Did you look at your feet right there when I said what's on your feet? Did you? 

Made you look :)

But seriously, what are you wearing on your feet right now?  Are they sneakers? Are they tennis shoes?* Flip flops? High heels? 

These are all sneakers right? Yes and no. Not one of them is actually designed for performance. These are all retro throwback shoes that were once used as running and tennis shoes, but don't have the modern day technology that actual performance shoes have. And yes, I have a shoe problem. No, this isn't even close to all of them...

If you are wearing sneakers, do you know what kind? 

If they are running shoes, do you know if they are stability shoes or minimalist shoes?

In today's saturated sneaker market it can be especially daunting to find the right type of shoe for your workouts. You might pull something off of the shelf because you like the color or the way they make your calves look in the mini-shoe mirror. But are they the best shoes for what your doing?

The right shoes matter for so many reasons. Do you have chronic back pain? Check your shoes. Knee pain? Check your shoes. Hip pain? Yes check your shoes. 

Also, just make sure they're tied. K?

Avoid sportswear and lifestyle shoes for training

So I have sort of a shoe problem, as you can tell from the photo above. More like...well...let's just say I would welcome a walk-in closet. :) I have a particular fondness, along with vinyl records, for vintage sneakers.

These vintage styles have made a big comeback in recent years, much to my delight, but even though they look like workout shoes, they're not meant for training. In fact, companies like New Balance, Puma, and Nike refer to these as lifestyle shoes. 

Double-check your workout shoes and make sure they are designed for performance. 

Running Shoes vs. Training shoes

Most clients I see walk in to the gym are wearing running shoes which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Most running shoes offer some lateral support and, depending on the style, cushioning. 

The biggest difference between runners and trainers is the tread. Running shoes typically have a more aggressive tread, while trainers have a flatter sole, more suitable to indoor surface. 

Are you primarily a runner who adds in two days of strength training? Choose a running shoe. Have you signed up for the local bootcamp, Zumba or crossfit class? Choose a trainer. The general rule is that trainers are safe for 3-5 miles of running, and runners are safe to do 1-2 days of training. 

It's tougher to see in this picture, but the shoe on the left is a running shoe, while the shoe on the right is a trainer. The tread on the left is much more aggressive and still fine for wearing in the gym, while the tread on the right is designed specifically for smooth surfaces. 

How can you tell the difference?

If you're at at a box shoe store such as a DSW Warehouse it's nearly impossible. The sneaker collection is lumped together in one aisle and this is where it becomes more difficult to tell a running shoe from a fashion shoe. 

But if you visit your local sporting goods or running store, you'll find different sections for training and running and lifestyle.

Are you a pronator, supinator, terminator or neutral?

If you're the Terminator well...I don't think shoes are a big concern for you.

Do your ankles cave in? Do you have a low arch or flat arch? You're a pronator.

Do you walk more on the outside of your feet? Then you're a supinator. And if you don't do either, chances are you're neutral. 

That's a crude explanation of foot types, but if you go to a running store to find a good pair of shoes these are what the sales folks are looking at when they look at your feet. 

Minimalist shoes

A few years ago, the book "Born to Run" by Chris McDougall revolutionized the running world, and the shoe world in general. By the time the book was written, Nike was already experimenting with the Nike Free and Vibram had produced those weird alien looking five fingered shoes that you'll still see at races and in gyms. 

McDougall began the book because he was looking for an answer to foot pain. The book is an excellent read, but the conclusion for McDougall is that he was simply wearing too much of a shoe and it was dramatically affecting his gait. 

I mention this here because minimalist shoes, such as the Nike Free, the New Balance Minimus, Altra Zero Drops, and others are great shoes that have been mixed into the market, but:

1. They are not for everyone

2. You should be aware of what you're buying when you buy them. Again, these shoes will be mixed in with the great deals at DSW Warehouse and TJ Maxx, but if you head off to a bootcamp class with a pair of minimalist shoes with no lateral support, you might be setting yourself up for injury.

This is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to running and training shoes. But the bottom line is, pay attention to what's on your feet. 

And if you see me, pay attention to what's on my feet too, 'cause I kind of obsess over my shoes. :) 

* For some reason, growing up in Western Pennsylvania, we always had tennis shoes even though none of us played tennis. I digress.

Happy Belated Halloween!

Or as I think of it, a socially acceptable reason to dress like Captain America. 

A few months ago, I published a post on my struggle with depression.

It was by far my most popular post to date and I don’t pretend for one minute it’s related to my overall wit and charm.

