There once was a little running shoe, no not one of those dorky Vibrams, an actual running shoe and he felt a little lost. It wasn’t so much that he felt confused about who he was, he knew he was a righty, meant for swallowing up miles for breakfast, some strength training for lunch, and dinner might be either more miles or a side of cross-training.
But he knew he was missing out on something…oh, that’s right, it was his left. He knew he had to have his left match out there, he dreamed of what left would look like. Maybe he inherited some of his own designs from lefty, did he share her roomy toe-box, did his arch support come from her? Finally the day came when he could stand the wondering no long and so he set out on a quest to find his lefty.
Some odd hoppy, runner-strides later he was off down the road on his quest. After about 1.34 miles (thankfully Garmin came along to keep him company) he came to a halt; he looked at the shiny, red object in front of him. Now it didn’t exactly look like his mirror image, but there was a roundness to it that make him question if that could be the same roundness he inherited his toe-box from. “Are you my lefty?” our lost running shoe blurted out.
“Say, what?” the tall, cylindrical object replied.
“I’m looking for my lefty, are you her?”
“Sorry, kid, I’m not anyone’s lefty,” the red thing stated in a gruff tone, “oh crap, here it comes again.” At that, the red thing groaned as a huge pit-bull sauntered up, lifted its leg and proceeded to spray a long stream of yellow onto this red thing.
The right sided running shoe took off again and some 2.05 miles later he stopped again. Seeing a white item laying on the ground he got a bit excited. Here was something that looked to be a case of some sort, could it too be meant to encase a foot? “Are you my lefty?”
“Say what?” this flutterly case drifted a bit closer when some wind blew it over; obviously if it was his lefty it was a lightweight trainer or racing flat the right running shoe thought.
“Are you my lefty?” he asked again. “You seem to be meant to hold something, is it a foot?”
“Sorry,” the stranger replied, “I am indeed empty, but its because someone ate a hot dog…they are also a liter bug it turns out.”
It was then that our running shoe noticed the smear of yellow as mustard, he had at first thought it was just a cleverly placed Swoosh. He motored on for another 3.43 miles until he came to yet another object of potential. “Are you my lefty?”
“A lefty?” a female’s voice questioned, coming from the long roll of bright purple that was lying on the grass. By this point our lost running shoe had come to the park and there were lots of other people out running and playing; he felt a pang of loss as he saw all the other running shoes going along in pairs. The voice continued, “I’m not sure what a lefty is but I don’t think I am one.” As she finished a woman came over and pushed the purple roll, the roll then flattened out and the woman stepped on and into some kind of twisty pose.
Our lost running shoe knew this wasn’t his lefty and had almost abandoned hope of finding her. He hopped over to a nearby bench, only .07 miles away, and got on it. He started to really feel sorry for himself and thought, “I guess I’ll never know my lefty, I’ll forever be a one-sided running shoe. I know I could find my way to a fulfilling career and brighten the stride of a one-legged runner, but I thought I could find lefty.”
Just as right running shoe was about to leave a flustered man perched next to him on the bench and shouted, “Thank goodness! There it is!” The man scooped up the running shoe and in a flash had our righty down on the ground and was shoving one heck of a gnarly running foot into him. Righty felt his laces drawn taut and the warm heat of the toes in his toe-box, this was a joy unlike any other.
The man didn’t waste a second and went straight into a runner’s stride. Right, left, right, left. With an elation he couldn’t even put into words our right running shoe looked to his left and there she was! She was all he imagined and more, she was perfect, he didn’t even have to ask because he knew…he had found his lefty. So he did all he had to do, he smiled and put his sole to pavement again, and again, and again, and again…
Happy Mother’s Day! For the holiday I thought I’d put a bit of an Arty Runnerchick twist on the classic ‘Are You My Mother?’ My own mother used to read a book to me nearly every night as a child and this was one of my favorites. I’m thankful to my Mommy-O for many a things, but among them is of course for passing along an
addiction affinity for running.
1) Did you read, or get read to, as a child? What were some of your favorite books?
2) If you were a running shoe, what would be an object you might mistake as your lefty?
3) What are your favorite pair of running shoes?