an ode to shoes

No, not that kind of shoe.  I don't think I'll ever be particularly moved about parting with a pair of heels...in fact, I unceremoniously dumped two pairs in the trash at work last week.  They were old, and the heels were threatening to give out and dump me face-first on D.C.'s lovely brick sidewalks (which are enough to chew up any pair of heels).  Anyway, no tears shed.  But when it comes to getting rid of these buddies, I'm being ridiculously sentimental:

They're old.  They're a bit misshapen.  My mom (and all employees of running stores) are probably wondering what damage I've done to my feet/knees by wearing them for this long.  But Gwen and I picked them out together my senior (junior? hopefully senior) year, like we always did.  They got me to 6:00 a.m. workouts.  They've run up and down bleachers, and jumped, jumped, jumped.  They got me to practice every day, Conference meets, and Nationals.  They helped me warm up when I became an All-American.  They got me to class when I overslept (again) and needed to run up the hill to campus.  They've screeched and slid around tennis courts.  They went on walks around the new, big city.  They went on runs when I got more settled and started to feel like it was mine.  And they're still a little orange from hiking the red cliffs of Kauai on our honeymoon.  Of course I love these shoes.

But it's time to break these new ones in:

It helps that they're freaking sweet.  I think I got this.