It鈥檚 the single most iconic vista in all of Newfoundland, all the more prized because it鈥檚 so hard to reach. By the time we clambered over the final set of boulders to get there, we鈥檇 been climbing for more than six hours, accompanied by clouds of voracious and seemingly waterproof black flies that were undeterred by the steadily falling rain. We turned to look back at the route we鈥檇 traveled: the sinuous, glacier-carved fjord 2,000 feet below us, the billion-year-old cliffs that hemmed it in, the jumble of rocks and rainforest that led steeply up to the plateau where we now stood. This view of Western Brook Pond is a staple of the island鈥檚 ; we鈥檝e seen the pics, but on that particular day it was nothing but a blanket of mist.

We didn鈥檛 have time to linger anyway. It was nearly noon by the time the boat had dropped us off at the head of the fjord, then climbing up the gulch had taken twice as long as we鈥檇 anticipated. We were barely halfway to the alpine pond where we鈥檇 hoped to camp that night. As the mist thickened, finding landmarks was getting increasingly difficult. Muddy game trails carved by the area鈥檚 ubiquitous moose and caribou led in every direction through the boggy grass, frequently disappearing into sinkholes filled by several days of nonstop rain. No matter how often we stopped to orient ourselves, we were turned around again within minutes.

I felt panic rising in me. We were already a day behind schedule, because the waters of the fjord had been too choppy for the boat on our scheduled departure day. That had forced us to burn a day of food while camped by the dock waiting for our ride, leaving us with just four days to complete the hike instead of the planned five. And while my wife, Lauren, and I were capable of hiking as long into the night as we needed to, we couldn鈥檛 ask the same of our daughters, Ella and Natalie. They were just eight and six, respectively鈥攁nd, aside from being exhausted, they were being driven bonkers by the flies, despite their full-body bug suits. But there were no exits from this hike. No roads traverse this part of Newfoundland. The boat was gone, and so was our cell signal. The only way out was onward. In that moment of maximal uncertainty, a puzzling thought nagged at me.

鈥淵ou know,鈥� I said to Lauren, 鈥渢his isn鈥檛 bad planning or bad luck. It鈥檚 exactly what we asked for.鈥�

The post Why We Explore appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

It was late afternoon, one week before his cough started, when Rivs left for the Grand Canyon. The cicadas had just begun their end-of-day chorus as Derrick Lytle pulled up to our house in a tan minivan, his bare foot, tinged copper from red rock sand, hanging out the driver鈥檚 window.

Though Rivs usually ran the Grand Canyon alone, today he was joined by his adventure-videographer friend, who had come down from southern Utah to run a longer variation of the infamous Rim-to-Rim- to-Rim route. Their plan was to run across the canyon and back along Bright Angel Trail, a grueling forty-eight-mile trek of unforgiving terrain with over eleven thousand feet of climbing. A multiday bucket list journey for most hikers, this was a somewhat routine ten-hour run for Rivs and his endurance athlete friends.

Derrick slowed his van to a crunching stop as though he had all the time in the world, stepping out onto our unpaved driveway with a broad grin stretched across his sun-worn face.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 know, man. I think women in this town dig the idea that I might be a dirtbag dad,鈥� he said in drawn-out syllables, introducing the rental as his 鈥淏abe Mobile鈥� while tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Rivs and I laughed, appreciating the irony: Derrick was, for the moment, married only to the desert and his independence. His baby鈥攁 converted live-in 4×4 truck he鈥檇 spent years building out鈥攚as in the shop for repairs.

After a brief meeting to prepare gear and food, Rivs and Derrick left for the South Rim of the Grand Canyon just before sundown. Rivs often preferred to run the canyon at night鈥攑artly to avoid the staggering heat, but mostly to remind himself that he wasn鈥檛 afraid of the dark.

