Running Shoes

After my adventures in my Barefoot Running post, I was looking forwards to getting back to the safety of shoes. No more cold, wet, dirty feet. No more getting poked with sticks and pricked by bindies. No more worrying about whether someone might break a beer bottle in the grass. Yes, getting back to shoes would be good.

I walked out to the soccer field. My feet safely encased in my grubby old running shoes. How fast and far I would go in my shoes, now that my feet were comfortable.

Four laps later, I was starting to rethink the 'comfortable'. My arches shrieked in pain, cramping up and solidly refusing to run any further. I stumbled to a halt and plopped down on the ground, massaging my feet with my hands. This was terrible! I couldn't run like this

Off came the shoes. Off came the sodden socks. I stretched my feet. Ah, much better. The cool, damp grass was soothing for my poor, sore feet. In moment I felt I could run again.

I flew off round the field, leaving my socks and shoes to sit in the grass, lonely and abandoned. I couldn't go back to wearing them. Not when they hurt my feet so.

For the next few days I ran barefoot again, staying firmly away from the uncomfortable shoes. But I knew it couldn't go on like this forever. What about when winter came? I couldn't run barefoot then. What if I stood on something?

Yes, something had to be done. And something was done. Dad took me up to a big shoe shop where we were sure they'd be able to find us a pair of shoe to suit my feet.

From the moment we stepped into the shop I never stopped doubting we'd find the right shoes. The sales assistant measured my feet. Nice and routine. But then she led me over to a computer with a pressure pad. What would we do here?

What we did was take picked of my feet from a pressure point of view. She pointed out interesting features of my feet to Dad and I. Dad appeared to understand what she was talking about, but at times I was reduced to smiling and nodding. Maybe Dad could explain it to me later.

The most important thing was, she knew what shoes I needed. And when I tried on the high tech, super dooper awesome shoes, I knew that this was what I needed. I didn't need to try on the ordinary shoes that she offered me to know that I wouldn't like them.

We left the shop, shoe box in hand. How could I possibly wait until tomorrow to try out my new shoes? It couldn't possibly be done! But somehow it was.

The next day I strode out to the soccer field, my bright, white, new shoes on my feet. And I set off running, feet comfortable, dry, warm, happy. A runner with her running shoes at last.