When you're training for an endurance event such as a marathon, or in my case, a half-marathon, the running coaches go on, and on, and on about the importance of having the right shoes, not only for training, but for the actual race.

You would think that your training shoes and your race day shoes will be the same, but according to the experts in the field, running shoes are good up to about 300-400 miles. After that, according to "them" , if you insist on continuing to wear them, you might as well tie cinder blocks to your feet and run on those, because it's going to feel just about the same at the end. The training period for the race is approximately 5 months or so, with weekly mileage averaging somewhere in the 20-30 mile range. So the coaches harp on making sure that you have both training shoes and race day shoes and are using both so that come race day there are no unfortunate surprises.

If I were a Lifetime for Women movie, my title would be "If Only She'd Listened". Which leads me to.....The Satanic Shoes.

My preferred running shoes are the Mizuno Inspire's. And they're ridiculously expensive, but I have narrow feet with high arches and these are almost the only shoes I am comfortable in and can run the mileage in injury-free. I've run two half-marathons in Mizunos without shin splints, or plantar fascitis, or any of the host of ailments that plague those who run.

For last year's half-marathon, I purchased my beloved Mizunos for training, but didn't have another $100+ at the time to drop on a pair of race shoes, so I thought "I'll get them next week". By the time the month of the race rolled around and my life was steaming ahead in its usual chaotic state, I had forgotten to pick up my race shoes.
Panicked, I went to every single sporting goods store in the Tri-City area trying to find another pair, but the Mizuno's were not to be had, not in my size anyway. So I went to the biggest sporting goods store in my area to find a suitable alternate pair. As luck (?) would have it, according to the supposed running shoe expert at the store, the Saucony Omni Grids would fill the bill, and guess what? They were hugely discounted! (now I know why).

I immediately began to rotate them into what remained of my training time, but at that point we were tapering down on the weekly mileage, so I never really put them to the test.

Race Day: Miles 1-3.....doing good, maintaining a good pace ...feeling like all is right with the world.

Mile Marker 3: something in the shoe is rubbing against the side of my big toe, and it's starting to hurt. I pull off the course, take off the shoe, but can't seem to find anything. Could it be the seam? I might be in trouble here. Floaty happy feeling begins to dissipate.

Mile Marker 5: In addition to the almost constant friction on the side of my toe, the shoes are now beginning to slip no matter how many times I retie the laces. My heels are sliding significantly inside the shoes of death.

Mile Marker 8: The unmistakeable feeling of major blisters forming is now occupying all thought. I continue stopping and retying the shoes, borrow some Glide from another runner to try and reduce the friction. I've bid farewell to setting any kind of personal record for race time. Right now, I just want to live.

Mile Marker 10: Agony. I can't tell if the blisters are popping or if my feet are bleeding, and I'm too afraid to take the devil shoes off to find out. Can't quit, I've made it this far. Trying to keep the kids I'm running for in the forefront of my mind. I can't give up on them.

Mile Marker 12: Am now swearing like a sailor and all actual "running" has ceased....it's now a forced death march of limping and shuffling. I tell my running partner that if she asks me one more time if I'm okay or if I want to stop I'm going to hit her....hard. . Toss in about a dozen "F-bombs" into that sentence. Mercifully she's still speaking to me.

Mile Marker 12.8: this is where the huge hill at the finish begins, followed by a 90 degree switchback up to the Olympic Oval. I can't speak, white-hot blinding pain has clouded my brain, and I can barely put any weight on my feet. I"m now half hopping, half limping in a sort of sidewinder crab-shuffle. "Poultry in motion" indeed. I see the finish line and in a burst of adrenaline fueled insanity, manage to sprint across it.

Post-race in my hotel room: I'm skipping the victory party, have managed to finagle an ice delivery to my room ("Yes, I know there's an ice machine at the end of the hall, but unless you want someone to see one of your guests crawling on their hands and knees to it..."). It's the moment of truth. The shoes have to come off and I'm stalling because I'm afraid of what I'll see. I take the laces completely out and get the Satanic shoes off...and then begin peeling my socks off. I studiously avoid looking at my feet and gingerly rest them on the towel-covered pile of ice. Three hours and one hands and knees crawl to the bathroom later...I finally look.
I have ostrich egg sized blisters on almost every major impact point on both feet. It's a minor miracle that I could actually drive home the following day. I had to sleep with my feet propped up on a rolled towel.

I left the Satanic Shoes of Death in the garbage can in my hotel room. Lesson learned. Hope the maid enjoys them.
This year I already have two brand new pairs of Mizunos in my closet.