As an empath, he learned at a young age that sustained movement was the least destructive way for him to metabolize emotional pain鈥攂oth his own and that which he absorbed from others. He found reprieve from the heaviness only outdoors and through sustained physical exertion.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 run to be fit,鈥� he once told me. 鈥淚 mostly run to not hurt so much.鈥�

***

I always imagined he left some of his pain at the bottom of the canyon鈥攁s though he鈥檇 negotiated physical anguish for emotional relief, unburdening himself among the igneous rock and cottonwood trees. Whatever heaviness held him before, he always returned from the canyon a little bit lighter, with gratitude for the life he was able to live and a quiet reverence for the space in which he found it.

This time was different.

When Rivs came home with Derrick the following afternoon, he was shaken. There was a soft fear in his eyes as he hobbled out of the Babe Mobile鈥攖he kind that bends inward, imploding in the acknowledgment of one鈥檚 mortality. I鈥檇 seen this look before, just not on him.

鈥淭hat was rough. I actually thought I might not make it out,鈥� he said as he peeled his salt-stained hydration pack out of the trunk.

 

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After a long shower, Rivs laid on the spare mattress we鈥檇 put in the basement for Derrick. With eyes half shut he explained his descent down Bright Angel Trail.

He felt short of breath the entire night but tried to brush it off, convinced that his body would sort itself out along the way. It wasn鈥檛 until fifteen miles into their run鈥攁 few miles past Phantom Ranch campground鈥攖hat Rivs finally stopped running. He was overheating and couldn鈥檛 keep his heart rate down. He couldn鈥檛 catch his breath.

鈥淪orry, man. I think I鈥檝e gotta cut it short tonight. Something just isn鈥檛 right,鈥� he said, and Derrick agreed in his calm, laid-back manner. Slowly, they started back towards the van rather than continue on to the North Rim of the canyon.

But they only made it another half hour, back to Phantom Ranch, when Rivs said he needed to rest again. Weak and disoriented, he laid himself on an old picnic bench, struggling to breathe.

As a seasoned athlete with an academic background in exercise physiology, Rivs had a good understanding of the human body and how it worked鈥攅specially under physical stress. That night, unable to regulate his body temperature and with his heart racing at a rate inconsistent with his fitness, Rivs assumed he was suffering from heat stroke. Even after sundown, the Grand Canyon in June was a quagmire of stagnant heat, with temperatures hovering near 100 around the clock. Tonight was no different, with the Phantom Ranch thermometer reading a stifling 99 degrees Fahrenheit.

RELATED: Introducing Steph Catudal and the 2021 国产吃瓜黑料rs of the Year

By midnight, after spending an hour on the picnic bench sweating through cold chills, Rivs knew that if he didn鈥檛 get out of the canyon soon, he鈥檇 likely die right there beside the Colorado River. Both he and Derrick had spent enough time in dangerous situations to know that the bottom of the Grand Canyon was not a place to be when things weren鈥檛 going right, especially during a global pandemic. With all national parks closed due to COVID-19鈥攖he Grand Canyon included鈥攖onight there would be no park rangers, no mule trains, no helicopters, no rescue teams to call.

Feverish and disoriented, Rivs picked himself up off the bench and forced down a burrito before starting on the five-thousand-foot ascent.

The climb out took ten hours鈥攁 stretch of switchback trails that he normally completed in less than two.

鈥淚 really didn鈥檛 think I was gonna make it,鈥� he confessed that evening, the two of us squeezed next to Derrick on the mattress. Rivs kept shaking his head in disbelief.

After a takeout meal that he hardly touched, Rivs asked if I鈥檇 inflate a blow-up mattress for him in the basement, where it was cold and dark.

He slept for eighteen hours straight, long past Derrick鈥檚 departure the next morning.

WATCH: The Love and Strength of Stephanie Catudal听

***

The basement became a refuge in the days that followed. Rivs鈥檚 headache and fatigue grew so extreme he found it hard to even make it to the bathroom. Bit by bit I brought down pieces of our home, from Rivs鈥檚 favorite blanket to snacks he wouldn鈥檛 eat and even our only TV.

