Prose poetry in praise of pitch-perfect plodders
In May I purchased a new pair of trainers, the Triumph 19. The shoes are airy and cushy, in orange and zesty mint green. I take them for runs on and off with the rest, but among many options I think these I like best.
Look upon your sneakers from your vantage feet above. Have you ventured very far? They’re sure to bear your topographic love.
Mine have been buffeted, had cheatgrass and burrs up the lace. Their foam is gray inside the heels, where they’ve scuffed one another pushing the pace. Likewise the mint has acquired a color of ash, from the dust and the distance, the dirt of my dash. So too on the soles, the shadow of sidewalks the sort. They roll over roads and roots readily; roughshod on the rocks they cavort. Any terrain is toast to the touch, and the spoils are sanded into the shoes. Saucony scores with a stellar composition, burnt into the burnish each brilliant bruise.
These movers make memories; let the marks do the math. Every toe-box blemish is a weed that’s been kicked in my path! I run loops of level park lawn, such is my fate, to suffer hot summer in grass growing way too high as of late. Through it all they’ve been faithful, these capable boots. So brave and so breathable, bidding me recovery and return to my roots. Years of injury I have packed in my trunk, but the trauma is easier with jaunty milers to jog through the junk. I’ve crushed a pair of 5Ks and signed up for plenty more! It’s stretches and Triumphs I thank that I continue to tramp through the door. I’m teary, having at last fallen back in stride with my sport—always nice to have broken-in buddies for mortal and moral support.
I move to do my best and let God know He’s won. My trainers, take solace! and nurse the burns from our run. We’ve many more miles to march and still elevation to gain! I can only imagine what you’ll look like once we’ve been through some rain! Triumph’s your name, and triumph’s our game. Now let’s make Him proud and find some wilds to tame!
Your shoes carry stories, which the caked mud and sandburs imbue. Take a strong stroll and talk to your toes. Pray tell, what tales on the trails have you?