Ok, maybe a little wit and charm. ;)

The post was popular because depression is so prevalent.

Last week at Spurling, I spent a little time offering a seminar on some of the strategies I’ve used to help get me going when I’ve felt stuck, in life and in fitness.

1. Sometimes feeling stuck is a sign that you need to make a change.

I know.

Thank you Captain Obvious.

When you feel stuck and mired in the struggle, it’s almost impossible to make a change. But sometimes you don't even recognize that something needs to change. 

Awareness is half the battle.

In the case of fitness, perhaps you no longer look forward to going to the gym. I was an avid runner while I struggled with depression, and it was my struggle to literally put one foot in front of the other that helped me realize I was in need of a major change.

2. Blink Twice.

A few years ago I had a therapist who had this maddening habit of doling out Buddhist stories and wisdom like a wise old sage atop a mountain. And there I was, having huffed and puffed my way to the top, only to find her sitting there, legs crossed and palms turned up saying something short and profound like this:

“Blink twice.”

To which I would claw my eyes out and unleash an unfiltered rant of expletives.

She was one of the most effective therapists I worked with, but I occasionally found myself like the Karate Kid waxing cars and catching flies with chopstix, wondering when we would get to the “real issues.”

The phrase "blink twice" comes from Buddhist Nun Pema Chodron, who suggests that we are only one blink away from change, from things being different. No, it’s not quite that easy, but it’s important to remember when we are stuck that even the tiniest of steps is progress.

Let me say that again; even the tiniest of steps is progress.

3. Start where you are.

Also from Pema Chodron, I spent last Friday’s post talking about this concept exclusively. You don’t need to wait until you are different or life is different to make a change. The tendency is to say I'll start "x" when "y" happens.

Don't wait for why.

Start right now, with where you are and who you are.

4. If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always gotten.

Ask yourself this question:

How’s that working for you?

And be brutally honest with the answer.

If you’ve been riding the recumbent bike for 30 minutes a day for six months and haven’t seen any change in your bodyfat, don’t expect month seven to produce different results.

Nothing will change if you don’t change. Whether it’s behavior or your reaction to the behavior, if you stay in the same habit pattern and habit loop, nothing will ever be different.

5. Change the narrative

This is the hardest one for me. Always the hardest. What story are you telling you about yourself? 

It's one thing to miss a workout. It's one thing to run slower than you used to run or spend a night with friends eating everything that's not inline with your nutrition plan.

It's another thing entirely to feed yourself a constant stream of criticism about your behavior.

It's one thing to be in a job you really hate, and another thing to focus every last bit of attention on all of the things you hate about the job. I've done this. I've lost days and months of my life focusing on all of the bad. On all of the suck.

There were good things during those difficult periods. But I was too focused on my negative narrative to see them. 

The first time I understood, and I mean understood in my bones, that something was wrong, I was less than five minutes in to a run.

It was a warm summer day in Altoona, Pennsylvania, and I took off from my house, intent on running what was then a familiar seven-mile route to the Horseshoe Curve. 

Runners will tell you that a run often feels hardest in the first 15 minutes.

My body felt different right from the start this time. My legs felt as though someone had filled them with rocks. My shoulders felt like I was wearing every piece of winter clothing I had. My feet seemed to be moving through mud.  

A friend snapped this picture when I was working at Trail Ridge Store in Rocky Mountain National Park and I had no idea. I was surrounded by the beauty of the park, but often couldn't take it in. 

Runs are often hard.  But this day was different. 

Less than a half-mile later I finally stopped. Standing along the side of the road, hands on my knees, staring at gravel and asphalt, I found myself somewhere between apathy, fatigue, and a growing anxiety.

I turned and walked back to the house. I crawled onto the couch and spent the rest of the day there, battling a tidal wave of feelings:

Fear. I didn’t understand what was happening, but physically, I felt off.

Guilt. I’d set out to run seven miles and didn’t.

Shame. I was soaked in the shame and failure of my poor excuse for a life.

And hopelessness. I didn’t see how anything would get better.

I was 28 years old, working at a camera shop for minimum wage; trying to decide what to do with my life and feeling embarrassed that I hadn’t done more. By then I’d started and left two graduate programs in two different fields, feeling woefully inadequate as a student.

I’d stalled out in my effort as a writer, constantly battling to find motivation and focus.

For most of my twenties, running was the one thing that left me with a sense of accomplishment in my day-to-day life. No, I didn’t have a profession and I wasn’t the writer I’d hoped to be, but I could check off the runs and return to another sleepless night feeling as though I’d done something.