Concerned with usurping medical attention when the state was drowning in COVID-19, he was adamant about not going to the hospital. Instead, he maintained that hospital beds should be left for those who truly needed them. People in far worse situations were being denied emergency treatment, and he didn鈥檛 want to add to the problem.

He may have been stubborn, but he was not opposed to medical intervention. Nor was he a novice when it came to making accurate diagnoses and triaging patients鈥攕kills he had learned in his physical therapy program. During the first week of his illness he went to two urgent care car-side appointments, where he was instructed to go to the ER鈥攚hich he did not. He did not want to sit in a COVID-19-filled emergency room at the Flagstaff Medical Center, which, at that point, was one of the most overwhelmed medical facilities in the nation.

鈥淚 can鈥檛 go, babe. That鈥檚 where people go to die right now.鈥�

Despite the lethargy, profuse night sweats, splitting headaches, and the occasional blood-stained urine, Rivs assured me that he would just 鈥渞est it off.鈥� Endurance athletes put their bodies through such duress that illness is quite common in the days following extreme exertion. At least that鈥檚 what he told me, and I believed him. I always believed him.

In the end we blamed his symptoms on fallout from heat stroke. That is, until his cough started.

From the book by Steph Catudal Copyright 漏 2023 by Stephanie Catudal. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers. .

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You鈥檙e a busy person who wants to optimize every minute of training to achieve your goals.

I can help you. I鈥檝e coached Olympians, national- and world-record holders, and national and NCAA champions. Each reached the pinnacle of the sport by making the most of the miles they ran while avoiding injury and burnout. To do that, you need to understand the demands racing requires of your body and train effectively to adapt your body to meet those demands.

The races that most runners train for are almost entirely aerobic events. Yes, even the mile or the 5K. To succeed at those distances, you need to be able to sustain a hard pace for several minutes, and often for more than an hour.

You need to be an aerobic monster.

I like to explain this idea by talking about a common race goal. Many of the women I coached collegiately wanted to break 5:00 in the mile. I would ask: 鈥淐an you run 75 seconds for one lap of the track? Of course you can, pretty easily. How about 2:30 for two laps? Yes, but it鈥檚 starting to get hard. How about 3:45 for three laps? Now that鈥檚 getting really hard. Could you then run a fourth lap in less than 75 seconds? Almost certainly not right now.鈥�

RELATED: How to Increase Your Aerobic Capacity (a.k.a. VO2 Max)

My point was that a short segment at your desired race pace isn鈥檛 a big deal. (If it is, you probably need a less ambitious goal.) If a reasonable goal for you is to break 20:00 for the 5K, then running 400 meters in 1:36 or 800 meters in 3:12 won鈥檛 be a major strain. You have the basic speed to run that pace comfortably. It鈥檚 sustaining the pace that鈥檚 the challenge. Being able to do that requires training that builds your high-end aerobic capacity. That鈥檚 what I mean by being an aerobic monster.

So, what does this mean in practical terms? Mileage isn鈥檛 everything, but most runners will become stronger aerobically by carefully and gradually increasing the volume of running they can handle. Increasing your mileage from year to year while still being able to hit your times in workouts and races will improve your VO2 max (ability to pump a lot of blood to working muscles), lactate threshold (ability to clear lactate and therefore not have to slow), and running economy (amount of oxygen needed to hold a certain pace).

By 鈥渉andle鈥� mileage increases, I mean being able to run at something more than a crawl without getting hurt or worn down. A little extra soreness or tightness is common at a newly higher mileage. A sharp new pain, soreness, tightness that doesn鈥檛 go away once you鈥檙e warmed up, is a warning sign. Similarly, if your goal is to run 6:00-per-mile pace for a 10K, but you鈥檙e so tired from upping your mileage that you struggle to run a 6:00 mile in training, you鈥檙e overdoing it. And if you鈥檙e no longer a coherent person during the rest of your day, with no energy for your real-world responsibilities, you鈥檙e definitely running too much (says the guy who in college studied standing up because he would fall asleep immediately if he read sitting down).

