I stopped running over ten years ago. I was told by my little brother, who's a doctor, that I needed to stop jogging on hard surfaces and if I was gonna insist on running... to do 30 yard wind sprints. That diagnosis was about thirty years ago when I was still living, and running in Los Angeles.
Four years ago, I jumped... yes, jumped off the second or third rung of a 12 foot ladder and compressed my spine's L3, L4 and L5 vertebrae. Though I no longer run, I was still wear running shoes.
I learned to enjoy running when I moved from New Orleans to Southern California though that process took some time. In high school, our football head coach made us run whenever we put in a poor practice performance or when we lost a game.
And, we lost a lot.
Our record in my sophomore and junior years was 1 and 15. I saw running as punishment.
I ran three marathons in my youth though the first time I attempted the 26.5 mile race, I hit the wall just one and a quarter mile from the finish line. My entire body just locked up in the Scottsdale sun.
With shoes, the most important ingredient to the sport except for a glob of Vaseline for your nipples, I remember the anticipation of Runner's World October edition where all the markets shoes were critiqued, analyzed, dissected and brutalized to find "this year's best ten shoes!" I think the Brooks Shoe Company consistently was in the top five mainly because it was the best shoe for the money.
I tried them all and all kinds of countries were promoting their products. New Balance, Avia, Asics, Nike, Brooks, Converse, Reebok, Mizuno, Addidas, Saucony, Wilson... Puma, to name a few.
Of course, the marketing departments got a hold of this gold mine and started selling shoes by the kind of running one might do, scientifically designing each shoe for the excuses one makes for non performance. Gait, supinate, pronate, arch design, heel to toe ratios, cushioning, lateral movement, wear, etc.
The cost was getting more ridiculous with each October edition. But, I found one pair for my safe, soft, but stable, complete running nirvana. It was the "Easy Rider" from Puma. The title gives you an idea of when it was designed. I bought boxes of the shoe knowing full well that Nirvana has a nasty habit of slipping away...
And, it did with the Easy Rider II.
Within ten years, the German shoe company, riding on the shoe's underground, underdog success, started cutting quality, slowing changing the design to meet the bare top ten requirements for good running shoes.
Like a pair of old jeans, I finally sent the last of my running shoes to rest. In the best of those ten years, I wore them like dress shoes signifying that, even with a tie and a blazer, I still had some serious athleticism left in me. Eventually, they were my treadmill and workout shoes and, until about three years ago, was my go to walking the dog shoes.
About a week ago, I put on these old trusties in order to aerate all my other shoes. I heard a strange shuffling noise in the morning as I ran around attending to my kitchen duties. I just sluffed it off throughout the day until, later in the day, I returned from gardening back into the house. By now, the right shoe's heal panel was dragging clumps of grass and dirt all around the place.
When I stopped to dislodge a rather large clump of terra firma, the heal panel came off with it. Sadly, it was time to say goodbye to my loyal, faithful, and hard driving, toe the line, shoe. But, before giving it a good burial in a double bagged Whole Foods paper bag, I took some photos and created this sketch... a homage of sorts.
With all the years we were together, I should have given that pair a name. It was with me through rain, sleet, snow, mud... hurricanes! It kept me more stress free than anything I can think of. It pounded the pavement, softened the pounding on treadmills, pedaled my mountain bike, raked the leaves, and performed through the many knots I created in my shoestrings till I purchased a new pair. Oh, the horrible thought of kicking them off with performance disdain like a shortstop that looks at his glove for the error it made. And, I can't tell you how many times, though I knew better, I'd just jam my heal into the shoe effectively crushing the heal 'cuz I didn't want to untangle the shoestring mess I had created.
Oh mea culpa... three times!
Goodbye, old friend... God rest your sole!
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