Whenever I retire a pair of running shoes, it’s with a considerable amount of reluctance. Also, they’re never properly retired, as I always find an excuse to keep them in my life. At any one time, I’ll have at least 6-7 pairs of no-longer-running running shoes dotted around the house, each with a specific purpose that renders them far too valuable to consign to the bin.
“Have you seen my lawn-mowing shoes anywhere?”
“Could you pass me my putting-out-the-recycling shoes please? No, not those ones. Those are my plastic recycling shoes. I need my cardboard recycling shoes. Thanks”.
“Help you with your homework? Of course, no problem. Just give me a sec to change out of my Sudoku shoes and into my making-a-collage-to-depict-a-day-in-the-life-of-a-tudor-peasant shoes”.
“You can’t throw those out! Those are my… well… they’re just pretty”.
Don’t get me started on my jelly-eating shoes.
But this week I strayed from this hoardy path, and chucked a perfectly good pair of running shoes straight in the bin. The reason? Well, I usually retire shoes after around 400 miles (which is sciencetificately proven to be the exact point at which the pull of shiny new shoes becomes impossible for a human runner to resist). Under normal conditions, that means 3-4 pairs of shoes a year, but these last twelve months have been a bit different. I’ve been doing a fraction of my usual mileage, and piling on some extra tummy, and so although my shoes were being hammered by an extra-cuddly load I felt that I couldn’t justify getting new ones until I’d started being a proper runner again.
So, by the time I finally accepted that it was time for new shoes, the old ones were well beyond buggered. The soles hard worn through, the uppers were frayed, and they had the general look of having been eaten by a badger, which was in turn eaten by a lion, which then caught fire and with its last breath sicked up the badger-coated remains of the shoes, which were finally struck by lightning and run over by a truck. And then eaten again by a (presumably different) badger.There was nothing else for it; they had to go (if only to give me an excuse to make this delightful infographic).
So far, this tale has been one of loss, regret, and greedy badgers. What we all need right now is a pair of shiny new shoes to tenderly stroke the tears away and tell us all that everything will be alright.
But it’s been nearly a year since I last did a blog post, and this has made me feel all sleepy and puffed out. I’ll have a little lie down and then scribble some more tomorrow. There may be more stupid pictures.
There will be more stupid pictures.
BIT AT THE END
Hello nice blog-reading person. That’s an ace
jumper summer outfit of some sort you’re wearing. Really brings out the colour of your ears. Anyway, cards on the table, there are actually only two people who read this blog: You, and Colin Buttersnatch, the world famous shortbread-sculptor. It’d be great if you could spread the word and share some links to your favourite posts on the Facebookses or the twitters. Or maybe you could scrawl “born to plod = ace” on a bedsheet and tie it to a busy roundabout. The Internet has promised me a basket of kittens for every million hits I get, and I’m hoping to get enough to start a farm. Ta.