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Running gets a bum rap for the havoc it can wreak on our feet. The common thinking is that if you're running marathons—or beyond—blisters are inevitable, right? Well, maybe not.
Last weekend, I trudged 112 miles through the George Washington National Forest of Virginia with 20-degree temperatures and three river crossings. For an event that bills itself with phrases like “keep it wild” and “prepare to die,” I expected carnage. And carnage we got. I was the only finisher of this low-key race and, as we sat around the campfire, I mentioned my hesitation to remove my shoes. “I’m actually really interested to see how they look,” the race director said. Much to my relief, and her disappointment, my feet were totally fine albeit a little prune-like from 32 hours in wet socks.
During my recovery week, to soothe all the aches a 100-miler causes, I realized that I’ve found a system that’s pretty damn close to the perfect worry-free run. It wasn't always this way though; my feet have seen some things. Foot care for runners is a bit like the Wild West—just keep shooting ‘til you hit something. I think now I’ve struck gold.
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When I got started in trail running, I thought stopping to change shoes and socks was an absolute requirement, something everyone did to give their feet some relief for the second half of a race. Then again, I still have vivid flashbacks from my first big 100-mile race—blisters had formed, ripped opened, and skin was shedding. My sleep-deprived mind thought maybe I was becoming some sort of lizard person. After all, no normal human runs 100 miles (and who even likes to drive that far, amirite?). Surely there had to be a way to save my feet without submitting to the aid station chair. More experienced running friends taught me that the less you mess with your feet, the better—plus it saves a ton of time against the clock. So I came up with a strategy to protect, and heal, my feet on the run.
The first layer of protecting my feet over the long miles is a great pair of shoes. I’ve been lacing up the Salomon S/Lab Ultra. (I'm not alone in thinking it's great; Runner's World named the Ultra its top trail shoe in 2018.) This shoe fits like it was custom made, and the two decoupled “wings” on the side allow them to adapt to my swelling feet as the miles pile up. The rubberized pattern that covers the upper gives the shoe some much appreciated water-resistance, while the mesh lets water drain quickly. This particular pair I reserve for racing big mountain ultras—it’s half a size small for a snug fit—and I’ve managed to grind out some of my best races ever because of its goldilocks fit. In just four runs, I’ve racked up 260 miles and 71,000 feet of elevation gain, including 30 hours at Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc and the recent adventure of The Wild Oak Trail 100 in Virginia.
No matter how good your shoes are, it’s not the only gear you need to keep your feet happy. I throw on the Drymax Sharman ¼ Crew Turn Down. The dual-layer construction gives me a layer to draw moisture away from my feet as I sweat, while the two layers rub against each other to reduce blister-producing friction. They’re definitely not the coziest socks, but they are bombproof, and I’ll take all the toughness I can get come race day.
Drymax Drymax Maximum Protection Trail Run 1/4 Crew Turndown Socks
Drymax Drymax Maximum Protection Trail Run 1/4 Crew Turndown Socks
The last thing I do is slather A+D diaper rash cream on my feet—“better safe than sorry,” I say. But it's just crazy enough to work–diaper rash cream is made for harsh conditions. It’s designed to stay on sensitive, damp parts for long stretches of time, so I can’t think of anything that says “ultrarunner” much better. I've used sport-specific formulas like BodyGlide and, okay, they worked, but diaper rash cream is much cheaper and won’t effing come off. If it’s good enough for a baby's bottom, it’s good enough for my feet.
I’m not quite done with the experiment to make my feet run further, I do know that I’m getting antsy to run again.
