I’m not a runner. I don’t know much about running, its science, culture or history.
But I do know on a rainy evening in the middle of winter, when the Lapierre is collecting dust bunnies, a half hour jog up and down the Quay does get the endorphins percolating.
And I’ve learned wet running shoes that don’t get dry any more smell bad.
Between soggy jogs and rainy road hockey, my runners have spent more time wet than dry recently. Wads of newspaper and shoe dryers did the trick for a while. But after yet another showery Sunday road hockey game, no amount of absorbent or time in front of the fireplace was getting my runners dry. And the stench they emitted couldn’t be denied. So after a somewhat squishy run on Monday night, my runners were banished to the balcony pending a late-night run to the garbage dumpster.
Time for new runners.