Toes Over the Line

Sometimes it feels like we have been here forever, but we weren't always here.  No sir, we used to have a life.  Boy, we had some adventures back in our day, but now it seems like we've been hung up, high and dry 'til the day we die, supposing lightning doesn't cut us down before somebody else gets the chance.  Like I said though, we weren't always here.

I reckon it all began about fifteen years ago, and about one hundred times that number of miles.  Like anything else I suppose, we were assembled in a long line, with no passion or pride at all.  We were a paycheck and nothing more.  A machine did all the sewing of leather to leather, and another sealed the glue with the rubber.  You know they used to tack the soles on to shoes with nails, but the heads wore off too quickly and the sole would flap around.  That's how come they switched to glue.

Well, anyhow the factory finished with us, and we got packed into a big splintery crate, and airlifted from packing-plant to storage-facility to distribution-center and finally to a department store.  Seeing how we were the new model, we became the display copy.  Well, we must have been mighty popular, 'cuz it seems like every store sold out within the first week, and soon enough we were the only pair left.

Well, everybody wanted us, but the display model is always the odd size that nobody seems to fit into, so we sat a while, listening to the store owner tell people that more were on their way.  We nearly gave up hope, 'til in comes this poor looking kid from across town.  He figured this store didn't have anything left, but he took four buses to get here just the same, and he had a whole lot of hope in his heart.  He was about fit to give up, when he noticed the display copy, and decided to try us on for kicks.

Well, I got to tell you, those skinny, oddly-shaped feet must have been made to wear these shoes because I have never seen a better fit in my whole life.  We went together perfectly, like we were made by the same hands.  He used all the money he had been saving for close to a year, and that's how it was we came home with him that day.

Seeing the way he lived, it seems like all he had was us shoes, and a running magazine.  On his wall was a dog-eared poster of Michael Johnson, with bits of the corners ripped off from taking it off the wall and putting it back up.  Well, as soon as he got home, he couldn't think of anything else except running and breaking us in.  We slipped on with out a fuss because we knew where we were going; it was time for a test run.

And boy could this kid run.  We must've rounded nearly fifteen blocks before he was ready to turn back.  I guess we were strictly running shoes, because we got alternated with his regulars.  Everyday like clockwork though, he came home and switched us in and we went for a run.  The rain from weeks past had collected in puddles and we just loved to stomp them clean, sending a splash up onto the curb.  We got scuffed up from the uneven asphalt, but we wore these scars like gold medals.  Soon enough, we would be winning medals.

We knew this kid could run, but I guess nobody else did, 'cuz they acted all surprised when he started winning races.  First he ran for his school, and then for the state championship.  Soon enough, he decided to run a marathon.  We had never run twenty-six miles before, and it wasn't looking like we ever would.  It had been a couple of years now, and our leather was cracked along the top and ripped along the front so as to give his toes some breathing pockets.  The rubber sole had been filed and worn down so that the only tread left was on the heel.  It was beginning to look like we didn't have twenty-six miles left in us, but we were sure going to try.

Most people train a year before a marathon, but our guy had been training his whole life.  He barely let a day go by when he wasn't running for one reason or another.  He probably wanted new running shoes, but couldn't afford them, so we set forth to perform the best we could.  When the gun goes off there are so many feet going around at once that you don't even remember where your own self is.  Right off the bat, we saw some feet trailing off behind us, and others rushing on ahead of us, but the best we could do was the best we could do.

We gripped to the pavement with everything we had, and tried to grab on and push the best we could.  Even though we didn't have any traction, we didn't slip on him even once.  We could feel our sole getting hot from the non-stop, packing clap with the ground, and our cracked leather skin began to tear some more.  It was all we could do, not to fall apart right then and there.  Well, forever came, and forever went, and after it had passed we looked ahead some, and realized the finish-line was no more than half a mile away.  We still hadn't given up, and we realized something else; everybody else was behind us.

We were exhausted and falling apart, but we had no time for rest.  Another pair of feet came clipping at our heels, so we started moving and moving.  We kept up an impossible pace, and heard ripping noises all the way.  About that time ­ just as perfect a time as any ­ the rubber decided he didn't want any more, and ripped himself away, about fifty yards from the line.  The rhythm of the hard footsteps were now added to by the flip-flap of the torn sole, but that didn't stop us at all.  Those other feet were nearly stepping on us as we broke the tape and finished the race.  It turns out our boy not only finished first, but he set some kind of record too.

Well, no sooner had he won than all these folks came up to him and started giving him things.  As you might guess, the first thing they gave him was a new pair of shoes.  We could hardly catch our breath before people came, taking pictures of him and such.  They asked him a whole lot of questions, and the only thing he said was, "the first thing I'm gonna' do is take off these shoes."  He pulled his blistered toes out of our torn-up leather and smooth-bottomed rubber, and tossed us aside.  After everyone left, and the streets quieted down, we still sat there next to the curb, the marathon shoes that the world forgot.

Well we stayed there until morning, when some kids on their way to school found us.  Little fingers, sticky with peanut butter n' jelly reached down and tied the strained laces together.  Still ripe with yesterday's sweat, the kid threw us up into the air, and on the third try, we got rung around the telephone wire.

Like I said, seems like we have been forever, but we weren't always here.  One time, we were champions.

Nemo