“Those Sandals…”

It was a little after 5:30am on the Fourth of July. The sun was yawning as Reed, a coworker and a friend of mine climbed into my car.

As he explained his morning process, he stopped himself mid-sentence, checked the backseat, and asked, “You get your running shoes?”—glancing down at my sandals on the gas pedal.

We were on our way to a half marathon on Sauvie Island, just north of Portland. The Foot Traffic Flat. This was our third half together. Reed had even come out and run an 8-mile leg during the Coastal Run last year. But this was the first time he’d caught me in my LUNA Sandals—and my first time wearing them for a race.

After reading Born to Run, I was left with an aching curiosity about minimalist footwear and a desire for experimentation. Running in sandals felt like a call to the alternate path—a call to attempt and experiment. With that, I followed my curiosity.

However, my enthusiasm got the best of me the first time I put on my LUNAs. Clocking in 8 miles, I was in for a surprise the following day. My calves never felt so sore. Soreness that crawled up my calves to my lower back and refusing to leave. My body felt like it had undergone an entire realignment. It was humbling. Every step was a reminder of those sandals.

Once the soreness dissipated, I attempted them a few more times. The straps would leave blisters across the tops of my feet, and my toes took more friction than they were used to. It wasn’t a sexy process.

I didn’t touch my LUNAs for months. But January came with fresh determination. I threw on some socks and forced those sandals on. Taking it lightly, I’d put in a couple miles a few days a week. Gradually. my body adjusted to the lack of cushion and the increase in mobility. Returning to that primal stride. Now? I strictly wear my Lunas when I run. My feet have never known such strength.

Our race started at 6:30 a.m., but traffic was a nightmare. Just before the bridge onto the island, cars were lined up one by one crawling forward. Sauvie Island only had a one-way entrance for the race, so runners were hopping out of passenger seats and doing their warmups on the way to the starting line.

Reed and I began just before 7 a.m., along with a few other latecomers. Just shy of mile two, I split off from Reed at a slightly quicker pace—only to use the bathroom at the first aid station. When I emerged from the porta potty, I realized Reed had passed me. A little thrill kicked up into my legs.

About fifty yards from catching him, I heard a voice behind me: “Sandals?! I could never!” a woman said, shaking her head. “My feet hurt just looking at those.”

               I assured her it took time to build my feet up. She gave me praise as I continued ahead.

               “I thought I was going to put some distance between us.” Reed told me when I caught up. “Then I heard those sandals coming.” I told him about the woman behind me. He had heard her too.

I continued my pace on my own, taking in the scenery. Sauvie Island lacks much shade along the race route, which is why the race starts early. Thankfully, this Fourth of July was overcast with a chilly morning breeze of high 60’s—ideal running weather.  The farmland stretched outward, wheat fields as gold and tall as the ones from Gladiator, with Mt. St. Helens peeking through distant trees. It was a beautiful backdrop for the pleasant pain running brings. And the scenery wasn’t the only thing to enjoy.

As I zipped by a cluster of runners along the road, I began to hear growing murmurs behind me.

               “That’s nuts.” One of them reached my ears—perhaps reacting to the sandals beneath my feet.

Did their eyes glance down in disbelief of those sandals that danced beneath my feet? Maybe. Maybe it wasn’t about me.

               “So fast.” another voice whispered behind me.

I laughed to myself. I didn’t think I was going that fast. But something about those murmurs gave me a little joy—a little delight in imagining the faces behind me. It wasn’t my intention to stand out, but to run in authenticity. Which meant feeling the road through thin rubber and open air on my toes.

Same race—different paths

My time was 1 hour and 56 minutes. Two minutes slower than my last half marathon. I didn’t expect to break any personal records, or place highest in my age. But I went the furthest I ever had so far in my sandals. That was what mattered to me. The patience paid off. The experimentation paid off.

Who are LUNA Sandals for? They are for those filled with patience, curiosity, and the willingness to try something unconventional.

To me, they’re two moonbeams on my feet—paving a path not of competition, but of curiosity. A path where antiquity and the future walk arm in arm—or rather, bound together for a three-legged race.