But there鈥檚 more to being an aerobic monster than simply how much you run. Take two runners who average 40 miles per week. One might run almost the same distance every day at about the same medium-effort pace. He鈥檒l be a decent aerobic athlete. Another鈥檚 week might include a long run, a tempo run, and some shorter recovery days. She鈥檒l be an aerobic monster.

Long runs and tempo runs are key to building your ability to hold a strong pace. I鈥檇 much rather have you run 12 miles on Sunday and four miles on Monday than eight miles each day. Tempo runs are especially effective at raising your lactate threshold, the point at which your effort goes from aerobic to anaerobic, causing you to slow in the next few minutes if you tried to keep holding a given pace. A steady diet of tempo runs will make you able to run aerobically at a faster pace and will lengthen the time you can hold that faster pace. A bonus: As you become more of an aerobic monster, your everyday runs will get faster at the same effort level, leading to that much more of a training effect.

To get an idea of what this all means in practice, consider the training of Heather MacLean, an Olympian I coach who was ranked ninth in the world in 2022 at 1500 meters.

Heather鈥檚 longest race lasts just four minutes. Yet much of her training before her peak racing season could be confused for that of a 5K or 10K specialist. For most of the year, she does a weekly long run and regular tempo workouts. Why? Because the same principle that was true for the collegiate runners who wanted to break 5:00 for the mile is true for Heather to break 4:00 for 1500 meters. (Her best is 3:58.)

The average pace to do so鈥�64 seconds per 400 meters鈥攊sn鈥檛 a challenge for her to hold for one lap. What she needs is the ability to run the first three laps of the three-and-three-quarter-lap race aerobically, so that she can sprint against the best in the world in the final 300 meters. How did she get there? In large part, not by running all-out 400-meter repeats twice a week, but by the steady accumulation of long runs and tempo runs for months on end.

RELATED: The 国产吃瓜黑料 Guide to Setting and Achieving Your Running Goals

In a typical year, one of Heather鈥檚 main targets is the outdoor U.S. championship in late June or early July. On that schedule, it鈥檚 only in April and May that her workouts start to look more like what you might expect for a world-class miler. But even then, she still does a good long run most weeks, and many of her track workouts include long repeats at 5K race pace. If she doesn鈥檛 have a tune-up race in a given week, she鈥檒l usually do a tempo run. All of these elements preserve the aerobic monster status she built in the previous several months

You鈥檒l know you鈥檙e becoming an aerobic monster when your training starts feeling more doable. You鈥檒l find you鈥檙e finishing your long runs at a good pace, rather than hanging on and hoping they鈥檒l end soon. On hard sessions, you鈥檒l definitely be working hard, but you鈥檒l feel stronger while doing so, and you鈥檒l recover more quickly between repeats. You鈥檒l simply feel more capable than before; any given run won鈥檛 seem to take as much out of you.

鈥� Adapted with permission from , by Mark Coogan and Scott Douglas

The post How to Achieve Your Running Goals? Become an Aerobic Monster. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Thirteen years after the publication of Christopher McDougall’s popular book, Born to Run, the author teams up with renowned running coach Eric Orton for , a fully illustrated, practical guide to running for everyone from amateurs to seasoned runners, about how to eat, race, and train like the world’s best. Born to Run 2 will be available on December 6, 2022, but you can read this excerpt from the book.

Chapter 8: Form鈥擳he Art of Easy

Eric promised he could teach running form in ten minutes. If I had to estimate, I鈥檇 guess he was miscalculating by a factor of at least 7,000 percent, so I subjected his proposition to lab testing and gave it a try myself:

• I pulled up 鈥淩ock Lobster鈥� on my phone.
• I took about a half-step away from the wall, and hit Play.
• I began running in place to the beat.

I hit Pause and checked my watch. Then I tried it again. Each time, I found Eric鈥檚 estimate to be wildly exaggerated. It wasn鈥檛 even close to ten minutes. More like five.

