Bloody feet, chaffed, torn nipples, 4-6 hours of constant abuse and pounding on your knees, that light-headed feeling you only get after too much exercise (or showing up hung over to an omelet-heavy brunch buffet), yes, these are all the glorious side effects of waking up early on a Massachusetts-only Monday holiday to run 26-point-whatever miles in the name of tradition.
I'm not saying that running the Boston Marathon isn't impressive- just unnecessary. It has always been my belief that running should only be done if there is a purpose behind it, like you are being chased by the police, playing a sport or trying to out run an explosion. Running under any other circumstance is a form of personal torture, masochism even.
I have always had a disdain for running, if even just for exercise, mostly because I was the kid who could never keep up. I weighed like 120 pounds until I was 22, but somehow I still wasn't fast. I was always winded and light headed after about 10 minutes (which somehow always prompted my high school basketball coach to make me run more), and just a few minutes on a treadmill leaves my legs stiff, my knees in blistering pain and my head woozy. Notice, though, how I did not say anything about my feet hurting.
That is because I spent a solid three years of my mid-20's as a running shoe-hawking salesman at a small community-owned shoe store. Since it is still in business and not an evil corporate chain, I'll go ahead and leave the name out, even though most of you already know where it is. I strongly believe taking care of your feet is one of the most important things you can do for your body. I hate them and I think they are disgusting (seriously, is there anything more unsettling than bare feet?) but if your feet hurt the rest of your body- your back, neck, shoulders- will all hurt. It is absolutely essential that people wear sensible shoes when walking, working on their feet and exercising. Essential.
Still, why would someone like me- who hates running more than just about any activity short of the dentist, and who has a crippling, irrational fear of the human foot- take a job selling running shoes? Because I am an idiot, that's why. From the ages of 13-19 I worked exclusively in the service industry until some connections got me a sweet job with the city cutting grass, cleaning apartments and doing maintenance in the projects. It wasn't glory and I wasn't rich, but for a teenage kid I was pretty well off. Then I went to college and ruined everything.
Broke and miserable, like every college student, I set out to find a job to support my beer, pizza and irrational sports-related clothing habits. Like a moron I said to myself "no more restaurants, I've done it my whole life and I hate dealing with the people"- potentially the dumbest choice a 21-year-old kid with no money and a desire to drink and hang out with girls could have made. Ever. So, instead of making $28/ hr waiting tables somewhere three days a week I decided to settle on a $8/ hour job selling running shoes with high school kids. Why? Because I was out by 9 p.m. and the job involved little to no effort.
Were there good parts to the job? Of course. I worked with a bunch of my friends and quickly moved up the ladder to a position of relative power, complete with a raise to $9/ hour. There were enough ignorant high school kids working under me that most of my day was spent making them help customers while I got stoned behind the dumpster, stacked and organized shoe boxes and set up new wall displays. My productivity on those days was at an all time high. I was, without question, an organizational mastermind.
The problem with the job was (SURPRISE!) the customers. All of the things I hated about the service industry, like being treated and spoken to as if I were an illegal house cleaner, dealing with moronic questions and complaints and bartering over the prices of things set by someone much higher up than me, were actually magnified as a shoe salesman- and there were no tips to make it worthwhile, either.
Unlike a large chain like Olympia Sports or Foot Locker, we only had two locations and specialized in high-end running equipment, meaning that the majority of our clientele were snooty, yuppie rich people who thought they knew everything about running an running shoes. If you haven't noticed by now, rich people and know-it-all's are like oil to my water. As a result I was involved in many customer confrontations, most of which were a result of me overreacting, but with reason. I knew my shit about those shoes and even though I wasn't dumb enough to go train for a marathon, I could tell you exactly what kind of sneaker you needed so that you could do your thing without hurting your feet. Furthermore, the prices of the sneakers were printed on the box- set by the manufacturer, and we offered a 15 percent discount to just about anyone who was a member of a gym or the local Jewish Community Center (later, we would secretly revise that list to include an unspoken 'hot chick' discount as well.), yet I was still forced to hear people bitch about having to buy $115 shoes, even as they paid with American Express Black cards and remotely started their Lexus' from the store.
It is remarkable that I was never fired from this job, but what is more remarkable is that having no money, dealing with snobs and looking at feet all day was not enough to make me quit. I will say that in three years at that job I never once actually touched a foot. I laced them up (I'll win any sneaker-lacing race you want to organize, thank you very much) and handed them to the customer. Once in a while I'd put the shoe on the floor for them to step in to. That's it. Nine bucks is not even close to enough to get me to cross that line.
So, why did I tell you this story? Because it is school vacation week and Monica is home, which means the baby has no desire to hang out with me. Just remember to take care of your feet, people, especially if you are going to torture yourself by running 26 miles .
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