The old cliche states one cannot fully know another without walking a mile in his shoes. It turns out, one cannot fully trust a shoe review or hype without trying it for oneself. Case in point: my experience with the Saucony Kinvara.
The Kinvaras seem to be a wildly successful shoe for Saucony and a trendsetter for minimalist(ish) shoes. Glowing reviews abound on the intrawebs. Being a researcher, I dug and dug and was fully convinced that the Kinvaras would be perfect for me. I even tried some on a few months ago at a local shop but chose the Brooks PureFlows instead. Even then I planned to buy the Kinvaras if I did not fall in love with the PureFlows.
That is exactly what happened. The PureFlows were not perfect, so after about 400 miles, I purchased some Kinvaras to try. I intentionally purchased from RunningWarehouse.com so I would have the option of returning the Kinvara if they did work out.
First Impression
The Kinvaras are light and streamlined. I like the feel of the shoe and the stride. However, I sounded like a cantering horse in the shoes for the first 100miles or so. Click clack, click clack. I could not figure out why. The soles are almost entirely foam and I am not a big heel striker. While the shoes were quick and light, the cushioning is vastly different from the PureFlows (read nonexistent). That is how it feels. Perhaps the foam is denser but there is not much plushness or noticed absorption of shock. I figured I could deal with the noise and firm strike for the marathon, and I started using the Kinvaras for my marathon pace and faster runs.
After Some Time
It did not take long for me to notice some increased soreness in my legs. When my PureFlows started rubbing on the inside of my big toe and midfoot, I switched almost entirely to the Kinvaras. Soon thereafter, I developed significant soreness in my left calf, ankle, and foot. One day I could barely walk in the morning. I chalked it up to making the shoe change and figured I needed some time for my legs to make the transition. In addition, I was in peak mileage (over 60mpw), so maybe the soreness was a byproduct of that. Regardless, I continued using the Kinvaras and holding onto hope.
Finally
The final straw happened this past week. Due to record-setting snows, I was forced to run on the treadmill 4 days. On the 3rd day, I developed a pea-size blister on the side of my big toe. I don't remember the last time I got a foot blister. The next day, I made 8.5 of a 16miler indoors before relenting. I had developed an identical blister on my left big toe. I could not identify what was causing the blisters, but I cannot risk that happening in the marathon.
Overall
I wanted to like the Kinvara and tried hard to overlook their flaws. Like a relationship, we were "slow dancing in a burning room." No matter how hard we tried or for how long, we just weren't meant for each other. The leg soreness, lack of cushioning, and blisters are evidence (albeit circumstantial) that the shoes are not working, and I cannot take that risk with the race.
What now? I have the same pair of PureFlows with almost 500miles on them. I've been surprisingly impressed with their durability (much better than the kinvaras). I know they work, so I am strongly considering just sticking with them through the next 3 wks (that's it!). Why spend $70 on a new pair to wear for a couple hundred miles if the old ones are working? I think I'd rather stick to them and save that money for something else (maybe some trail shoes)! Hopefully they last and don't irritate my feet too much (calluses are building).
I'm glad I used Running Warehouse and will be mailing the shoes back this afternoon.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Thursday, February 19, 2015
My First Epic
Climbing chalk is sometimes referred to as powdered confidence, and many of us cling to it like a child's blankie before facing our own potential boogie men on cliffs everywhere. What about new gear, though? Don't you feel stronger and braver from slipping on a fresh pair of shoes? Doesn't the fresh snap of unblemished cams lead to thoughts of running it out (and paradoxically not using those same cams)? I know that is all true for me, but I learned it the hard way during one of my first multi-pitch trips.
The cliff was relatively short, not to mention slabby, and it was a beautiful sunny day in the Sawtooths of Idaho. Riding high from reuniting with my new girlfriend after a couple months apart, I was not alarmed by the late hour. We had a plan that we were going to keep! She had just graduated and was spending the summer and fall working at a guest ranch. I was a year behind and spending my summer in Leadville, CO, learning the ropes of being an Outward Bound instructor. I'd been honing my trad skills for the past year in Tennessee, had received further instruction and practice through OB, and was (in my mind) fully equipped with a new trad rack through my prodeal. After a brief demo of how to remove my new gear, we were ready to make our first multi-pitch ascent as a couple!
