The last of my stash. When I find a shoe that fits, I often buy a couple of extra pairs and leave them in my closet, ready to go when I need a new pair.
This was the last of my Asics Gel Evolution 4 bronze shoes. After one run in them, I noticed a weird whiff-puff sound that I attributed to splashing through a few of the standing puddles. After two runs in them, I noticed this:
I don’t know if it was the humidity over time that took a toll while they were in storage or if they were just a one-off misfit that got through quality control. It’s been years — probably 3 or 4 and maybe as many as 8 since I bought them. I found them in the back of the closet, the last of their kind. So I don’t think I can legitimately contact Asics and say, “Hey! I don’t know what child laborer put this shoe together but you should dock their pay!”
I feel sick even typing that supposed joke.
Albeit I feel sick because I am, ya know, sick with a head cold.
But I digress. When I “retire” a pair of shoes, be they with thousands of miles on their soles or, as in this case, less than a marathon’s worth, I always think of this moment from Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1988):
So on top of the “I” plane ticket incident, the head cold, and the general malaise of the world, I need to find a new pair of running shoes. I’m fine with my older pair for the upcoming Madagascar race, but I was looking to break in some shoes for when I get back. Now I have to head to the store and find a new pair that works for my ridiculous overpronation. When I go to a massive shoe store, the walls lined with enough shoes to make an army of arachnids happy, there’s usually only one or two that fit my condition… which I guess is helpful to limit the choices but still it always feels like:
ME pointing to a shoe on the opposite wall: “But what about that one?”
SALESPERSON: “Oh, that’s not for you. You can’t have that.”
ME: “But I want it.”
SALESPERSON: “But it’s not good for you.”
ME: “Does that often work? Telling people that it’s bad for them? Or does that just make the person want the thing even more, a forbidden fruit scenario?”
SALESPERSON: “I’m just a shoe salesperson, sir. Do you want Option A or Option B?”
And inevitably the salesperson steers me to THE MOST EXPENSIVE SHOE in the store.
Sigh. Hashtag Runner Problems.
ASIDE: Say, somebody asked me recently why I don’t use the “#” when I make my silly twitter hashtag jokes. As I explained to her in a typical Kevin rambling email:
Oh and the reason I don’t usually remember to use the number sign for “hashtag” is that I’m an American. To me, # is a number sign or the “pound” sign on a phone. I’ve only heard it called the hash sign (at least previously before it became a Twitter thing) whilst working in the UK and I therefore try and resist using it as my own quixotic tilt at windmills resistance.
Her hilarious reply?
#dontevenknowhowtorespondtothis