They’re not just shoes.
After one run in balloon shoes, I pull on the new Piranhas. No particular reason. I just need a change.
I need a spark. Nothing says kick in the butt like a fast shoe. Road? Stress? Life? Nothing a little suffering won’t put in perspective.
In the end it’s not just a shoe. The wind batters me, but I don’t care. A 30 mph headwind going out is crazy enough that I laugh through the miles. School buses come too close, but I don’t stop for them when they put out their annoying sign. The lack of oxygen at this extreme altitude, 8 feet, makes me giddy. I’m like a schoolgirl. Though schoolgirls never seemed that giddy to me. I have that effect on schoolgirls.
There is no exercise in this run, only joy.
I run along a course that parallels the ocean, basking in the postcard that’s only a glance away to the left. I wave at passing runners and admire the garish graffiti of mile markers from an endless parade of races that use this course.
I go out because that’s where the adventure is, and back only because I must return to the real world. My four miler becomes five. If I didn’t have to work I might never have made the turn.
I guess I just need something to embrace and I’m running out of options. Thank God there’s always a pair of asics waiting in the spare room.
What’s the point? I vaguely recall that there was one once. I just don’t remember what it was. Or my ZIP code. I don’t need to. I remember what’s important. To live. To run. To be.
Maybe it’s just life. Maybe it’s just high tide. Maybe the point is to take the one thing that you love so desperately and wring it like a cotton T-shirt that’s just gone through a run to remember.
One thing it IS is the asics.
They’re not just shoes. They’re my friends.