Our progress was initially delayed by a middle-aged, local couple bailing from the second pitch. Amateurs. Surely we would easily dispatch this backwoods 5.7 in the next couple hours, possibly with them even witnessing our prowess. Then we would celebrate with pan-cooked pita pizzas, creek-chilled wine, and starlit skies.
The first pitch followed a shallow runoff groove choked with dirt. Rather than grovel up that, I decided we would ascend the clean, adjacent slab. Given the easy nature and lack of gear, we would simul-free-solo. We tied in, and both set off up the 5.6/5.7 slab. Fortunately it was easy climbing but the slab arced upward as we climbed higher toward the tree ledge. About 85% through, my girlfriend got spooked. I talked her anxiety down and traversed to the tree ledge to offer a belay. Good thing we were tied in already. We would see that tree ledge again.
The second pitch followed a shallow corner up to a jumble of tat around a giant choked chockstone. Suddenly I found myself in the same spot as the previous party. From the belay cave I could not tell where to go for the 3rd pitch. Without a topo and with little multipitch experience, I swallowed my pride and we set to descend. Thus began one of most tense experiences of my climbing experiences.
A half-rope rappel from the belay cave could not take us the full pitch to the tree ledge, but I remembered there were two pitons about four feet apart mid pitch. I rappelled first set a belay using the two old pins. For the next rappel, I sent my lady down first. The rope was thread through a screwlink on the bottom pin, while I backed up the rappel with my body and a runner to the higher pin. She recalls how stern and quiet I was during the experience. I imagine now that it was probably to hide my foolishness from her. Safely reaching the tree ledge, I don't think she realized the gamble I took rappelling from the single pin with no backup. I was grateful for the "near miss" of the situation.
It was nearly nightfall and cold by the time we made camp that night. Our celebration was dampened by fatigue, fright, and a lack of matches. We drank unchilled white wine and choked down our cold, lunchables-style pita pizzas before turning in.
My wife and I have gone on to successfully complete (and bail from) several multipitch lines since then. I've acquired more gear, and sense, and we always carry an extra lighter in our first aid kit.
The cliff was relatively short, not to mention slabby, and it was a beautiful sunny day in the Sawtooths of Idaho. Riding high from reuniting with my new girlfriend after a couple months apart, I was not alarmed by the late hour. We had a plan that we were going to keep! She had just graduated and was spending the summer and fall working at a guest ranch. I was a year behind and spending my summer in Leadville, CO, learning the ropes of being an Outward Bound instructor. I'd been honing my trad skills for the past year in Tennessee, had received further instruction and practice through OB, and was (in my mind) fully equipped with a new trad rack through my prodeal. After a brief demo of how to remove my new gear, we were ready to make our first multi-pitch ascent as a couple!
Our progress was initially delayed by a middle-aged, local couple bailing from the second pitch. Amateurs. Surely we would easily dispatch this backwoods 5.7 in the next couple hours, possibly with them even witnessing our prowess. Then we would celebrate with pan-cooked pita pizzas, creek-chilled wine, and starlit skies.
The first pitch followed a shallow runoff groove choked with dirt. Rather than grovel up that, I decided we would ascend the clean, adjacent slab. Given the easy nature and lack of gear, we would simul-free-solo. We tied in, and both set off up the 5.6/5.7 slab. Fortunately it was easy climbing but the slab arced upward as we climbed higher toward the tree ledge. About 85% through, my girlfriend got spooked. I talked her anxiety down and traversed to the tree ledge to offer a belay. Good thing we were tied in already. We would see that tree ledge again.
The second pitch followed a shallow corner up to a jumble of tat around a giant choked chockstone. Suddenly I found myself in the same spot as the previous party. From the belay cave I could not tell where to go for the 3rd pitch. Without a topo and with little multipitch experience, I swallowed my pride and we set to descend. Thus began one of most tense experiences of my climbing experiences.
