My running shoes mock me.
They sit there all new and shiny,
an arrogant red and white.
They know it’s been awhile since I’ve owned a pair. That it’s been a looong while since I needed (or wanted for that matter) cushioned and stable footwear.
The stupid car accident last year has made me a pansy ass when it’s come to athletics.
I’m afraid to fall.
I’m afraid to hurt.
I’m afraid of the demonic migraine that has the tendency to rear his hideous head whenever I attempt at moments of physical normalcy.
Granted I made it through a season of “walk and putt” with the ability, the last few games, to hit a few drives without cursing the pain the next morning.
I still haven’t mustered enough courage to strap on the cross-country skis this winter.
Which explains the purchase of the spankin’ new shoes.
The proverbial poop has hit the fan. I’m feeling old and stiff and angry.
I’ve done something about it.
Gym membership for the month. A workout buddy that has, over the years, proven the extent with which she can guilt and shame me into doing things (thank God for little sisters).
And the new K.Swiss Performance red/silver/white and magnet grey running shoes.
So mock me if you will, you cheeky jogging shoes, but I will use and abuse you. I will flog you and stomp and kick and climb.
And soon your mocking will subside
and you will be my footwear of choice.