One song. One wall. Three hundred seconds. If someone had only shared this secret with Karma Park, it could have saved her a world of misery.

Karma was such a disaster, the Navy honestly couldn鈥檛 tell if she was a terrible runner or a terrific actor. How she even made it into boot camp was a mystery.

The strange thing was, running was her only weakness. Chuck her out of a boat at sea? No problem. Pull-ups, push-ups, crunches? Piece of cake. Karma was a competitive swimmer and varsity wrestler growing up, so two-hour workouts were in her blood. But ask her to run a mile and a half? In under thirteen minutes? Not a chance. Over and over she tried, and every time she ended up walking, grabbing her ribs from stitches and wincing from aches in her legs.

鈥淚鈥檓 pretty sure the recruiter fudged the numbers on my Physical Readiness Test so she could get me in,鈥� Karma believes. 鈥淚 finished the run and thought, Oh crap, I鈥檓 a minute too slow, and she鈥檚 like, 鈥楴o, no, you鈥檙e good.鈥� 鈥�

When Karma got to basic training, she gritted her teeth and did her best. The Navy was her ticket to a dream life, so there was no way she was giving up. Karma was twenty-five at the time, with a wife in law school and hopes of becoming a surgeon. The surest path toward financing their future was a career in the military. Besides, she had a debt to pay back. Karma came to America from South Korea at age eleven, and while, yeah, maybe Alabama wasn鈥檛 the most welcoming place for a foreign kid with budding gender issues, Karma was still deeply grateful for the life her family was able to create there.

鈥淚 really wanted to serve this country,鈥� she says. 鈥淏ut in boot camp I was in and out of sick bay all the time.鈥� Karma chanted the drill instructors鈥� mottoes to herself鈥�Pain is only skin deep! Heel to toe! Heel to toe!鈥攂ut the harder she pushed, the more she broke down. 鈥淎t first maybe they were checking that I wasn鈥檛 dogging it,鈥� Karma recalls. 鈥淚 can see how I would be suspected because I feel that other recruits faked it to get out of running, but I was in so much pain, they knew something else was going on.鈥�

Finally, Navy doctors diagnosed Karma with chronic hip displacement. She was ordered to report to the long-term sick bay, where she鈥檇 be stuck for as long as it took鈥攁 month, six months, a year鈥攆or her to either heal or quit. Those were her options: get better, get faster or get out.

Karma was crushed, but privately vindicated: ever since she was young and her mom would sign the whole family up for local 5Ks as a way of assimilating into their new home, Karma knew she couldn鈥檛 run. 鈥淢y dad and I would walk at the back of the pack, and I thought, This is the most ridiculous thing ever. We have cars and bikes, why are we running? I was really fit in all the other aspects of PE, but with running, I tried and tried and never got any better.鈥�

Back in civilian life, Karma struggled. She put her own education on hold and began managing a Subway so her wife could finish law school. She began putting on weight, but when she tried to exercise, her old leg injuries flared up and she finally discovered the real cause of her pain was rheumatoid arthritis. The medication made her lethargic and bloated, and her body ached so badly she needed a cane to walk.

Karma was in a bad spiral that nothing could stop. Except her wife鈥檚 lover.

鈥淢y wife had an affair with a guy who was really fit,鈥� Karma says. 鈥淲hen I confronted her, she told me I was fat. That hit me really hard.鈥� So hard that after she and her wife separated, Karma decided to punish herself with the thing she detested most. 鈥淚 decided to drown my emotional pain by subjecting myself to physical pain,鈥� she says. 鈥淲hen I left the Navy I swore off running鈥�I hate it hate it hate it, never running again. This time, I decided to run myself ragged into an early grave. I hated myself and hated running, so this is what I鈥檒l do.鈥�

For once, Karma鈥檚 injuries came to the rescue. Her legs seized up before her heart, and while she was searching for a new way to beat on herself, she had the enormous good luck to meet Sheridan. With that amazing woman by her side, parts of Karma that she hadn鈥檛 even realized were hurting began to heal. For the first time, she had the confidence and support to face her gender identity and begin transitioning to the self that had always been buried.

