"Does he have a motorcycle?
If you're going to throw your life away,
he better have a motorcycle."
-- the prophet lorelai gilmore
--
 

I have a moral dilemma. I found the perfect shoes.

They're incredibly comfortable, impossibly lightweight, and come in an array of weird designs and colors. They're dirt cheap ($55 -- are you serious?) and they automatically mail them to me every three months in a nondescript bag as to not alarm the neighbors. The "company" is just a few goofballs in an empty warehouse in Austin, making the shoes they always wanted, and they're sharing their leftovers.

I Will Never Have To Think About Buying Shoes Again.

This makes me sad.

I've been buying running shoes since that Bowerman guy started making them in his garage. I owned the prototype Nike Pancake Racers before he swiped his wife's waffle iron. I have gone through the spectrum of innovations, from Vibram to Hoka. I was a big fan of Old Balance shoes before they started the New ones. The search for the Perfect Shoe has spanned decades. And now it's over.

Now what?

Uncertainty might be the Secret to Running. Can I cover this distance? Can I survive this pace? Am I lost? Is there any chance of making it to the restroom at the bird park without a Code Abby?

And the eternal question: Could THIS be the perfect shoe?

Our friend is in rehab after what may or may not have been a stroke. She may be totally faking it so I am forced to fetch her things.

But peering at her through a window in the COVID era, it makes me realize the Joy of Uncertainty.

You go along at the same pace, a comfortable routine. Mile after mile, autopilot on, not paying attention.

When everything gets upended, you appreciate the highs and the lows. The desperation when you see her there frail and comatose. The euphoria when she's sitting up, glaring at you because you forgot her Sunday paper. And the happiness of remembering not to take things for granted, even for a day.

The uncertainty of living. If you're going to throw your life away, you better have a motorcycle. Or a carbon plate.

New shoes are like Christmas morning for a 4-year-old. When you try on a shoe for the first time, you don't know. Will it be too tight? Is there a seam that rubs? How's the tongue? How's the cushioning? And then that first run. Are you feeling your big toe? Do they disappear as the miles go by? Why didn't Rory end up with Jess? There's something about that first run in shoes you've never worn before. It's like a first date. The joy of uncertainty.

I've been thinking about that as I pull on these shoes each day.

They're just right.

And maybe that's just wrong.

I miss those Pancake Racers.