When I was a boy, just getting into my running, my father took me under his wing. He told me that when my running career was over, I would meet the Gods of running before the gates of Valhalla and they would ask me: "what is the riddle of carbon?" He said I must learn this riddle and he took out his OG Vaporflys to show me. He said "On race day remember, no one in this world can you trust. Not gels, not bi-carb, not your watch. But this," and he pointed to the shoes, "this you can trust!"
And I trusted my carbon racers with my life, driving on and winning many races across the land. But then I came to the starting line of one race and found a figure, clad in little more than his split shorts and, most curiously of all, no carbon racers on his feet. In fact, he wore nothing at all. The long-haired runner strode over to me, and commented on my pair of the latest Alphafly. "Your shoes, boy," he said with a nod of his head, "very stylish but they are not the answer to the riddle you seek." I shot him a surprised glance. "You know of the riddle of carbon?" I asked. He laughed. "Oh yes! In my younger days, I too quested for the latest tech in shoes, the strongest plates, the freshest foam. But in my age I found that the riddle of carbon's answer is not shoes." I didn't have to say a word, my eyes begged for the answer. "Shall I tell you?" He smiled and I nodded furiously. "It is flesh, boy. Flesh is strong! What good is a carbon racer without the foot, that goes in it!" By this point the started had called everyone to the line and soon we were off. The long-haired runner glided away and I pursued as best I could. We hung together for miles but he seemed to flow so effortlessly while I pressed as hard as I could. Eventually, the finish line came within sight and I tried to put all my effort into the ground through my shoes. But it failed! My carbon plate snapped and the airpods in the forefoot blew out. I was done. The long-haired runner took the win and the $50 gift card to our local running store!
So I limped home that day and discarded my Alphaflys. The defeat hurt but it hurt more to know that I would be cast out of running Valhalla and some long-haired "Born to Run" hippy guy would go prancing in. But I knew I could right my wrong. So I trained. I left my carbon shoes and ran miles in bare feet. I trained just as hard with no plated assistance. I was sure I'd discovered it. The riddle of carbon was answered in my own metatarsals and muscles. It seemed I would be back on top when I took another turn. A stress fracture. My own feet, made so strong from all the training had failed me. I walked back home in a boot from the doctor's office and saw my broken Alphaflys. The riddle of carbon still eluded me.
It was many long months before I toed the starting line again. Long and lonely months of rehab and building strength from nothing. On the line, I no longer had my advanced Alphaflys and instead had to borrow my dad's OG Vaporflys, at this point the foam was ragged and so compressed they might as well have been a pair of Nike Frees. At the start, the long haired runner came back up to me. "Still believing in carbon, I see." Amongst the throng of people at the start, I saw a number of people around him all in bare feet. They all dressed the same, like a sort of running cult. "This is the power of flesh, the power of people and community. Your carbon riddle cannot help you here." I didn't say anything. The gun went off and the hippy runners took to their formation. The long-haired runner assumed his spot for optimal drafting and the others guided his path. I, meanwhile, stuck to my own route, avoiding them and focusing my gaze down the road.
The finish approached sooner than expected. The long-haired runner's posse had dropped away. It was just me and him now. He glanced over at me. "Boy, you've come so far just to be in the same spot as last time. Haven't you learned from what I told you?" I said nothing. We strode together towards the finish but he wasn't satisfied. "You can't win with your carbon shoes. You haven't learned a thing in all this time. It's a shame. I could have made something of you and I thought I had with my words. Such a pity." He started to move away when I finally spoke. "I have learned and I think I have learned more than you could ever teach me." He raised his eyebrows at me. "I have finally solved the riddle of carbon and know that you will not join me in Valhalla." His expression dropped from surprise to anger. "You were right that it is not the carbon shoes that were the answer but you missed the mark yourself. I tried to train my flesh as hard as I could, thinking flesh was strong as you said. But my flesh was weak. I was broken and I could not train. But as I sat there in my boot with my broken foot and my broken shoes, I came to a realization." The final line was fast approaching but he and I were locked together, him hanging on my every word. "It is will that makes a runner strong. That is the answer to the riddle of carbon. Shoes and flesh can break and fail but a truly strong runner will never has their will broken." With that, I summoned up my surge. I kicked as hard as I ever had and left the long-haired runner far behind. When I saw him after the race, he had his foot wrapped and packed with ice. I just smiled at him, with my father's OG Vaporflys and a $50 gift card to Panera.