You know what’s Crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
My old high top sneakers.
Quite simply, they are a disaster.
I’ve had them so long, worn them so many times, they look like candidates for the wounded warrior project.
The white leather is crumbling. The blue stripe on the side is so worn down, the silver primer is showing through.
They still resemble shoes, but barely. If they were children, they would be wards of the state.
If my high tops were a sewer main, there would be a MEN AT WORK sign posted around them.
Years ago I purchased these high tops at Sport Academy.
They are FILA’s. They aren’t a brand near and dear to my heart, they were simply on sale.
They were in the basketball aisle near the $150 King James and next to the $200 dollar Air Jordan throw backs.
These Filas were the poor step child of high tops. They were the dirty puppy with the shaggy fur sitting on a hook that read $29.99.
I looked at the Filas and I looked at the Air Jordans, and couldn’t really see why I would want to pay $170 more for a leather high top that essentially did nothing more for my foot than keep glass and nails from entering my skin when I worked out.
Yes I am working out a garbage dump, aren’t you?
I’m not a pro athlete I thought to myself as I pulled them off the wall.
I just need a pair of shoes to wear on the elliptical.
I’m not taking off from the free throw line and gliding through the air, frozen in time in a posterization of athletic greatness.
Nope, I just need some leather around my dogs, some rubber under my toes, a shoe lace to hold it all together.
“I’ll take em” I proclaim proudly to the sales clerk.
That was 3 years ago.
I haven’t bought a new pair of sneakers since.
That’s bang for your buck.
30 dollars divided by almost 1,000 days of usage.
That works out to 3 cents per day.
That’s a good deal when it comes to foot wear.
But today I’m a little concerned. I’m looking at my FILAS and I’m thinking; what the hell happened.
I wonder if I should lace them up one more time, or simply call 911 and report a death in the family.
“Yes officer, I went to wake them up and they weren’t breathing. I think they passed in their sleep.”
They are so worn down, I’m surprised they actually still look like shoes.
They look more like mounds of mutated wet leather.
The stitching is coming free. The rubber is tearing away from the sole. The color, once vibrant and bold is now faded, a color Crayola could only describe as Old Guy Decrepit
If my high tops were a car they would be sold for scrap.
The sole has no tread. It’s a banana peel of rubber with a hole working its way through the bottom. They are a slip and fall waiting to happen.
“Anyone know a good lawyer?”
The bottom of my shoe looks like a crater on the moon.
Why do I still wear these I think to myself?
Because for 3 pennies a day, they still contain my sweat, hold in my socks, and support my arches long enough to get my heart pumping.
Part of the reason I don’t buy a new pair is I’m lazy. Part of the reason is I’ve got so many other bills to pay.
I can use that $30 for something else, like beer, or life insurance or some beef jerky.
It’s just a pair of shoes for criminy sakes.
So I will strap the old FILAs on one more time.
I will wear them and not think twice about them.
They will cling to the pedals faithfully, they will contain my sweat adequately, they will allow me to walk from the parking lot without glass cutting me or tarantulas biting me.
I will throw them in the closet when I’m done and I will turn out the light.
There is no shrine to Michael Jordan here.
The King has no fans in this closet.
Long live FILA, the $30 dollar shoe.
Long after the atomic blast, there will be nothing left but cockroaches and a pair of faded high tops with the stitching coming loose.
Life’s Crazy™