Running Shoes Just Want Some Love, too

Green Silence Speaks

Your feet are a bit oddly shaped.
Yes, they do smell most of the time.

Hell, when was the last time
you went out of your way to shower and put on fresh socks
BEFORE going for a run?

I know the shapes of your toes,
the ridges of your callouses
and new-forming blisters.

I know that your third toes, curling inward toward some
unknown destination
are called “hammer toes”, more severe on your left
than your right foot.

I know you rub your left hammer toe after long runs
and sometimes the nail turns black and blue,
eventually falling off,
leaving more tenderness for me to avoid bruising.

But I am only as good as my makers- textile factory in Korea, Indonesia,
this one- China.
I am only synthetic fibers woven by machine,
stitched in the fastest of ways,
less human hands, less time.

I am light weight and dry fast.
This allows me to not get as mildew as your others.
I know them, my competition, I lay beside them in the closet, smell their foot-rubbery-stink while you sleep.

You really should wash them one of these days- like
that time you put me in the washer after going for a muddy,
slip-sliding adventure.
But you waited awhile, over a whole week,
mud and bits of grass and gravel,
stuck to my outsides, gritty against my insole,
jutting out between my tread.
You let that crud get baked on til I was dry, pastey, flaking off dirt
in every step yet never getting clean.

Finally you threw me in the washer,
a deluge I’d never seen,
even after many outings in Seattle winter.
I was submerged and splashed and tossed and turned.
And that swivel-turney-thing in the middle- it
abused me! Finally, when I thought I could take no more, it was over.
You removed me, let me dry under the heating vent on the white carpet
then took me for a long, redeeming jaunt.
The next weekend, when out for a group run,
all your friends gave me compliments!
You should know, you can put me back in that stupid washer anytime.

Sometimes I dream of speaking
telling how I long to be treated as nicely as other articles of clothing:
that vest you only wear on special occasions, like weddings.
I’ve seen you standing in front of the mirror, looking so proudly,
the way it drapes your shoulders.
Or that blue button-down you actually care enough
to iron before hanging up.
Or any of those favorite hoodies,
I’d love to keep you warm in coffee shops,
or every once in awhile, fall asleep with you while you read,
light still on, forgotten to brush your teeth.
I dream of not being sheer utility:
Work-horse step after step.
Last weekend, I took you 13.1 miles in less than 2 hours.
I cradled your sinking arches when you were tired,
shielded flesh from broken glass on pavement,
never got too tight on the metatarsal,
hugged your Achilles tendon and gripped you like a glove.
I live to make contact between you
and the outside world a delight- smooth, a science and an art.

I exist so you can skim the surface of this earth and be safe
while taking each unique, wondrous step.

Do you ever think of me with affection
long after I’m unlaced?