Sunday, December 14, 2003
When I was a schoolboy the revolution in running shoes was just getting under way: coaches talked about the new modern materials, and they meant nylon. My first pair of real running shoes was a pair of Tiger Marathons, with the new nylon uppers and soles that were about as thick as a first class letter. These babies were as light as a feather, and that was all they were: there was no arch support, or lateral support, or cushioning-- they were intended to make you faster by not weighing you down. Back then, actually, there was a lot of talk about the cushioning properties that different tread designs offered.
It was rudimentary gear, but it was gear all the same, and we were into it. My brother, my friends and I engaged in careful study, and over the course of our careers we experimented with the technology as it developed. My favorites were probably the Lydiard Trainers I had one cross-country season. They were made from kangaroo leather as I recall (kangaroo was a trendy material for a while, touted for its lightness and flexibility), with a seamless interior that was curved to conform to the shape of your foot, particularly the heel. I had one of the first pairs of Nike Waffles, bright yellow uppers, with a green Swoosh to match the waffle soles.
This was big stuff. We seriously believed that finding the right shoe would give you the edge. When I returned to the sport years later, like Rip Van Winkle I discovered that there had been some changes. Shoes were all about fit, and compensating for the attributes of your gait which might lead to injury. And cushioning-- sweet, sweet cushioning. Shoes are more technical and complex than ever, but it has reached the point where the technology is so advanced that there is no point in researching the fine points for most of us. The right shoe is the shoe that is right, and reading the lists of features and attributes in Runner's World's buyer's guides isn't any help at all. Except-- as I sit here, looking out the window at the first meaningful snowfall of the year, there is a review of something called the Ice Bug in front of me. It's a Swedish shoe, designed for running over snow and ice. It has a lugged sole, with metal studs in it, and I'm thinking that a hundred bucks isn't so very much if it saves me a minute or two at Mr. Ed's....
It was rudimentary gear, but it was gear all the same, and we were into it. My brother, my friends and I engaged in careful study, and over the course of our careers we experimented with the technology as it developed. My favorites were probably the Lydiard Trainers I had one cross-country season. They were made from kangaroo leather as I recall (kangaroo was a trendy material for a while, touted for its lightness and flexibility), with a seamless interior that was curved to conform to the shape of your foot, particularly the heel. I had one of the first pairs of Nike Waffles, bright yellow uppers, with a green Swoosh to match the waffle soles.
This was big stuff. We seriously believed that finding the right shoe would give you the edge. When I returned to the sport years later, like Rip Van Winkle I discovered that there had been some changes. Shoes were all about fit, and compensating for the attributes of your gait which might lead to injury. And cushioning-- sweet, sweet cushioning. Shoes are more technical and complex than ever, but it has reached the point where the technology is so advanced that there is no point in researching the fine points for most of us. The right shoe is the shoe that is right, and reading the lists of features and attributes in Runner's World's buyer's guides isn't any help at all. Except-- as I sit here, looking out the window at the first meaningful snowfall of the year, there is a review of something called the Ice Bug in front of me. It's a Swedish shoe, designed for running over snow and ice. It has a lugged sole, with metal studs in it, and I'm thinking that a hundred bucks isn't so very much if it saves me a minute or two at Mr. Ed's....
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