If the Shoe Fits

I’m not a gear head. I don’t care about the latest technology, or gizmo or gadget. Okay, I love my iPod and TiVo changed my life–but you won’t find me researching anything fancy on a message board, or caring if I have the latest and greatest model. I want my cell phone to ring, my laptop to save, and my car to drive (fast). I thought I had pretty simple requirements. But last week when my knees informed me I needed a new pair of running shoes, I started wanting more.

I’ve been buying the same pair of Asics 1120s for years. They fit like a glove, are light as air, and don’t require breaking in. I’m completely satisfied. Except for one thing: they are really white. The most important piece of equipment I own, and I am secretly concerned about how they look. I won’t admit this to myself, as I casually try on a pair of gold Nikes (weird arch) and silver Sauconys (too wide), meanwhile ignoring the salesman’s offer to bring me “the number one running shoe” (that would be mine). I return home empty-handed and set off for a run. Somewhere around mile 10, I spot a little white dog on a rather long leash. In my effort to avoid her, I don’t avoid a large tree root underfoot. It finds my old shoe and sends me flying. Face-down in the dirt, knees bleeding, arms battered, Precious yapping, I get it: I will never look as stupid in my white Asics as I do right now.

I bought a new pair yesterday. You and your dog will see me coming.

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