Old priorities, new shoes

I knew as I stood in the field of runners at the starting line of last spring's Valley Forge 5-mile Road Race in Pennsylvania that I was in trouble. It wasn’t that I was so worried about coming in last in this field of one thousand runners (I correctly anticipated I’d be in the low 900’s). It was when I looked down at the ground that I saw a problem.

My feet betrayed me as the Cinderella of road racing. Whereas all around me were sparkling new running shoes, mine were a muddy gray with holes wearing through the nylon uppers. They looked like they should be relegated to house-painting projects, or maybe a walk through a salt marsh on a day you don’t mind your feet getting wet. They looked almost like archaeological relics, and by running shoe standards, they practically were.

I’m not going to give the date that I bought these shoes because it’s too embarrassing. Suffice to say I’ve gone about five to eight times as long as I should have without replacing my running shoes. And it’s not a topic I’m willing to dwell on too often, because the fact alone is imbued with too many messages that I’d rather not reflect upon. For example, I’d have to acknowledge that even though I haven’t missed a single day of running since mid-August of 2007, I apparently don’t take myself seriously enough as a runner to invest in decent footwear. And I’d have to acknowledge that in those same three years I’ve probably bought my children between four and six pairs of shoes each. The embarrassment of my tattered, holey running shoes was just too naked a statement about how mothers so easily put themselves last.

A coat or a sweater might be worn past its prime for sentimental reasons, but I don’t think any serious runner wears old shoes out of sentimentality. My feet were crying out for better treatment, but I ignored them. Friends warned me. My friend Lauree, who runs longer distances than I do, told me she replaces her shoes every three months. My friend Nancy cautioned me that wearing old shoes resulted in an injury that has kept her away from running all summer. You’re pushing your luck, they warned me. It’s a matter of time.

I brushed it off, not because I didn’t believe them but because there was always something else to spend one hundred dollars on, even when it was designated for non-necessities: usually something for the house or the kids, or very occasionally something work-related for me such as a computer component or software. But not for something as frivolous and self-indulgent as running.

So I delayed. But yesterday Rick went out to lunch with his friend Chuck, who works for a running shoe manufacturer, and Chuck took him to the company store. The same company store where employees get fifty percent off all purchases. And so, apparently, do their lunch guests.

Rick came home with a new pair of shoes for me. Just looking at them makes me feel like a faster runner. The soles are solid rather than wobbly; the uppers untorn; the treads sharp.

Still, there’s a small part of me that wishes I’d bought the shoes myself. Because the message I gave myself was indisputable: your comfort and orthopedic safety can wait. Take care of everyone else and what they need first. You can make these (worn and practically disintegrating) shoes last just a little bit longer.

Nonetheless, what I couldn’t do, Rick could. He saw that I’d gone too long with one pair of shoes, and even if he waited for the chance to buy them at fifty percent off, he bought them. My feet are grateful and so am I. It’s good to be generous and altruistic, but it’s not so bad to think about ourselves first every once in a while. I just need a little more practice.