Where Have All the Good Shoes Gone?

My stomach has grown used to its semi-daily doses of naproxen sodium tablets. Today, the ankle is wrapped. My left ankle has felt beat up. I don't know why. I suppose it could be a result of this and this. But who knows, really? The pain could also be derived from old shoes.

Out to Pasture
In my bedroom, in my closet, on a shelf, a box of unworn Brooks Adrenaline shoes sits. This is my booty for running the Akron Marathon. But the box reminds me that my old Brooks are a year old and nearing retirement.

These shoes have served me well over 416 miles, on the good days as well as the bad, through training runs and races, delivering some memorable PRs and accompanying brilliant revelations. But their time has come.

I feel the shoes got a fair send-off, though, as I wore them on my 10-mile run in Cooperstown last weekend. I didn't know it when I picked them to accompany me on vacation, but the Brooks had one last long run in them. I'm glad it was that run.

Now, I'm wearing them around more. I think they know.

Screw 'em!
The paradox about retirement is that it is both a reward and a death sentence. You work long and hard for it to come, but when it does? You get a party, where your former coworkers introduce you to your young replacement, who reminds you how you'll spend the rest of your days as a useless slouch in a mind-crushing stupor before you shuffle loose this mortal coil.

Why do you think all those poorly treated Wal-Mart greeters are former retirees? They just want to have a purpose again, even if it's welcoming shoppers who coldly ignore them or handing out smily face stickers to children who pity their sad existence.

Retirement, otherwise known as pre-death.

I don't want that for my Brooks. I feel that they can still serve me well at short distances. Or, perhaps, they need a makeover. I have considered making screw shoes since last year, but I never had the guts to possibly ruin a pair of shoes.

When I discovered this procedure, my shoes were far too young. Perhaps the Brooks are willing to donate their soles to science.



The First Step
Yesterday, I received a comment from an anonymous coward reader, who informed me of a mistake in my Tuesday post. I wrote that I was running alongside Lake Otesaga when I was in Cooperstown. I was wrong.

The lake is Lake Otsego. The Otesaga is resort hotel that is on Lake Otsego, where I ate dinner one night. (Very good, but pricy.) I admit it, I didn't check my facts. I hope this confession absolves me of my sins. Or least that sin.