Some New Kicks, Yo

How's a girl supposed to get her walk/jog on in beat up old New Balance tennies, pray tell? She is not supposed to, that's what. So today, I took a lunch hour trek (a veritable luxury to me, considering I once worked at the corner of Nothing St. and Nowhere Ave.) to Pacers Running Store, one of those local businesses that you're so very, very lucky if you have available in your neighborhood.

Now, I know I have large feet. Heck, I have a large frame, a big head, the whole nine yards. I take no offense; this is simply the way things are and the way they shall always be. But I wasn't quite prepared for the shoes I was to eventually to be fitting in - the Big Ones. Let me explain...

I have worn a size eleven shoe for just about as long as I can remember. There was that one pair of size ten Doc Martens that I held on to for way too long (on both stylistic and anatomical grounds), but other than that, I was a straight-up eleven by age nineteen. And then I went back to working retail full-time again in my mid-20's and people said, "Oh, if you spend that many hours on your feet, they'll get bigger," and I laughed and thought, Whatever, you people don't know what you're talking about - you sell clothes for a living (duh, what was I doing for a living?) and then...size twelve. Like, almost all the time. I can swing a size 42 if I'm buying European shoes (11 1/2 - delightful!), but just like that, I went up a size.



And, with full knowledge of this, the lovely salesclerk didn't even measure my feet today, but saw that I walked in with a pair of size eleven MEN'S running shoes on my feet, yet dutifully attempted to fit a pair of women's size 12. Twice. No go. But the third pair - a men's size eleven (shown actual size, above) - fit just right and provided the proper amount of support my super-pronating right foot desperately needs.

So here I am again, with a seemingly ginormous pair of running shoes straight out the box. C'est la vie...