Posts Tagged ‘Sneakers

24
Oct
08

Going the Distance (and then some)

Night Splint from Hell

A year ago I did something very stupid—I ran a half marathon. Now, before the fit and fabulous start bombarding me with hate mail please let me explain. I ran a half marathon and I didn’t train for it.

As a former cross country runner, I should have known better. I was prepared and trained for a leg of the marathon. However when I reached the end of the leg, I felt inspired to keep running. Despite a small ache, that felt like a pebble was stuck in my shoe, I found myself at mile 13 relatively quickly and absolutely exhausted.

Two days later, I was barely able to walk. The small ache now felt like a tumor the size of a baseball pushing into my heel. I was a 24 year old cripple, who prided herself on an active lifestyle. In a nutshell, I hated myself. A year later and the problem still plagues me, but I have found relief with horse-like pain killers, stretching, and rest. I also found out that I fractured my foot somewhere along the lines and could have carpal tunnel in my ankles. So much for forever young.

What really kills me (aside from the ever versatile and sexy bottie I have to wear to bed—pictured above) is the fact that I have to wear sneakers during the day. At first I was ecstatic, but quickly became saddened. How am I to partake in all the fall trends? If I can’t wear the high heeled boots, I can’t wear the new Hudson peg leg jeans or darn a Chloe purse. Okay, I can’t afford the purse, but you get the picture. I might as well die in my sweat suits.

Lucky for me, Wendy inspired me to look around for a sneaker that didn’t scream GYM this week via her web video on 10/23. These monogrammed keds are perfect for preppy Baltimore. They still won’t go with my dress for dinner tonight, but they will at least get me to work without looking like I stepped out of Nine to Five a la Dolly Parton.

16
May
08

Shoe Discrimination

You know those loungy-type bars with the $15 cosmos, the super sleek cocktail waitresses and the leather couches? Those bars where investment bankers trade stock tip? Those bars that make you feel glamorous if only for one night? Those bars that your bank account only lets you frequent on special occassions?

Well my friend L.C. decided to have her 24th birthday celebration at one of those bars. I had my outfit picked out two weeks in advance — my zebra print wrap dress with my black patent leather clutch and matching patent leather peep toe pumps. I made sure to bring my only credit card that has yet to be maxed out. It was going to be a night filled with dancing, shots of Patron Silver, flirting and posing for way too many pictures.

L.C., in all her frantic planning, forgot to mention to her boyfriend that there was a strict dress code. He looked fantastic from the ankles up in an Abercrombie long-sleeve collared shirt and dark denim jeans. His footwear would end up being the downfall of the evening – sneakers. L.C. decided if we couldn’t sneak “the guy in sneaks” past the bouncers, she could certainly play the birthday card.

One by one we paid our absurd cover charge and received approving nods from the bouncers who were apparently important enough to need head-sets).

“Everyone can go through except this guy,” a very large bouncer said, blocking L.C.’s boyfriend from the entrance to the bar. “No sneakers allowed.”

“Listen, it’s my birthday and he’s my boyfriend. It’s my fault he’s wearing sneakers. I forgot to tell him about the dress code. He drove two hours to be here. Can’t you make an exception just this one time? Pleeeease,” L.C. said, batting her eyes.

“That’s a really touching story. But he’s still not allowed in,” the bouncer said, rolling his eyes.

The entire well-dressed group of us turned right around and walked straight out of the bar, demanding our money back on our way out. We found a pub down the street that was more than happy to accommodate the birthday girl, her boyfriend with the “wrong” shoes and the rest of her entourage. That was the the last time I ever tried to go to one of those bars.

02
Apr
08

L.A. Gear…. Where’s Jermaine?

L.A. Gear Sneakers….anyone else reminiscing about their childhood?

You know, the ones with the blinking lights that were considered the coolest of cool when you were nine years old? I got such a pair of sneakers when I was in fourth grade and naturally thought I was now the coolest person on Earth. The funny thing about this particular pair of sneakers was the blinky lights.

When I purchased these sneakers (and when I say “I” I mean my mom, as most nine year-olds can’t afford expensive sneakers!) it came with a tag stating the blinky lights would only last two to three months. I was mildly saddened by this but thought “Oh well, I’m sure they’ll last longer than that!” I had no idea how true that would be! Those blinky lights lasted–I kid you not–for two years! The lights actually outlasted the sneakers!

They may still be blinking in a landfill somewhere, having outlasted Michael Jackson’s career (pictured here in an LA Gear commercial spot from the Bad era…. the song… the Bad Era for MJ publicity was…. well, it’s kind of never-ending, isn’t it?)

The sneakers developed holes and had to be thrown out, but those lights were still triumphantly blinking as I dropped them into the trash can!

Those sneakers went to England with me when I was ten.

My sister and I went there for a month with our mom to visit her friends and do some traveling.

I’m sure it was glaringly obvious we were Americans, and I’m sure my blinky L.A. Gear sneakers were a big part of that.

I remember my mom asking her English friend whether or not we were instantly recognized as Americans, and her friend immediately responding with “Yes!” My mom asked why and her friend replied, “Your shoes.” We were all wearing sneakers! My blinky L.A. Gear sneakers visited castles, cathedrals, museums, tea shops, and walked on the beach of the North Sea and on ancient Roman roads and blinked with every step!

Who would have thought those blinky lights would survive two years walking on two sides of the Atlantic?!




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