An ode to my shoes
I bought you for $36. You were blue and white, and a half size larger than I normally wear. You changed my life.
Walking is a big deal for me. Over the past two years, the most transformative of my life, it has been a constant. Striving for 10,000 steps a day, and usually hitting and exceeding that goal. Topping out at 52,000 in a day (yikes) and bottoming out at 213 in a day (double yikes). Walking helped me get to where I am because it gave me a chance to reflect and forced me to think about my lifestyle for at least an hour or two a day.
Someone once told me you shouldn’t cheap out on things that separate you from the ground. Beds, tires, shoes. It’s hard not to agree with that sentiment, but tell that to the people on the forum where I discovered a deal for you, the shoes I bought for $36 that changed my life.
There are some expensive shoes out there, and there are some cheap ones. Despite that piece of advice consistently floating around my brain like a quote from the Simpsons circa season 6, I tend to cheap out on shoes. Have you ever walked to the back of the store at National Sports or Sportchek, and you see the nifty shoes with bright colorways and sleek designs on the wall, then the shoes haphazardly strewn in a barely-discernable display pile on the floor? I opt for the latter. Look — I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve owned quite a few pairs of Skechers in my lifetime.
But you were affordable AND well-designed. The technical name given to you by your Reebok creators was Forever Floatride Energy, and you apparently boasted the same kind of “technology” used by your far more expensive peers. That is, at least according to the nameless, faceless internet stranger who had over 2,000 posts on this forum. And well, that was good enough for me.
I ordered you online to go pick up at the Stockyards Sportchek. As a testament to how much walking was a part of my life, even then, I planned to walk the entire four-hour round trip from my home near Kensington Market. Plus, I figured I could also stop into one of the coolest grocery stores in Toronto, Nations.
Excited about new shoes and a sprawling international grocery store? How did you know I was in my thirties?
It was Saturday, March 13, 2021, when I left with my backpack to go pick you up. I remember it being sunny, but chilly, around 7 degrees. For the seasoned walkers among us, this was perfect long walk weather. I bought an Americano at Milky’s, traced my path along the curving Dundas West as I watched house and store numbers ascend from three digits to four, and 2 hours later, I arrived.
I opted for curbside pickup and unboxed you as soon as the associate turned her back on me. “Yep, you look like shoes,” I thought. I threw the box out in the parking garage because of my terrible habit of “Oh, it was so cheap that even if it doesn’t fit, it’s not worth returning.”
I did stop by that grocery store. The line was so long to get in, and it was so packed with people, that I avoided it due to heightened COVID fears. I made it back eventually and bought chili oil.
After an entire playthrough of Rufus du Sol’s album Bloom on the walk back, I sat on the stoop out front of my house and tried you on. At the time, I was waffling between size 11 and size 11.5. Normally, I’m 11, but another pair of Reeboks I owned were 11.5 and fit perfectly. Thankfully, you also fit perfectly. I simultaneously praised my expertise at sussing out shoe sizes and reprimanded myself for throwing out the box before even trying you on.
On March 13, 2021, I took my first steps with you down the stairs in front of my house.
Today, on April 16, 2022, 1.85 million steps later, I took my last strides in you down the stairs in front of my house to throw you in the garbage.
How do I measure your impact on me? On my body, on my thoughts, on my emotions? Here are some tangible ways:
You were $36
You lasted 1.85 million steps
You took me 1410 kilometers around Toronto
You helped me lose 118 pounds
You caused 3 blisters
You received one compliment from a small child
You were left in the rain and smelt like death for 2 days
You made me believe cheap, good shoes were real, a bubble that quickly burst when my next $30 pair exploded in three weeks
As I wore you and walked through the city, the entire city, 1410 kilometers of it, I saw myself change in the reflection of the windows. Every day I was something new. But you were a constant. The blue on my feet, guiding a body in forward motion. The standard I could trust. A knight and his horse. A boy and his dog. Me and you.
Sometimes I think back and wonder about that employee who carried you out to the Stockyards parking lot. She was probably having a busy day, and I was merely one of dozens, if not hundreds to her. A face in a crowd. A transaction, with reference number 66293215.
I wonder if she knows she hand-delivered something with such profound, life-altering impact. I wonder that, if she read this, which of those 8 ways I tried to tangibly measure you she would connect with first. Would she laugh at one? Be impressed by another? Maybe she would ask what that cute kid said about you?
You were with me for 400 days. I bought you for $36. I changed my life.
