Dress for Success: If the Shoe Fits

 

Coolest shoes ever right? They look cool, but they'd be hell to run it.

Take it from somebody who knows, exercise wear starts with your feet. I've made ever mistake you can think of when it comes to shoes. I've bought clearance shoes that didn't really fit, but they were cheap. I've bought the cutest shoes that didn't have the right motion control. I've worn my shape-ups to run - never, ever, ever do this one!! 

Do yourself and your feet a favor. Go to a real running shoe store, not walmart, and get fitted for shoes. Here's an excerpt about my first running shoes from my book Finished Being Fat: An accidental adventure in losing weight and learning to finish coming to a bookshelf near you in January 2013.

            According to all the experts, when you started running, the first thing you had to do was buy a good pair of running shoes.  That couldn’t be too hard right? Go to the store get a cute size seven that’s cheap and be done with it.  When I got the running store I found out how wrong I was. First question the clerk asked me was if I was an under or over pronater? I didn’t think that was any of his business. Then he guided me to the never ending wall of shoes. Apparently there was more to picking a shoe than just color choices. Each pair of shoes had a different purpose - ones for stability, motion control, extra cushion, racing flats, those barefoot thingies that look like socks.  He explained the grave consequences of choosing the wrong shoe; arch problems, IT band problems, planter fasciitis, losing toenails, knee replacements. 

            It should be noted that I have a giant phobia of being wrong. It colors everything I do.  I have trouble picking the restaurant because I’m afraid I’ll pick the wrong one and no one else will like it, or someone will get food poisoning and then it will be my fault because I picked the restaurant. I had been ok with choosing my own shoes when I only had to worry about matching my new running outfit. Now this guy was telling me that my choice had bigger consequences than just a fashion faux pas. That freaked me out! What if I made the wrong choice and crippled myself?

             So as usual, I didn’t make a choice at all. I walked out of the store and started to run in my well loved, worn out hiking shoes. Turns out not making a decision was probably the worse decision I could make. Within a week my left knee hurt if I even thought about running. I had blisters on my heels, between my toes, and I think a blister might have started forming under my toenail if that was possible. Who knew hiking shoes did not make good running shoes?  Aside from you and probably ninety percent of the population, my husband did. That’s why the next Saturday Jarom packed kids in the car and marched me back into the running center.

            Of course the same clerk was there with a huge “I knew you’d be back” grin on his face. If he said I told you so, he could kiss his commission goodbye. Since I still had no idea what kind of shoe I needed, he had me try on a variety in the size sevens I requested.  When I didn’t like the feel of any of those, he wisely decided to measure my feet and then disappeared in the back room.  My best friend Misty had been preaching the religion of shoe shopping for years, but personally I thought this was more like purgatory than heaven. I looked over at Jarom, who was too busy taking a sports bra off my daughter Lily’s head to be of any help. 

            The clerk returned with a box that said Saucony.  Since I have really bad eyesight, I read it as Saucy, so when he opened the box I expected the shoes inside to reflect that and be cute and “saucy” -  maybe even pink. Boy was I wrong. They were ugly white sneakers with a blue slash on the side. But that was not the most offensive thing, the biggest problem was that the tag said size eight wide. Excuse me? Maybe I was being overly sensitive, but I was a little upset that this clerk thought that I had fat feet. When I pointed out that he had obviously grabbed the wrong size, he said nothing and laced them onto my feet.

            And so on my twelfth pair of shoes I had a Cinderella moment. The skies opened up, angels sang a heavenly chorus, and I knew these ugly, expensive, most comfortable shoes on the planet would take me where I needed to go. I was in love.

             I left that store two hundred dollars poor, but gained new insight. How many great things had I missed out on in life because I had been afraid of picking the wrong one? Never again would I let the fear of being wrong keep me from something I enjoyed. From then on when it was my turn to choose a place to eat, I was not going to defer to someone else and eat lukewarm Mexican. No, if I wanted sushi, then by golly we would have sushi and I would love it.