For some there comes a day when the reflection staring back from the mirror is someone unrecognizably wide, or looking much older than yesterday.  Perhaps it stems from difficulty bending over to tie one’s shoes or ascending a flight of stairs.  Eventually denial becomes pointless, its tired protestations mere verbiage, the excuses no longer valid.  You have to do something about this sluggish overweight alien who has inhabited your body. 

You’ve seen runners prancing through the neighborhood and along city streets and greenways but never aspired to join their ranks, those lean and carefree sprites in their regalia of bright colors and sporty shoes.  You never believed it possible that you could become one of them, you with your busy schedule, your achy knees and your ability to pinch way more than an inch around your growing midline.

And yet one day you find yourself stopping at the water cooler, approached by an officemate you know to be one of “them.”  Amid an airy discussion of Saturday’s Vols game, you cleverly sneak in an offhand remark about jogging.  The next thing you know, you’ve been invited to join your co-worker for a short run.  Trying to say no is like attempting to control a kudzu infestation; he will not be denied.

To your amazement you agree and awaken the next morning with butterflies dancing in your ample gut, wondering if it’s too late to cancel.  Instead you layer a cotton T-shirt under a sweatshirt and a bright nylon windbreaker.  Four-year old crosstrainers will undoubtedly work fine, you assure yourself while driving to the park.  After all, it’s only going to be a mile or two.

Half an hour later you wonder how you could have been so foolish.  Every item of clothing was drenched within minutes of beginning.  Your feet feel like they’ve been battered with an immense sledgehammer, blisters decorating toes and arches on both sides.  Your brisk pace for the first quarter mile decayed into a discouraging limp.  Shocked at the burning in your lungs and the painful sidestich clutching at your abdomen, you found yourself staggering awkwardly for perhaps a mile, then shuffling in a defeated walk the remainder of the way.  Your buddy was chatting on and on about the weather, the trees, and something called “the runner’s high.”  When you were forced to walk, he cheerfully slowed with you, never ceasing his banal commentary.

And yet, when he challenged you to finish strong, urging you to pick up and run the final hundred yards to the edge of the lake, you found someplace deep inside you an answer.  Your feet moved almost as if of their own accord, ashamed of their sluggardly performance.  You burst into motion, knees churning, arms pumping, driving toward the finish line.  Then, not ten steps from the end of the paved pathway, something popped in your lower leg, tugging painfully, forcing you to grind to a halt.
Beaten, you want to disappear into your car and drive away, never to return.  Instead, despite the ache in your calf and the sting of the blisters adorning both feet, you find yourself chatting amiably about the run just concluded.  Your pal is most encouraging, appaluding your game effort and urging you to do it again soon.  Mixed in with his praise he injects a commentary about the changes you might make next time.  Like everything short of showing up.

That night you search the Internet for information about running and are astounded to find the wealth of information available.  There are scads of sites about training, equipment, places to run, philosophies of running.  There are message boards galore, running clubs, specialty running stores, groups dedicated to nothing else.  Apparently there is a whole world out there, you conclude, one of which you’d been totally unaware.  And, while you’re not going to become one of “them”, you assure yourself, it couldn’t hurt to at least get a better fitting pair of shoes, as your friend had suggested over and over.

There is nothing more important, so absolutely essential to running, than selecting, or better yet, allowing yourself to be guided toward purchasing a real pair of running shoes.  Footwear exists that fits your feet and your entire footstrike so perfectly that you’d swear they were made just for you.  Everything else is a mere accoutrement compared to the shoes.

Your selection will be made eminently more successful if you shop where the runners shop, at a specialty running store staffed by real runners, folks who can evaluate your feet and make skilled recommendations.  Sure, the Internet can offer a wealth of information here, too, but to the untrained eye it can become confusing and downright self-defeating to try to wade successfully through the murky waters of pronation, supination, medial posts and stroebel lasts.
Ultimately there are only two essential elements to a successful running program:  the left shoe and the right shoe.  Your body can be trained to perform miraculous feats as long as your miraculous feet are protected and assuaged by the superb footwear technology that exists today.  Thus shod, getting started will be much more pleasurable and relatively painfree.  Be patient and enjoy it. 

And maybe, just maybe, the next time you’re at the water cooler, it might be you who suggest to your buddy that you go for another run.  Before too long, you might just find out that, despite your confident protestations to the contrary, you have actually become “one of them.” 

You’ll be far better off for having done so.