Bionic Nursing Shoes

My Mom was a nurse. When she bought new white sneakers for me, I would don them, then go to the top of Hagen Road, sit on my baby blue bike with the STP sticker on the banana seat and ride the mile downhill scraping the tops and sides of my shoes along the street the whole way. Because.

My Grandmother was also a nurse. One day after work when she returned to their Peter Cooper Village apartment and was serving my Grandfather his before dinner wine and snack, she mentioned that Mickey Mantle had been in the office that day and people seemed pretty impressed and had he heard of him? Grandpa dropped the cheese right off his cracker.

When my husband came home from the Joggn Shoppe with my new Hoka Clifton's yesterday, I almost dropped the cheese off my cracker. But ever since Laura M named them "bionic nursing shoes" I love them more than any other shoe I have ever worn in my entire life.

I will need these dreamy cushion of clouds after my fifty miler this weekend. These creamy, angel food cake, eagle feather, thick foot gloves of love. These bionic nursing shoes.

Will I finish the fifty miler? Hope so. Will I contract coronavirus before, during or after? Hope not. Will my husband be crewing me starting with getting to the chilly Rodeo Beach at 5:45 AM? Yes he will. Will he have these shoes in a bag for me just in case I need them? Damn straight.

I have become a bit thick myself in the last month, not really part of my training plan, but a side effect of my beloved husband-crew's cooking and baking skills. When my eldest saw these new shoes, she said "thiccccccc". So clearly we were meant to be together, these shoes and I.

Speaking of shoes, did you know we put people in them? They call them Solitary Holding Units, or SHUs. When one of your children is placed there what can you do besides run 20 miles in the forest or sit upon your couch eating pastry? You could curl up in the fetal position in bed, which I have tried, but when you are on call almost 24/7 it is hard to accomplish for very long.

Speaking of pastry, "choux pastry" is now a normal, conversational term in our house. So there.

When my friend crashed her bike last month the whole world shifted. And yet it did not. She is the best all-around athlete I have ever known. She continues to be so in her recovery, probably now doing the hardest workouts of her life. She does not need bionic shoes. She carries in her heart and sinew and brain all that matters in life. In her recovery I have watched her tending to healing everyone around her.

Healing everyone around her.

And now with 3 1/2 more days between me and longer than I have ever run in my life, I feel not the least interested in the outcome. A strange feeling before a race. I am wondering some things, like when will the nausea and gut cramps set in, will I fall, will I see a whale as I gaze out on the Pacific Ocean from the headlands of Marin, simply one of the most beautiful places in the world? Will my Speedgoats grip the rocks and mud? Will my husband talk me off the ledge when I think I need to quit? Will I listen to music or just the sound of my feet, the wind in the redwoods and the crash of surf? Will I get a work-related phone call at mile 27? And 38?

So many unknowns.

I expect my choux pastry stores (thighs, abdomen, chin and God knows where else) will fuel me well. I expect my incredible fortune to be able to do this race will humble me every step of the way.
I expect to leap over walls in my bionic nursing shoes.

Hopefully I won't get disqualified from this race for the unfair advantage of carrying in my heart the amazing, freakish combination of Jamie Sommers, thicccc booty and the strongest, least complaining people I know: nurses. And my imaginary Laura.