She also resolved, once again, to get back into shape.

If you鈥檙e keeping score at home, by now Karma has struck out three times as a runner. Over the years, I鈥檝e heard a lot of stories like this from busted ex-runners鈥攁nd lived one myself鈥攂ut this is the first instance where I thought, okay, maybe it鈥檚 time for the mercy rule to kick in and let it go for good. But against those odds, Karma stepped up again. When Sheridan gave birth to their first son, Karma set her jaw and decided their baby wasn鈥檛 going to grow up with a parent hobbled with a cane or gone before their time.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 how I began my journey into learning how to run properly,鈥� she says.

This go-round, Karma attacked the problem from a different angle: What if her brain was the problem and not her body? Karma is a math whiz and comes from a medical family, so she was a little annoyed at herself for not realizing sooner that if your equation keeps giving you the wrong result, adding the same numbers isn鈥檛 going to help. Rather than running harder, she thought, maybe there was a way she could run smarter.

Her eureka! moment occurred soon after, when she noticed that her legs hurt more on downhills than ups. That鈥檚 when it hit her: What if she treated the entire planet like a hill? Get up on her forefoot, in other words, instead of heel-toe, heel-toeing it like she鈥檇 always been told.

鈥淲hen I mentioned this to a friend, she immediately said, 鈥楬aven鈥檛 you read Born to Run? That鈥檚 what it鈥檚 all about.鈥欌€�

Karma picked up a copy, and there, on page 181, she found the role model who would change her life. Not Ann Trason, the courageous science teacher who nearly outran a team of Rara虂muri runners in the Leadville Trail 100. Not Scott Jurek, the gracious and unbreakable hero who rose from a rough Minnesota childhood to become the greatest ultrarunner of all time. Karma didn鈥檛 even see herself in Jenn Shelton, that patron saint of human fireballs, or Caballo Blanco, the lovelorn loner who used running to heal a broken heart.

Nope. When Karma looked into the mirror, grinning back at her was Barefoot Ted.

I鈥檓 not happy about this now, but when Caballo Blanco and I first met Ted McDonald, we were ready to Rock-Paper-Scissors over who was going to clunk him on the head and chuck him into the canyon. Ted likes to say 鈥淢y life is a controlled explosion,鈥� which only confirmed my conviction that he has no idea what 鈥渃ontrol鈥� means.

I was slow to see what Jenn and Billy Bonehead and Manuel Luna liked about Ted. It took a few clashes before I finally got it, including a toe-to-toe shouting match in the middle of Death Valley, where I threatened to leave Ted by the side of the road to die while he was yelling in my face, 鈥淚 don鈥檛 care how big you are! I鈥檒l fight you!鈥濃€攁t the very moment, by the way, when we were supposed to be crewing for Luis Escobar in the Badwater Ultramarathon.

But I couldn鈥檛 miss the fact that lots of other people really enjoy him. Ted is a lot on a slow day, but he鈥檚 also a huge-hearted friend and his own kind of genius. When I sent word to Ted that a group of my Amish ultrarunning buddies were traveling through Seattle en route to a Ragnar Relay, he immediately threw open the doors of his Luna Sandal shop and made them at home in an improvised bunkhouse. Nearly every year, Ted travels back down to the Copper Canyons and hands a wad of cash to Manuel Luna, the Rara虂muri artisan who taught him how to make huaraches. Not because they鈥檙e partners; because they鈥檙e friends.

Still, it was gratifying to see that Luis had as much steam shooting out of his ears as I did after we invited Ted to join us in Colton for our photo shoot. For forty-eight hours we couldn鈥檛 get a yes or no out of the guy, which would have been fine if he鈥檇 just stayed silent as well. Instead, Luis and I kept getting cryptic little teaser texts, like digital art smiley faces that dissolved from our phones a few seconds after appearing. It felt less like waiting for a friend to show up (or not) and more like being stalked by the Zodiac Killer.

