I very rarely write about running. Why that is, I don’t know. I’ve run almost every day for the past 30 years.

I suppose I don’t find much to say about putting one foot in front of the other. However, I’ve done enough reading about running to know that some runners like to do some sort of a special workout on a milestone birthday, like run a mile for every year or whatever.

Life being how it is these days, I didn’t have time to run 50 miles on Thursday. So as I headed out for some exercise I thought about what I could do to make this birthday workout into something memorable. Maybe I have time for 50 minutes, I thought.

And so I warmed up by walking for about 7 minutes, and then began to slog away through the mud and the snow. Somewhere about 25 minutes out, I thought if I turned around right then and slogged on back home I’d have that 50-minute run. Big deal.

But there was the crest of a hill just ahead, maybe two-tenths of a mile. Perhaps I could make something interesting out of this workout by picking up the tempo, running to the top of the hill, and then trying to make it back home in 50 minutes.

But first some rules: No overstriding — I couldn’t think of anything worse than spending the first couple days of my 50s quad-sore. And there would be no kicking myself if by some chance I didn’t win my race with the clock.

I picked up the pace, reaching the top of the hill at 28:44. That meant I’d have to run back home about 7.5 minutes faster to get there in 50 minutes.

I know the landmarks fairly well. And it seemed like I was gaining time. About 2 miles from home a killdeer plover, the first I’ve seen this season, winged away from a snowbank with its distinctive cry. They always seem to arrive following a spring snowstorm. I took it as a good sign.

I checked my watch and it appeared I was indeed on pace.

About a mile from home there’s a fairly steep hill. When I reached the top I checked my watch again and felt even more confident. As I turned the corner on the last half-mile I knew I had it, but not by how much. So I kept up the tempo, trotting past my front gate in 48:44, more than a minute ahead of my goal.

There was nothing to do but celebrate with a short cooldown. I stopped my watch at exactly 50:50.

Time, I understand, is relative.

It’s really just coincidence that I’m reading Christopher McDougall’s “Born to Run” and found myself running barefoot in the snow today.

Allow me to explain. I’ve had nagging pain and minor swelling in the top of my right foot for about two years. I’ve tried a number of different shoe models, and a number of different lacing patterns, with little improvement. All seem to bind up the joint in my big toe, forcing the arch into the shoe upper.

I’ve edited Dr. Phil Maffetone’s books for many years, and he has always been adamant that most modern athletic shoes are not healthy for our feet or the rest of our bodies. He advocates some barefoot walking and running, and finding shoes that don’t have gimmicks like motion control, and that do not separate the foot too far from the ground.

So I called him today and we had a talk about my feet. Once again he recommended I spend some time barefoot outside, starting by walking 5 to 10 minutes.

“But Phil, it snowed 8 inches last night,” I said. He was not impressed with the weather report. My feet, ankles and calves need strengthening and barefoot was his remedy.

I had every intention of putting this off for a warmer day, say like in mid-May or June. So I headed out for a typical run, starting out walking in my Nike Frees for about 10 minutes, then jogging a couple more miles out on the road.

On the way back I noticed there was a sandy edge to the road that extended for about a quarter-mile. I was jogging along and suddenly thought, “What the hell,” and took off my shoes.

I walked about two or three steps and then it suddenly just felt natural to run. It was odd for the first couple steps and then it was like some memory in my feet clicked on. The next thing I knew I was running through mud, snow and gravel. The snow actually felt great, especially where the plow had scraped it to about an inch deep.

I ran the entire way home barefoot and then went up and down the side road near my house. I ran without shoes about 28 minutes total.

A couple of neighbors and a Schwan’s delivery driver now probably think I’m even crazier than they thought before.

When I got back home I walked around in the snow some more to clean my feet off. They felt invigorated the rest of the day.

I will say, however, I may have been better served by following Phil’s advice and starting out with less time and distance. I can tell I perhaps overstimulated some muscles in my ankles that are accustomed to shoe support. I’ll probably try just 5-10 minutes tomorrow. Remember, this is therapy. I’ll still need shoes for most of my running.