I made a bigger mistake. I suggested we run together. This time he had that smug look of a guy who just caught his wife lying about buying those new Gucci shoes. He was expecting payback.
So the next morning we met in the fitness room of our hotel in Lille, France. Since I never run inside, I had only brought my winter running attire. So I walked into the warm and humid fitness room wearing my Vibram Five Fingers, full length windproof and padded spandex running pants, and a thick, sweat-wicking, windproof, long-sleeve shirt with a hood. The women on the elliptical took one look and burst out laughing. My boss did the same. I looked ridiculous.
My boss was already getting started on the treadmill with his $150 running shoes. I watched the 120-step-per-minute, up-and-down, heel-landing pounding for a minute. I then asked, "Are you trying to run on that treadmill or beat it to death?" He gave me the eat-sh*t-and-die look.
Note to self: Making fun of your boss can be career-limiting.
I suggested he shorten his stride as much as possible, bend his knees, and lean forward. He shortened his stride a tiny bit and dropped his head, hunching over like a constipated senior citizen looking for an off-ramp.
The lady on the elliptical burst out laughing for a second time. My boss grimaced. I said, "Um, maybe I can show you how I run?"
I removed the Vibrams and stepped on the treadmill. It had been several years since I had run on a treadmill. "Uh, what buttons do I push?" The lady on the elliptical burst out laughing for a third time.
I started to run. Pressed the speed button to get into a good rhythm. Pulled my elbows back, got a little forward lean going, and just relaxed. I looked over at my boss. His mouth was hanging open.
"I never would have believed it," he said. The lady on the elliptical had stopped to watch. My boss counted as he slowly shook his head. "184 steps, and your head isn't even moving."
My boss took off his own shoes and socks and stepped back on the treadmill. He started to run. His stride was shorter. This looked much better. Of course, he was only landing on his forefoot and his heel remained about two inches off the ground, so he was about five minutes away from a debilitating metatarsal fracture that would delay his running career and leave me begging for employment at "Wasch Al-Azir", the local immigrant car wash.
We worked to get his heel down and shorten his stride more. I remembered how difficult it was for me when I first started. But my boss is a disciplined, smart guy. I'm sure he'll get there.
At dinner that night, we ordered wine and toasted the business day as well as the running experience that morning. He offered me the bread basket. I said, "Thanks, but I don't eat bread anymore. Or pasta." He looked at me like I'd just told him about my recent transgender operation.
Anyone else worried I'm starting to cross some professional boundaries?
*Posted here at the BRS and at www.runbarefooteurope.blogspot.com
Step 2: Tell him he's about to be downsized
Step 3: Steal his shoes and....
Oops, sorry about that. I apologize if the title of this post had you expecting something different. Most likely you are looking for: www.mybosscangotohe!!.org
Okay, so I screwed up. Couple of months ago I told my boss I run barefoot. Got the standard response: "Oh, um, that's....interesting." The look he gave me was the same I would expect if I'd told him my pet turtle had died and he was invited to the funeral.
My boss, the poor bastard (and I say this with all due respect, in case he ever reads this), has begun jogging recently after spending too many years working and not playing. And, like your average shod runner, he is in some serious pain.
So, traveling in Europe together this past week, we touched on the subject again. This time, he was all ears.
I gave him my standard two tips on running form: First, shorten your stride so that you can take 180 steps per minute. Second, land midfoot.
The next morning we ate breakfast at a hotel in Wakefield, United Kingdom. I could tell he'd been up early for a run. He took one look at me and said, "You, my friend, are an idiot! NO ONE can run 180 steps per minute!"
Uh oh. Note to self: 1) Prepare resume', 2) Remove objectionable emails and photos from company laptop.
I asked him if he was counting one or two feet. He said he had counted one foot, as I had explained, and the most he ever got was 65. I said, "I think I know why your knees are a mess."
Then I made a bigger mistake. I suggested we run together. This time he had that smug look of a guy who just caught his wife lying about buying those new Gucci shoes. He was expecting payback.
So the next morning we met in the fitness room of our hotel in Lille, France. Since I never run inside, I had only brought my winter running attire. So I walked into the warm and humid fitness room wearing my Vibram Five Fingers, full length windproof and padded spandex running pants, and a thick, sweat-wicking, windproof, long-sleeve shirt with a hood. The women on the elliptical took one look and burst out laughing. My boss did the same. I looked ridiculous.
My boss was already getting started on the treadmill with his $150 running shoes. I watched the 120-step-per-minute, up-and-down, heel-landing pounding for a minute. I then asked, "Are you trying to run on that treadmill or beat it to death?" He gave me the eat-sh*t-and-die look.
Note to self: Making fun of your boss can be career-limiting.
I suggested he shorten his stride as much as possible, bend his knees, and lean forward. He shortened his stride a tiny bit and dropped his head, hunching over like a constipated senior citizen looking for an off-ramp.
The lady on the elliptical burst out laughing for a second time. My boss grimaced. I said, "Um, maybe I can show you how I run?"
I removed the Vibrams and stepped on the treadmill. It had been several years since I had run on a treadmill. "Uh, what buttons do I push?" The lady on the elliptical burst out laughing for a third time.
I started to run. Pressed the speed button to get into a good rhythm. Pulled my elbows back, got a little forward lean going, and just relaxed. I looked over at my boss. His mouth was hanging open.
"I never would have believed it," he said. The lady on the elliptical had stopped to watch. My boss counted as he slowly shook his head. "184 steps, and your head isn't even moving."
My boss took off his own shoes and socks and stepped back on the treadmill. He started to run. His stride was shorter. This looked much better. Of course, he was only landing on his forefoot and his heel remained about two inches off the ground, so he was about five minutes away from a debilitating metatarsal fracture that would delay his running career and leave me begging for employment at "Wasch Al-Azir", the local immigrant car wash.
We worked to get his heel down and shorten his stride more. I remembered how difficult it was for me when I first started. But my boss is a disciplined, smart guy. I'm sure he'll get there.
At dinner that night, we ordered wine and toasted the business day as well as the running experience that morning. He offered me the bread basket. I said, "Thanks, but I don't eat bread anymore. Or pasta." He looked at me like I'd just told him about my recent transgender operation.
Anyone else worried I'm starting to cross some professional boundaries?
*Posted here at the BRS and at www.runbarefooteurope.blogspot.com
