There is something epic about running shoes.
Think about it. Those shoes have taken their runner many miles…and if the miles logged happen to be outdoors, the feet that fill those shoes have been places. They’ve burned some serious caloric energy and worked a bunch of muscle. It’s pretty incredible.
I love my running shoes. I get pretty attached to them. As proof that I’m not as serious of a runner as I would like to be someday, I don’t change out my shoes as often as I should. It’s partly sentimental but mostly, it’s because I’m cheap.
My last pair lasted for three years. I decided it was time to buy new ones because it felt like my legs were being ripped from their joints every time I ran. Now with new shoes, I remember why I like to run.
Replacing them had me thinking about where I found myself running in the good ol’ pair.
They logged me hundreds of Neverland miles. I walked the Mall in Washington D.C. in them, ran a race in Chicago and ran the Golden Gate Bridge. They helped me backpack through London and Berlin. They were my only companion when I woke up early one morning while passing through the tiny town of Nauvoo, Illinois to run. It was my first subzero run in years.
Now, after all that, they are relegated to the ‘outdoor chore’ bin where they will log a few more dusty, most likely uninteresting miles. Then, on a day when I feel the need to de-junk, they will be unceremoniously disposed of.
It’s kinda sad. It feels like they are similar to the ‘Velveteen Rabbit…only stinky and covered in splotches of blood (from the blisters they caused once the ankle padding wore away).