Without running I had precious little to hold onto. That failed run took away the last little bit of hope I had of amounting to anything in my life.

I’d like to say that I did something about my depression that same day. But I didn’t. A few days later, driving along a rural Pennsylvania road I was overcome with a desire to end it all. One quick turn of the steering wheel, a heavy foot on the gas pedal and a run in with a tree and it would all be over. And everyone else would be better off without me.

For a split second I looked down at the steering wheel and wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I slowed down, pulled over to the side of the road and sat in the car for a few minutes.

Then I finally decided to do something about it.

My battle with depression

If you met me today, I think (hope) there are two truths about me that you’d find surprising.

I’m an introvert. (Honestly. I hid behind my mother’s legs until I was taller than she was. It was awkward).

I’ve been treated for depression for the past 11 years.

I hope the second one is surprising because you experience me as happy. Maybe even fun. But I really hope you see my happiness, because I have worked harder at my happiness than I’ve worked at anything else in my life.

This is a recreation of the word art I did in sixth grade. It was both witty, sad, and a cry for help. 

In retrospect, I was depressed for most of my life. In sixth grade we had to make word art - choose a word and animate it. I chose the word depressed. I tried to make it funny, with two big D’s on the end and the rest of the word smaller. But the addition of crying eyes in the capital D’s should have let someone know I was struggling.

High school and college helped mask some of my struggles. I always had sports to keep me focused. I did well enough in school, I worked on the college and high school newspapers.

Late in my senior year of college, I began a downhill slide that would last for well over a year. It began with the personal discovery that I was gay, which happened when I was 21. And that discovery left me feeling so rejected by God and religion and society that I was sure suicide was my only option. I was a devout Catholic; being gay was not an option and pretending I was straight involved a lie I couldn’t live.

But thankfully, I had enough hope to plod on. And I thought that my ability to plod on meant that I wasn’t depressed. I knew from other people and the media what depression could look like. And I didn’t think it looked like me.

My mistake through all of these periods of time was thinking that my experience was all there was to life. I had highs and lows, but the lows were really low and the highs were never very high.  

Not long after my failed run, I was diagnosed with dysthymia, also called persistent depressive disorder. The description from the Mayo Clinic is “a continuous long-term (chronic) form of depression. You may lose interest in normal daily activities, feel hopeless, lack productivity, and have low self-esteem and an overall feeling of inadequacy. These feelings last for years and may significantly interfere with your relationships, school, work and daily activities.”

The above paragraph described my life, but it had been that way for so long, I thought it was normal. It was my normal.

It wasn’t until that day, that failed run, that I finally had to acknowledge that while I was functioning and showing up for life, I was hanging by a thread. Yes, I was functioning. But just barely.

I only lasted for six months at the University of New Mexico before a second major depressive episode sent me back to Pennsylvania. 

And for the first time I admitted that it wasn’t just a question of pulling myself up by my bootstraps. I needed help doing that.

Seeking help

I’d had a therapist for a little while in my twenties, but I’d been denying that anything was really wrong. I was in therapy to help unclog my creativity, but I was certain that depression wasn’t a part of it.

Once I scared myself with the impulse to wrap my car around a tree, I was finally a little more honest. And as I mentioned in a previous post, I came face to face with the real answer to the question, “how’s that working for you?”

The big hurdle for me was to try anti-depressants. They are not for everyone. They do not fix everything. And it takes awhile to find the right one. In my case, it took over six months to even begin coming out of the fog. But once I did, I made the big changes that I hadn’t been able to make before.

I picked up my life and moved to Boston. I finally went back to graduate school and finished. I found the person with whom I’ll spend the rest of my life. And after years of struggle to focus and persist, I have not just a job, but a career.

I can say with confidence that these things would not have happened if I hadn’t treated my depression. And continue to treat it. Medication doesn’t eliminate the depressive episodes. A therapist doesn’t eliminate them either; but the combination of the right support network is crucial to surviving a disease that can be so debilitating.

If I had one message to share with anyone reading this, it’s that you’re not alone, even though it feels that way. It can feel as if no one understands. It can feel hopeless. According to the CDC, as many as 1 in 10 adults report symptoms of depression, and I imagine a number of you reading this have probably suffered from depression at some point in your lives. 

And if you need a lifeline, there is one.  The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is a 24-hour resource; call, chat, or text at 1-800-273-TALK, and http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/.  The Lifeline can also refer you to resources and counseling in your area. 

There is help. There is hope. And there is a light that can shine through that darkness.