Recently I went to the local running store and let them charge a ridiculous amount for a new pair of running shoes. I used to run. Just like I used to do lots of things, but lately I have been slow to get off the couch. Let’s be honest. This season has been a long one, and I’ve been slow to do a lot of things that are good for me. My old shoes are wearing thin and nothing motivates like a new pair of kicks.
I quickly found my brand and style of choice and asked the worker to bring them in my size.
The owner spoke up from the back, “So you are picking your shoes out based on how they look?”
I pulled my own foot into her view. I showed her a similar pair in teal, well worn, with the big toe scuffed all the way through. The model was a few years old and I needed a fresh start.
“Nope. These are my brand, but I’m open to your suggestions.”
Runners are very particular about their shoes.
I tell her I need something to absorb a lot of the impact.
I tell her that I overpronate just a little.
I tell her that my knees suck, but I never mention the hole in my head.
I tell her I’m a distance runner, not a speed runner.
Even though, the furthest I’ve run in a year is two miles..
Currently, I can’t even do one.
They fit. Of course they do. I’ve bought this same brand, same size at least a half dozen times.
The price tag should make me hesitate, but I gave her all my money without flinching.
Buying these shoes feels a little ridiculous. They are a luxury I can’t really afford.
I barely run, I probably don’t need these fancy shoes.
I’m too slow for the shoes of a serious runner.
I could go to Academy and buy two or three pairs of shoes for this price.
But these shoes, or at least similar ones have carried me hundreds of miles. Across finish lines.
My heels have bled. More than one toenail fell off. I’ve pushed myself when I wanted to quit.
I’ve done really hard things in shoes like these.
These are the shoes of a runner. Albeit a slow one.
And I am hopeful still.
Maybe I can’t run far, but I am still in the damn race.
They are beautiful shoes.
I wore them yesterday to the store and got two compliments.
But even better I laced them up, grabbed my headphones and hit an actual trail.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve restarted the couch to 10K app.
In the last year alone, four times. The furthest I’ve made it is week 6. I have not quit for lack of motivation or discipline.
Some might say that is four times I have not met my goal.
Some might say it is four times that I have given up.
I say it is four times I’ve been hopeful.
It is four times that I’ve listened to my body even when I didn’t want to.
And four times I’ve started over again.
It is four times I’ve slowed down. Four times I’ve listened to my body.
It is four times I’ve done what I loved, despite all the reasons to stay on the couch.
I’m not so sure, finishing is even the goal anymore.
In a bottom drawer I have medals and a few trophies from races I used to run.
I was never fast, but I always finished and I occasionally even won.
Then several years ago, I had brain surgery and a chronic pain condition that made even walking painful.
I put the medals out of sight. I recycled all the race shirts.
They were just a sad reminder.
But I never stopped buying running shoes.
I never stopped hoping.
Today I am slow.
But I still run.
And then I walk.
And then I run again.
My head starts to tingle. Not the best sign, but it could be worse.
I slow down. Heck, I can barely breathe anyways.
And I do it again the next day.
These shoes are worth every overpriced penny that I paid.
Because they remind me what I can do.
Because they remind me that it doesn’t matter if I run or walk as long as I keep going.
Because they remind that I can always begin again.
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