I will not write about her, I just won't do it. Everyone and their mother and their mother's mother is going to write about the debate and I want to write about my new running shoes.
So I won't write about how many times in an hour and a half she used the phrases "Darn right" or "Maverick" (but boy, I got chills when Biden chided her about how 'Maverick' wasn't quite the right word to use). I won't ask what a Joe Six Pack is, say that I feel truly squeamishly uncomfortable when she talks about Israel and middle east politics, or say that when it comes down to it, I really just don't think she's up to the job.
And um, did anyone else get all choked up when Biden talked about being a single parent?
Right. Red shoes. And even better, red running shoes.
So today, in all my frustration and anxiety over the impending vice presidential debate, I took an hour and ran to RoadRunner sports to buy some new running shoes and to register for the Seattle Marathon, because I'm going to run it this year.
Didn't that sound cool? I hope it did because I'm not sure my behavior in the store qualified as cool. Also, it should be known that I'm really running the Seattle HALF Marathon (though, hey, that is still 13 miles!), I've never run that far in my life, and I have serious doubts about whether or not I can actually do it. But I paid my registration fee so I have six hours in November to try.
So I went in knowing that I should buy the same Asics that I love and wear and when I got into the store, there they were in the same turquoise and silvery stripes I have at home.
I love shoes, but seriously, runners are so incredibly boring and if they didn't feel so heavenly on that first run when they're brand spanking new, and if they didn't feel so horrible when they're worn out, I would probably just ignore them altogether.
"Hey," I say to the salesguy, who is really young and goodlooking. "Do these come in any other colors?"
"You want a different color?" He asks. "Why?"
"I don't know," I say. "To make them interesting?"
"It makes no difference what color they are. This shoe would run the same no matter the color." He seems almost offended at my superficiality. "Why do you need another color? Do you look at them when you're running or something?"
"Sometimes," I say. And when I notice his odd look, I laugh a little and say, "Just kidding." But we both know that I am not.
So I buy the world's most boring and comfortable runner and walk out the door, and then decide to just take a look at the
Title Nine store on the corner.
And do you know what they had? Of course you do...
My fave
Asics, style 2130. In CHERRY RED. I seriously have a weakness for red shoes. Even red running shoes.
They were beautiful. And you know what Title Nine calls them? They call them
Meg's Favorite Shoe because obviously someone else loves them, too. In red.
So I run back to the first store, meet the salesguy at the register, and tell him that I want to return my shoes.
"You just bought them," he says.
"I know," I tell him. And then I find that I just cannot tell him that I found a better color. I'm too embarrassed that he thinks I watch my feet while I run. "I just talked to my friend," I tell him instead. "She says she found a better deal somewhere else."
"Really?" he says suspiciously. "Where?"
"Um, I don't know, really. Some warehouse somewhere," I lie badly.
He give me the stink eye and says, "A warehouse, huh? You know, if it were true, I'd match your price."
"Huh," I say lamely. "I hope it is." And then I slink off as quickly as possible, run down the street and buy my cool red runners that cost $10 more than the boring turquoise ones.
And then I went home, put them on, and went for a really hard run. And you know what? My feet looked cool while they ran.
Rock on #44!...
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