The Roving Runner Goes Barefoot

What’s with the bare feet?

Some runners are tossing aside their cushioned, springy, supportive running shoes in favor of running barefoot. Others are opting for minimalist shoes that amount to thin-soled gloves for the feet. Barefoot running has been around awhile, but the best-selling book “Born to Run,” by Christopher McDougall, is largely credited with prompting a new barefoot boom.

“Born to Run” paints a rich profile of the Tarahumara Indians, an indigenous people in Mexico known for their ability to run long distances in thin sandals without getting injured. The book not only explores the history and culture of the Tarahumara but also examines the physiology and evolution of running, culminating in a spectacular 50-mile race through the country’s vast Copper Canyon.

But it is Mr. McDougall’s conclusions about running shoes that have helped generate renewed interest in barefoot running and a backlash against traditional running shoes. In “Born to Run,” he makes the case that modern running shoes warp our natural stride, encourage bad form and lead to injuries.



Curious, and admittedly dubious, I decided to invite Mr. McDougall for a Roving Run to see what all the fuss is about.
A few days before we met for our run in New York’s Central Park, a colleague asked me if I really planned to take off my shoes and run barefoot. I said maybe, for a minute or so, perhaps on the soft grass at the park’s Sheep Meadow.

Sitting in Columbus Circle, the tall, bald and amiable Mr. McDougall, or Christopher as he prefers to be called, had a different idea: lose the shoes and hit the pavement.

“The hard, man-made surfaces are like cream,” he reassured me. “It’s nature you’ve got to watch out for, because nature’s got horse chestnuts and acorns and rocks and things.”

I agreed to give it a try. But what about broken glass and other sharp objects?

“I’ve got this special equipment I like to use,” he said. “They’re called eyeballs. I see a rock, I just step next to it. There’s a lot less out there than you think.”

We started slowly, running back and forth on some side paths off Central Park’s main loop.

My running form changed immediately. I was landing gently on the middle and balls of my feet rather than striking with my heel. I was more upright than before. My stride was shorter. I didn’t make any changes consciously; they just seemed to happen on their own.

“My bad habits are so close to the surface that it’s really helpful for me to be in bare feet because it keeps me honest,” Christopher said. “When I wear shoes I get really sloppy, my form is all over the place. When I’m in my bare feet, I’m instantly reminded how to get upright and how to have a quick, light landing.”

Now it was time for a real run. Christopher wore a small backpack that held his Vibram Five Fingers, the thin rubber shoes with toe pockets that he had worn for his run from Penn Station to the park. I held on to my running shoes, one in each hand, figuring I would put them on after running barefoot for a few minutes. We set out on the main loop, curving eastward at the bottom of the park.

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