Then lo and behold, an Amtrak train pulls into San Bernardino station and out pops Barefoot Ted, a big Santa Claus backpack full of sandal-making supplies over his shoulder. He鈥檇 spent six hours getting there, and immediately began hand-crafting a gorgeous pair of custom sandals for each of our volunteer models. While his hands were busy, so was his mouth: Ted cut loose with a thirty-minute spoken-word performance that left us all slack-jawed in astonishment as he prattled on, fluently and kind of brilliantly, about everything that had been rattling around inside his skull while he was captive on the train. (鈥淭urning everything you see into food is a superpower. Do you have it?鈥� is the only line I remember.) Soon after finishing a dozen sandals he was gone, grabbing a lift back to Santa Barbara that same night because, unbeknown to us, he鈥檇 had a pressing commitment there all along. What a guy.

As a runner, Ted was a true revolutionary. He was so far ahead of the pack when it came to minimalism, the rest of the country took years to catch up. Not that he didn鈥檛 make a compelling argument from the start. It鈥檚 just that in typical Ted fashion, the story took a direction only a man who calls himself The Monkey would follow.

If you recall, Ted only began running in the first place because he dreamed of becoming America鈥檚 Anachronistic Ironman. Which meant, for reasons known only to Ted, he wanted to spend his fortieth birthday completing a full triathlon (2.4-mile ocean swim, 112-mile bike ride and 26.2-mile run) but only using gear from the 1890s. If Ted has one quality greater than his raw athleticism it鈥檚 his absolutely bulletproof self-confidence, so when he found he could handle the swimming and cycling but not the running, the problem couldn鈥檛 be his body: it had to be the running.

Close: it was actually the running shoes. The first time Ted ran barefoot, his planetary axis shifted. 鈥淚 was totally amazed at how enjoyable it was,鈥� Ted says. 鈥淭he shoes would cause so much pain, and as soon as I took them off, it was like my feet were fish jumping back into water after being held captive.鈥�

On a barefooter鈥檚 blog, he found the Three Great Truths:

• Shoes block pain, not impact.
• Pain teaches us to run comfortably.
• From the moment you start going barefoot, you will change the way you run.

Change the way you run …

That was the opposite of everything Ted had ever been told about running, but everything Ted had ever been told about running wasn鈥檛 working. Besides, it immediately made sense. No decent basketball player just heaves the ball in the air and hopes for the best. No serious tennis player slashes their racket around like a club. Ted had spent a few years as a teacher in Japan, and he knew that sushi chefs and martial artists spend years perfecting the basic steps of their craft. In the world of movement, form and technique reign supreme.

Ted didn鈥檛 know any barefoot runners in person, only online, so he set off on this quest for reinvention on his own. He found himself in the same predicament as a Czech soldier he鈥檇 heard about who, during the Second World War, spent his long nights on guard duty dreaming of Olympic glory. Rather than stand and shiver, the soldier began running in place, lifting his knees high to clear the snow and, to avoid being heard, landing as silently as possible in his heavy boots.

Back home after the war, the soldier replaced slippery snow with wet laundry: he washed his clothes by running on top of them in a bathtub full of soap and water. (Get a load of that, Mr. 100 Up: one sloppy stride in a sudsy tub and you鈥檙e not starting over, you鈥檙e heading to the emergency room.)

Those weird home experiments paid off spectacularly. Coached only by his own ingenuity, Emil Zatopek pulled off the most stunning track performance in Olympic history: at the 1952 Games, he won gold in all three distance events, including the first marathon he ever attempted.听

Despite how fast he ran, Emil took a ton of crap about how awful he looked. Upstairs, Zatopek was a horror. He鈥檇 get this grimace on his face, one sportswriter said, 鈥渁s if he鈥檇 just been stabbed through the heart.鈥� Zatopek鈥檚 head lolled around and his hands clawed his own chest like he was birthing an alien baby through his rib cage. But what sportswriters missed was that below the waist, Zatopek was a machine: rhythmic, precise, impeccable.

