Coming off a great run on Sunday, I was in immense pain on Monday. Monday was a busy day at work that involved a lot of time standing or walking around. My shins, knees, and even thighs felt like they were beaten with a lead pipe. Every step sent pain shooting up my leg. I knew I needed new running shoes. I had been fighting it for a long time, but the pain was hard to ignore today.
Monday was too busy, and then Tuesday brought a different kind of pain, an intense sinus headache. I'm allergic to dust mites and soybean dust, and the latter makes this time of year hell on earth for me. I was feeling pretty shitty, and had it not been such a busy week at work, I would have been zonked out on NyQuil all day. Knowing I had to at least run on Tuesday night or Wednesday morning to stay on schedule, I made it a point to go on a shoe quest on my lunch hour.
I had no idea how clueless I was about shoes. The trainer I had last year recommended Sauconys for a brand, and I just went and bought a random pair. They felt great when I first had them, but soon wore down. I was told that a runner should get a new pair of shoes every six months, give or take how many miles they put in them. I’d had these Sauconys over a year.
I start surfing the net and find that there are a lot of types of running shoes out there. There are also all kind of names for the shape and arch of my feet. Overpronation? What the fuck does that even mean? Obviously, this is going to take more thought than, which ones come in purple?
Luckily, I was able to reach out to a friend who used to work at Foot Locker. He recommended Asics, some inserts, and taking my time. Sigh.
I got out on lunch Tuesday and headed to the mall. I love shopping more than just about anything, but I have an anxiety of going into anything resembling a sports store for a few reasons. I feel like everyone is looking at me and thinking, “We don’t sell chocolate or booze, so what are you doing here?” Also, I don’t really enjoy shopping where I have to tell people my size, even my shoe size. That conversation usually starts out with, “how big do they come in?” I usually wear about a ten, which is about the biggest size normal shoes come in, so I don’t really know why I’m bitching. My brother had to special order his shoes all through high school.
I wander into Lady Foot Locker, because I can’t stand the thought of really anyone touching my feet, especially a guy. In nine years of being with Josh, there has only been one foot rub attempt and it almost resulted in him losing a few teeth.
Alright, who wants to deal with the beast? A girl named Amy greets me. She has my name and doesn’t look like referee Barbie. She also does not laugh when I tell her I'm a beginner runner. For these reason, I like her immediately. I tell her to show me some Asics. She asks to measure my feet and I grudgingly comply. Apparently my right foot is a ten and my left is a ten and a half. And I have high arches. Like I need another reason shit doesn’t fit me. She recommends going with a size 11. The last time I had to get elevens, my friend who was with me told me to go back to the fucking circus. This is not fun.
I find a pair I like and guess what, they come in purple. Score. And I read online that they are for heavier runners who need more cushion. It couldn’t have sounded better if they dipped them in batter and fried them. They feel amazing. I put them on and I instantly start to envision myself on a wonderful and tireless run. My hair is flowing in the breeze. I am just stylishly dewy with perspiration. There's not an ounce of fat on my body, and my perfect tan legs are effortlessly striding out with my new shoes. Is that unicorn over there? Fabulous.
In my euphoria, I take the shoes. Amy takes advantage and upsells me into inserts and four snazzy v-neck workout tees. The fact that I am partial to v-necks might be genetic. My dad is a v-neck fanatic when he is working on the farm, so much so that he has a permanent v-neck tan.
I go back to work and I’m pretty excited about my purchases, even tempted to break them in that night. Whoa, am I actually excited to run? This is certainly a change.
By the time I get out of work my head is pounding with sinus pressure and the NyQuil is calling to me. I throw back a shot of that very green-tasting liquid and chase it with some water….and a half a glass of wine. I fell into a delicious sleep and woke up feeling better.
Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's back to work I go. Another long day looms ahead of me and my boss agrees that I can take a two hour lunch to get my run in. This saves me from dragging my ass out of bed at five, and for this I want to hug her. When it’s time to go, I slam some light yogurt for fuel and head to the gym. My new purple v-neck tee matches my shoes, which is a welcome change from my usual pit-stained bar t-shirts. I look less like a nasty hobo and am feeling confident. Let’s break these puppies in.
Right when I start my first 90 second interval, I know I’m in trouble. I feel very weak today, a big contrast from Sunday. I stumble through my three minute interval and start coaching myself on how to get through the rest of this. Well, I’m not in pain. The shoes are working. They feel odd, but I don’t feel like my shins are going to shatter like glass.
I start my second three minute interval. I am still not in pain, I can get through this.
About 30 seconds in, I think to myself, I would rather go through a full body cavity search than do this interval. My legs feel like they are on fire. I feel like I can’t get enough oxygen. It’s like my body is pulling a cart full of lead behind me.
I’m a minute in a half in when the taste of red velvet yogurt and bile hits the back of my throat. Oh my god, it’s not like I’m in Navy Seals training, I am not going to throw up.
I try to swallow and the threat does not go away. I start to cough and I hit the stop button in a panic. I jump off the treadmill and calm myself down. Then I remember that I have to write about this, and I don’t want to admit that I failed. I take a breath and get back on that goddamn treadmill.
I struggle through 90 seconds. I call it a finish and get off. My mouth tastes like ass, I am never getting red velvet flavored yogurt again. It doesn’t even sound good.
I start to hobble around aimlessly, really wanting to sit down. Is there a fatty bench in this place? Where’s the goddamn fatty bench? I head to the recumbent bikes, relaxation disguised as exercise.
Through all this, my legs feel fine. The agony in my shins has turned into a dull ache. Shoes definitely help, but they are not going to do the work for me. I need to keep myself healthy. Despite the fact that I’m fighting off a sinus infection, I feel like a failure.
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