On my way to losing a marathon!

Thursday, February 24, 2011

I'm having a love affair...

with my running shoes.  I know, that was really tacky.  Sorry.

At the same time though, I'm really not joking.  I absolutely love my running shoes.  They're primarily mesh, grey and white, and air light.  They're Nike+, so they've got the secret little compartment under the arch that helps me track my distance.  They're exciting, and wonderful and so, so much more than just a pair of shoes to me.

Now I'm not, generally speaking, an athletic person.  I'm bookish, and a little chubby.  I did the freakin Math Olympics in Junior High, and am pretty terrible at ALL sports.  I ran over 3 miles for the first time IN MY LIFE at the age of 27.  I've been told by a physical therapist before that "some people just aren't built to be runners" (I've got a crooked pelvis or something) and that I "may do better with something like swimming".  So really, I'm not the person anyone would expect to sing the praises of a set of tennis shoes.

Just the same, I look at those shoes and I feel inspired.  Those shoes that have turned from shining white and gray to a dull dusty brown are beautiful pictures of what I've done, and what I may be able to do.  My shoes look back at me and say, "hey there, Runner", and "my my you've got a great butt".  Because my running shoes don't see me as a lazy bookish lug who would rather lounge on the couch all day.  My shoes don't doubt me because of my crooked pelvis and no lower back muscles.  My shoes tell me I can run right through a side stitch, even if it doesn't go away.  My shoes have taken me on 3 5k runs, just this week.  My shoes take me places, and think that treadmills are lame.  My shoes have wanderlust.  My shoes see the side of me that's signing up for a 5K in April, and fully intends to hold her own.  (That's right Katie, I'm taking your advice.  And I'm actually getting crazy excited about it!)

So there you have it folks.  I'm not fast, or toned, or able to run a marathon. Yet.  But there's a runner that lives inside of me.  Or at the very least, in my shoes.

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