A Letter of Gratitude

Dear Mr. Salesman,

I don’t remember your name, and honestly, I wouldn’t recognize you if you stood right in front of me. 

Chances are that you wouldn’t recognize me either. We spent but an hour together—an hour that I had for my lunch break just over three years ago. Odds are also pretty good that neither of us had any idea of what that hour would evolve into… at least I didn’t. I wonder if maybe you had some idea.

With my old running shoes in hand, I felt like pretty hot stuff. I was running up to three miles at a time, and my shoes were completely trashed. In hindsight, I realize you were very kind not to have laughed at me… I might have laughed at me. In my hand were shoes purchased at a department store picked solely for their color scheme rather than for how they fit. The sole of one of them had a large crack in it, which I took as a sign that I was a serious runner. Now I know that it simply appeared I had no clue how often a “runner” needs to replace her shoes. 

Regardless of my apparently cluelessness, you spent the entire hour completely focused on my needs and hopes for my shoes. Plenty of other customers filtered into the store, but your attention remained undivided. Shoe after shoe after shoe went on my feet, while my indecisiveness rang loudly through my desire to find a shoe that was both comfortable AND pretty (a very important combination). Different sizes, different brands, different widths—an entire array of choices checked off until we fell upon the perfect shoe. In my short little jaunt around the store, I felt minutes shed from my pace. THIS was the perfect shoe.

As we ended our time together, I left with your words echoing in my ear. “You’ll want to break those in first—don’t go on any 20 mile runs in them over the next couple of days.” I laughed heartily at the thought of doing a 20 mile run ever, but the feeling stuck with me. In spite of my apparent inexperience, you treated me like I was a genuine runner. You acted like I had every reason to be in that store. It would have been understandably easy to go through the motions as quickly as possible to get me into some shoes and out the door so you could tend to a real athlete. But instead, your demeanor seemed as if I was the only reason you had to be at work that day.

Since that day, I’ve run in many 5ks, a 12k, and a couple of half marathons. I’ve done a couple triathlons, and run countless miles training for the next race—currently, a full marathon. In that time, I have also gotten my Master’s degree and had two children. In looking back at this section of my life, I think about all the hard things I’ve done, and when my hardest times have been. The hardest experiences when I felt I genuinely could not cope, could not take another single bad thing happening, were when I was unable to run because of the point of my pregnancy I was in. 

So you could have acted like I had no business being in that store. You could have scoffed or pulled a face when I pulled out my old pair of running shoes. When you treated me like a runner, though, instead of someone that simply runs, you did more than give me a good fit for a pair of running shoes. You helped give me the strength do endure the hard stuff that was preparing to come my way.

So thank you, Mr. Salesman. I honestly don’t think I’d be here if it weren’t for you.

Sincerely,

A Mommy Running