A half-rope rappel from the belay cave could not take us the full pitch to the tree ledge, but I remembered there were two pitons about four feet apart mid pitch. I rappelled first set a belay using the two old pins. For the next rappel, I sent my lady down first. The rope was thread through a screwlink on the bottom pin, while I backed up the rappel with my body and a runner to the higher pin. She recalls how stern and quiet I was during the experience. I imagine now that it was probably to hide my foolishness from her. Safely reaching the tree ledge, I don't think she realized the gamble I took rappelling from the single pin with no backup. I was grateful for the "near miss" of the situation.
It was nearly nightfall and cold by the time we made camp that night. Our celebration was dampened by fatigue, fright, and a lack of matches. We drank unchilled white wine and choked down our cold, lunchables-style pita pizzas before turning in.
My wife and I have gone on to successfully complete (and bail from) several multipitch lines since then. I've acquired more gear, and sense, and we always carry an extra lighter in our first aid kit.
Monday, February 16, 2015
When Running Isn't Fun
It's week 15 of 18. This is the last big week of training, peaking at 65miles before trending down to race day. That's the good news, because I'm tired, and I don't really want to run any more.
The training has really worn on me, but in surprising ways. My muscles have rarely ever been sore, even after the hardest workouts. Man have they been tight though! Over the past few weeks, my calves and achilles have gotten ever tighter, requiring diligent rolling and stretching. I woke up one morning this week and could barely walk due to foot pain. After rolling my sole with a racquetball all day at school, it slowly loosened up, but I skipped a workout because of it.
Overall, I've been able to deal with the aches and pains. Compression gear, rolling, stretching all really help tightness and soreness, but they don't make me feel any stronger. The longer I train, the more frail and unstable my legs feel. I step on a patch of grass and tweak an ankle! It has made me really miss trail running and regret running exclusively on pavement.
More than leg soreness, time management has been the major obstacle. On top of school, work, marriage, and surviving, running consistently is difficult! To put in 10+mi in the middle of the week is hard physically and logistically. Up to this weekend, I had 16 straight days of work, school, exams, or combinations of the three. The cumulative load of everything has hurt me most in quality of sleep and rest. I've been able to make most workouts but I've been generally exhausted, and I've noticed the effect on my quality of running. With soreness and stress, I've missed my weekly mileage for the last couple weeks (peak weeks).
Hopefully, the last few weeks of tapering will give me the rest I need to succeed in the BQ attempt. At this point, I'm having doubts, though. Have I run fast enough? Have I run far enough? This was going to be the benchmark week for me, especially with the last 16miler this weekend. Here we are on Monday, though, receiving about a foot of snow. That does not bode well for the week! Shoveling snow is roughly equivalent to running 8miles right?
The training has really worn on me, but in surprising ways. My muscles have rarely ever been sore, even after the hardest workouts. Man have they been tight though! Over the past few weeks, my calves and achilles have gotten ever tighter, requiring diligent rolling and stretching. I woke up one morning this week and could barely walk due to foot pain. After rolling my sole with a racquetball all day at school, it slowly loosened up, but I skipped a workout because of it.
Overall, I've been able to deal with the aches and pains. Compression gear, rolling, stretching all really help tightness and soreness, but they don't make me feel any stronger. The longer I train, the more frail and unstable my legs feel. I step on a patch of grass and tweak an ankle! It has made me really miss trail running and regret running exclusively on pavement.
More than leg soreness, time management has been the major obstacle. On top of school, work, marriage, and surviving, running consistently is difficult! To put in 10+mi in the middle of the week is hard physically and logistically. Up to this weekend, I had 16 straight days of work, school, exams, or combinations of the three. The cumulative load of everything has hurt me most in quality of sleep and rest. I've been able to make most workouts but I've been generally exhausted, and I've noticed the effect on my quality of running. With soreness and stress, I've missed my weekly mileage for the last couple weeks (peak weeks).
Hopefully, the last few weeks of tapering will give me the rest I need to succeed in the BQ attempt. At this point, I'm having doubts, though. Have I run fast enough? Have I run far enough? This was going to be the benchmark week for me, especially with the last 16miler this weekend. Here we are on Monday, though, receiving about a foot of snow. That does not bode well for the week! Shoveling snow is roughly equivalent to running 8miles right?
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