Of Old and New

There are few things better than the sting of a brisk breeze brushed against bare forearms, or the burn of cold air circulating through tired lungs, or the dryness of sweat lodged inside facial pores, or the rhythm of feet stuffed inside soggy running shoes, covered in soot and sand, pounding against thick, cracked pavement.

I have logged hundreds of miles in my Brooks Adrenalines; they come with me everywhere. The have seen the speckled cement of West Los Angeles neighborhoods and Manchester Blvd. They have seen the dusty, pot-holed roads of La Mission, Mexico. They have seen the magnificent cliffs of Santa Cruz, the flawless sidewalks of my suburban hometown, the beaten trails of Mt. Diablo, the technical trails of Mt. Tam, the wilderness of Yosemite, the firm-sandy beaches of Northern California, the flat, rigid trails of Malibu Creek Canyon, the fog-covered hills of San Francisco. They have been where I have been, seen what I have seen, experienced what I have experienced.

In a way, my Adrenalines’ experiences have been rawer, more organic, than my own. They get to play in the dirt of the trail, pound on the coldness of the sidewalk, sink into the warmth of the sand. They get to touch, eat, breathe whatever ground I chose to run. They get to live in the grime and filth, bask in the intricacy and inimitability that is our earth. These shoes are more than a vehicle to run, they hold trials, triumphs, stories; they hold important parts of my life.

Like many of the privileged around the world, Christmas brings me a lot of new­­­­­­­­—new clothes, new books, new paraphernalia, and this year new Adrenalines. After nine months and over 400 miles, it is time to hang up the musty, brown shoes with lime green laces and break in the cushy, blue shoes with pristine, white laces. It is time to stow away stories from Stinson beach and the Dipsea trail, the Nike Women’s Marathon and the Heroes of Hope 10K and run new stories that a waiting to unfold.

As I took my brown shoes with the lime green laces out for one more run this afternoon—on a paved trail along a creek weaving through oak trees in my hometown—I thought about Christmas, and New Year’s and how many blisters I will have the next time I run in my new shoes. I became sad with the thought of wrapping up all the stories of a fantastic year and burdened with the thought of how many blisters I will make trying to break in the New Year. But, as I turned the corner and started up the steep hill to my house—forearms stinging, lungs burning, pores clogged with sweat, feet pounding the ground through my dead, old shoes—I felt good; good as in too out of breath to speak; good as in too fatigued to walk; good as in too achy to ever wear those shoes again. I plopped onto my back on the grass in our front yard, stuck my feet in the air, and stared at those soot-filled shoes with the lime green laces. They had done me well, but they were old and if I wanted to run more miles, run faster races, then I was going to need new shoes.

Now I lay, propped up, on the couch in our dimly lit living room, writing because I need to make sense out of life, out of newness.  Too many times I’ve heard people say, “out with the old and in with the new!” But I say “savor the old, discover the new.” New shoes don’t mean let’s start over, they mean job well done, let’s get better.

This past year has been a blast, but it’s brown and dirty and worn out. It has done me well, but if I want to improve—as a sister, as a daughter, as a Christian, as a girlfriend, as a friend—I need a new one. I need to tie together the lime green laces of the stories that have carried me through 2012 and untie the pristine white laces that will lead me through unearthing stories embedded in 2013.

Savor the old; discover the new.

My old Adrenalines have carried me through fun runs, training runs, and races and are the only reason I opened up a brand new pair this morning. Without their stories, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to create new stories with a new pair of shoes. Without the stories written in 2012, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to write more stories in 2013. I will always cherish, learn from, regret, and analyze the stories of 2012, but with those I will discover, write, run, uncover the awaiting stories of 2013.

Savor the old; discover the new. Not let’s start over, but good job, let’s get better. Happy story telling. Happy adventure writing. Happy life learning.

And although it’s a few days early, Happy New Year!