It’s amazing how quickly things can get out of hand.
It’s not really important how I got to this point. I will say that this whole debacle started with a metatarsal-crunching trail race, after which my Morton’s Neuroma and I decided never to run in my Pearl Izumi Peak IIs again. That, combined with my unfounded assumption that every one of my local running stores stocks a woefully limited selection of trail shoes was the seed from which this fiasco blossomed.
Add to that the fact that all of the road shoes in my rotation simultaneously had over 400 miles on them, and you get what Shooter McGavin might gravely declare “The Perfect Storm.”
On Sunday I had twelve brand new pairs of shoes in my house, all from Running Warehouse, which, and I can’t stress this enough, offers free returns.
Some are replacement trail shoe candidates, some are road shoe replacements, and some are replacements for those replacements that suddenly went on sale, like a day after I placed the first order.
It was a lot of shoes.
When you have twelve pairs of new shoes in your house, it can go to your head. A normal person might get a little giddy. A madman might
…use them as a blanket.
You really can’t do something like this with more than twelve pairs of brand new shoes. When you take the twenty-fourth shoe out of the box and lie down under it, you definitely have a sense of “enough is enough, you lunatic.” Look, it’s a lot of shoes. (Is anyone even arguing with me?)
The Asics reminded me of Darth Maul, which is neither here nor there.
When you feel the firm, comforting weight of twenty-four brand new shoes spread across the entirety of your body, you’re bound to have thoughts that would never, ever cross the mid of an individual lying beneath a lesser number of shoes. It’s a mind-bending experience. You’ll want to line up the shoes. Maybe they’ll line up all by themselves! Maybe they’ll march right into your daughter’s room like waddly penguins.
My God, have you ever seen anything so heartbreakingly adorable?
Once something like this is happening on the floor of your house, there’s no sense in fighting the inertia. You know where this is going.
(Look, have any of you ever slept beneath so many spotless laces and fabulous colors before coming up with a similarly magical idea? Exactly, so shut up.)
Before you report this blog or, heaven forbid, call the police, I just want to say: Let he who has never read a shoe book to twenty-four shoes cast the first stone.