The Death of a Friend

This is my first post, laden with an equalized mixture of sorrow and joy.

My trusty Nikes, the exact model number I cannot remember, have run their last run. The retirement of my dear friends is nigh, and with it comes a certain kind of sadness. I've had the shoes since the fall of 2005, my senior year of cross-country, and they have served me faithfully in the three years since then.

Wait a minute -- three years? How many miles have I put on these loyal digs?

I actually figured out the mileage in my head while using them in their final run today: in the 2005-2006 season, I ran approximately 510 miles between three sports. Over the summer, they saw probably another 90 miles, and in 2006-2007 they put on another 300 (we're up to 900 total, for those who don't add well). That summer added another 100, and this previous year put on maybe 300 again (1300 miles!). Since the summer of 08 till this day, they're accumulated around 100 miles -- and I'd dare say they're past their prime.

So, Nike, my friend, my companion on all those long, lonely runs, I must salute you and thank you gratefully -- you've supported me, called for me to run, and been there even when others faltered. You smell like a cup of rancid milk, you're covered in paint, the treads from my mildly overpronating stride have been worn smoother than the stones in a river, but I love you nonetheless.

The joy?

I get to reward my efforts these past weeks with new shoes.