Ted never did get around to his Anachronistic Ironman鈥攏ot yet, at least鈥攂ut otherwise, he was unstoppable. Once he realized that running was a skill to be mastered and not a punishment to be endured, he became a Monkey on a mission.

Before long, he鈥檇 ripped out a marathon quick enough to qualify for Boston, and then ran Boston quick enough to qualify for the next one, and from there it was onward and literally upward, as he shifted from long roads to high-mountain ultramarathons.

But what Karma envied most wasn鈥檛 Ted鈥檚 remarkable twenty-five-hour finish at the Leadville Trail 100, or his out-of-left-field world record for skateboarding (242 miles in twenty-four hours). She didn鈥檛 care if she ever ran as fast as Ted. She just wanted to be as healthy. She wanted to follow his footsteps from Hurt Ted to Happy Ted.

鈥淚 made a conscious decision to fully embrace forefoot running,鈥� Karma says.

Maybe embrace isn鈥檛 the right word. Since May 3, 2014, Karma hasn鈥檛 missed a single day of running. Every evening, no matter what kind of storm is blowing through Birmingham, Alabama, no matter if she鈥檚 fighting a cold or dealing with craziness at the medical office she manages, Karma pulls on her sandals and heads out the door.

Her eight-year-and-counting streak began in true Barefoot Ted fashion: bizarrely. Less than a year after changing her form, the woman who swore she鈥檇 never run again was bringing home her first marathon medal. Gone was the cane, forgotten was the specter of crippling arthritis. By changing the way she moved, Karma discovered she could change the way she felt. She soon ramped up from a marathon to a 50K, and that鈥檚 when things took off. The day after that first ultramarathon, Karma decided to test her soreness by jogging an easy two miles. She was surprised to find her legs actually felt better after that run, so she went out again the next day … and the next … and thus a streak was born.

To maintain her daily running streak, Karma logs at least one mile a day, but that鈥檚 just her baseline. During her first year of streaking she also tackled three ultramarathons, and then began creating streaks within her streak: she ran five miles a day for a full year, seven miles a day for ten months, and three miles a day for 1,300 days. Despite all these clicks on her odometer, Karma still felt she needed to borrow one more hack from Barefoot Ted: as a reminder to remain smooth and light, she always runs in a pair of his Lunas.

Karma had never actually met Ted in person until the day he hopped off the train in San Bernardino and blew into our photo shoot like a grinning bald tornado. Ted is usually quick on his feet, but when he came eye to eye with Karma, it took him a few beats to get his bearings.

The person who鈥檇 reached out to Ted years ago had never felt at home in her body and was facing two frightening transformations. The Karma in front of Ted today had made it through to the other end. In the past, Karma had looked to Ted for hope and guidance. Now, she deserved something very different. Ted understood, and delivered.

鈥淚f you have any questions, ask Karma,鈥� Ted said, as he addressed the circle of very experienced and accomplished ultrarunners hanging on his every word about the art of minimalist running. 鈥淪he knows as much as I do.鈥�

This is an excerpt from 听by Christopher McDougall and Eric Orton, available on December 6, 2022 by听Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of听The听Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright 漏 2022听by听Christopher McDougall and Eric Orton.

About the Authors:听

Christopher McDougall covered wars in Rwanda and Angola as a foreign correspondent for the Associated Press before writing his best-selling book, Born to Run. His fascination with the limits of human potential led to his next works, Running with Sherman and Natural Born Heroes, and his 国产吃瓜黑料 magazine web series, 鈥�Art of the Hero.鈥�

Eric Orton鈥檚 experiences with the Tarahumara and his study of running, human performance, strength, and conditioning have led him to the cutting edge of the sport and made him a go-to for athletes everywhere. The author of The Cool Impossible and former fitness director for the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center, Orton personally trains athletes from recreational racers to elite ultramarathoners. He lives in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

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