Foot martyrdom

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I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I’m a martyr to my feet. All that teenage tottering around on high heels, toes squashed into silly shoes, it’s a wonder I can stand up at all, let alone run.

So when I found the running shoes perfect for funny feet, I bought them again and again and again. They were so comfortable, it was like having my feet kissed, even the inevitable blisters weren’t too bad, not in the grand scheme of things, that is, they were still pretty irritating.

I don’t like shoe shopping, it’s just one of those things, all those sweaty socks, not to mention my funny feet which really shouldn’t be on public view. Thanks to the magic of the interweb, I could order my favourite Asics without having to bother a shop. Of course I was always a fashion year behind, the older models are much cheaper and being from Yorkshire I’m not going to pay for the latest pink fluffy things when last year’s gunmetal grey would do very nicely, thank you very much. Anyway, my running shoes always end up mud-coloured.

So as my feet started scraping through the holey soles, I put in my order. One pair of Kayano Gels in big-foot lady size, please, and a little packet of those chewy sour sweets. They arrived and I put them on in the blind faith that they would be just as good as those who came before. I suppose I was in self-denial when I removed the insoles and replaced them with those from my old shoes. Even so, they brought tears to my eyes as I ran. Yes, definite self-denial, the damned things didn’t fit and I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. They were the right size, just the wrong shape, so I did what any sensible person would do and went back to my old shoes, transferring the old insoles back, my feet were kissed again.

My feet were still scraping through the holes, though, and after a few more miles, I had to bow to the inevitable. I would have to actually go to a shop and try different models, what’s more, there would be no little packets of sour sweets. Fortunately, Sam at the Complete Runner in Ilkley is a patient man, he heard how vexed I was about my favourite shoes, he even averted his eyes from my stockinged feet as I slipped on pair after pair. The only criteria, they had to be so comfortable, it would feel like my feet were being kissed. I chose a pair of Hokas, funny-looking things with massive cushioning, adding at least a couple of centimetres to my height, which is a bonus, it might lengthen my stride. But they are comfortable, foot-kissingly comfortable. I think I have a new favourite shoe. Big-foot lady Kayanos, hardly-worn anyone?

 

 

One thought on “Foot martyrdom

  1. Pingback: Pumps. That’s what we ran in. Pumps. – StripeyAnne's Blog

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