For what is the better part of two decades, rain or shine, darkness or light, my morning routine has often consisted of a few basic steps. It starts with checking the weather, tailoring my clothing depending on the conditions outside, and gathering necessary items into my backpack.
For all this time, no matter the weather, there is one piece of clothing that remains with me as I head out the door to bike to work. It is my shoes.
Truth be told, I don’t even know when or where I purchased them. But I know one thing for sure. They were never intended to become my cycling commuting shoes. But somewhere along the way, they assumed this role and this role only.
As thousands into tens of thousands of miles accumulated on the roadways, they’ve weathered all conditions, and with the help of shoe covers purchased later, they’ve helped my feet endure the coldest of mornings, even below zero degrees Fahrenheit, and the most scalding of nighttime commutes, well above one hundred.
Over time, they started to show their wear, the once white pattern morphing into a discolored grey with the canvas fraying and scuff marks all over. The rubber soles on the bottom began to fall away, with duct tape needed to keep the soles from departing altogether. At one point, a friend spotted me in the locker room, surprised by the duct tape. I guess I should have been embarrassed. But I just mumbled an acknowledgement of the obvious, and went on my way.
At any point, I could have gotten new shoes as there was no shortage of encouragement (or admonition) coming from home. But in each consideration, I found myself reluctant to toss them out. The fit was great, comfort remained, and despite their ungainly appearance, they functioned just fine.
As the shoes were entering the twilight of their life, I realized that there was something else keeping me from making a switch. In this throwaway, dispensable culture, where the solution so often seems to just buy anew, I was finding great joy and meaning in using this particular gift to its fullest potential. Beyond just being a good steward of resources, I daresay a sacredness almost emerged. No, I’m not worshipping my shoes. I’m just deeply satisfied that when the time comes to throw them away, they’ve been worn well…and well worn.
