These are my new sneakers.
They and I are currently in that honeymoon phase. That one where they lovingly support me and
make me feel faster and where I line them up on the shoe rack, on the top row,
and dust the dirt off of them. I’ve been
here before. Last time, it was with a
cobalt blue pair of Nike Lunar Glides.
They claimed to have just enough stability yet still feel light and
cushiony. And I loved them until I
limped over a 5k finish line with blood pooling in the arch of my foot.
In my many miles of running, here is what I have learned
about sneakers. You just don’t
know. You know at once what is not comfortable when you stand up. You know
what is comfortable on a treadmill, if you are at one of those stores that claims
to be able to know what kind of shoe you will need on the road by running for 5
seconds on a moving conveyor belt.
Depending upon what store you go to, you might know what kind of shoe is
comfortable by running around the block for a 16th of a mile. But when you get home, the shoes that feel
good on a 3 mile test run, might feel hard as slate at mile 7 of a 10 mile run.
There is not a single person, therapist or sales person,
runner or doctor, who has recommended the same type of sneaker for me. For a few years, Saucony made a model that
kept me relatively injury free. And then
they made “improvements” to it that left me limping at the end of a 9 mile run. Then I found some Reeboks that did the
job. And they stopped making that model altogether. So, on a recent warm Sunday, 30 minutes from
closing time, I literally wore out two salespeople at my local running store by
trying out every running shoe they had in my size that was neutral or afforded
light stability. They did one of those
treadmill tests with me and decided I needed a neutral shoe. I argued with them about that and told them
that my form is a lot different 5 seconds into a run than it is 5 miles into a
run on the road. They asked me
questions. They pulled shoes and watched
me run up and down the sidewalk. They
conferred with each other. I asked them
questions. I complained. This one is too hard. This one is inflexible. This one feels like the heel is actually weighted to FORCE a heel strike. This one isn't long enough for my longer right foot. They looked for another
shoe. And another shoe. And another shoe. The whole time I had been avoiding
minimalist styles. I argued that they
weren’t going to provide enough cushioning where I needed it and they were
going to encourage pronation when I got tired, and they were going to feel like
I was slamming my feet right into the concrete.
I had narrowed it down to a pair, but the one guy could tell my inner Goldilocks wasn't entirely happy. Then he put the
Brooks Pure Cadence in front of me. “Just
try them – we’ll see how you run in them.”
They looked like giant white beans with bits of orange on
them. They gave you a Pod Foot
look. They would have been a big hit
with the playground supervisors of my youth.
I was skeptical. The sales dude held
my purse (with its pink glittery Disney Princess keychain hanging off it) and
said, “Take off!”
Honestly, all I had to do was lean forward. The shoes took off without me. I beat it back to my purse with a smile on my
face. Surely this is what Michael
Johnson felt like every time he put his gold, specially made Nikes on! It was like test driving a car that knows
what you want to do before you touch the wheel.
I took them home, worried and hopeful.
I put them to work recently on a brief run, after a cold and tiring bike
ride. We went through a neighborhood
near a lake where, with my stellar sense of direction, I kept going the wrong
way and hitting private neighborhoods and cul-de-sacs and having to turn
around. It was a rolling jaunt with
sudden sharp inclines and normally I would not be amused but I was like a dog sitting
in the front seat with the window down.
It’s like Paolo Nutini sings, “Hey, I put some new shoes on and suddenly
everything is right!”
(Note: Even if they
don’t work out, I am still grateful to the staff at Pacers in Old Town,
Alexandria. They pulled a lot of shoes
but more importantly, they listened to me, they watched me run, and
they noticed the difference in how I ran from shoe to shoe. And they held my obnoxiously accessorized handbag
through the whole process to ensure no one would steal it.)
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