Lately, I've been running naked.

Don't get the wrong idea. Not naked naked. Not streaking. Nobody wants to see that.

I mean technologically naked. Stripped of my biped modernity. No smartphone. No watch, fitness wristband, heart-rate monitor, virtual coach app, headphones, music or AC/DC and Ice Cube, even though I really crave AC/DC and Ice Cube.

Nothing. Just me, my two plodding feet and the open road. It's the 21st century—and I'm running like it's 1955.

And I love it.