Dear New Balances,
Friday was a sad day for us. We left the gym and were welcomed by a vibrant sunset. With a refreshing high off of our energetic workout, we set out to the main road to briskly walk through sidewalks, gravel, dirt and waist-high plants on our usual walk home. Just as we left the parking lot, tragedy struck. I felt myself step on something large under my left foot. I looked down, and your sole had bended backwards and was hanging loosely off.
Unsure of what to do, I continued walking, lifting my left foot high in the air with every step, hoping it was dark enough that the people in the passing cars wouldn’t notice me half goose-stepping my way down the road. After a difficult 20-minute walk, we made it home. You helped me with one final adventure as I tried to clean the flooded kitchen with a broken squeegee (note to self: buy functioning floor squeegee), then we walked upstairs and I kicked you off my feet one last time.
Ten years. You’ve seen me through high school gym classes, mission trips to Belize and Acapulco, my move to Mexico, and countless trips to the gym. You’ve had your soles super-glued back on, and still managed to look almost new. Sadly, it seems our time has come to an end.
I bought some new shoes yesterday. They’re lovely, but not quite the same. Maybe in time, I’ll feel the same bond and magic as I did with you.
We had a nice run. (pun intended)