Part II: The Shoes That Were Destined To Fit

The spiraling staircase could have been likened to the soul-wrenching path down to the mines of Moria. With each new step all thoughts of the world above (and with that, happiness) faded, and the stale, dank air of the deep enveloped us. Without the flame to provide warmth and a semblance of bearing, we would surely have gone insane.

"We have arrived" uttered Havey.
"How can you tell? I can't see anything" I asked. He must have made the trip so many times, his feet knew the way.
"Oh right," The shoe-shaman said, "Here we go." He switched on the lights to his left, and the great cavern lit up with an fluorescent buzz. "Sorry, the lights are out in the stairwell."

He led me in silence through the rows of footwear that seemed to stretch for miles into the vanishing point. We walked by marvels of technology and science that boggled my mind. There was some sort of dry-ice fog coming out of the walls in all directions.

"What about this one?" I asked, as we passed a particularly comfortable looking shoe. As I was about to touch it, the shoe, as if magnetically charged, skidded away from my hand. I again tried to grasp it, only to see it skid off the counter onto the floor. The oracle threw his cloak over the shoe quickly and wrestled it back onto the shelf.

"Do NOT... touch anything" he said, as the skidding sneaker finally seemed to stay in one spot. "Those shoes will bring you nothing but trouble. Only one man has run in those."
"Who?" I asked, "Was it Steve Prefontaine?"
"Huh? No. He used Nikes." the oracle said. "This guy Bob Turner, lives in Maple Grove. Ah, here we are!"

We stopped our trek in front of some non-descript boxes. He paused in deep thought. "What are you, like an eleven, eleven and a half?"
"Yeah."
"Ok," he said, grabbing a box from the bottom."We are done here."
"Should I at least try them on?" To that comment, I received a look that still haunts my dreams. A look that told me nobody questions the oracle.... right or wrong... he is always right.

We took the elevator back upstairs, because the torch ran out, and he was pretty sure the door locked behind us. "Plus" he said, "the eye-patch really messes with my depth perception".

As I paid for the new shoes with my debit card upstairs I couldn't help but feel in safe hands knowing that my shoes, no matter what size they ended up being, would be the best pair of shoes I have ever run in. Because whether the oracle is right or wrong... he is always right.

Shoe-Shopping Part I

With my knees starting to ache and my soles wearing thin, I knew that the time for new footwear was long past due. Being able to trim my toenails without taking my shoes off was the final indicator of this.So I decided to consult Oracle Havey.

Oracle Havey is the town's mystic shaman of shoe-smithing, and while few can understand his methods and sheer genius, everyone knows that when you need new shoes... you consult the Oracle.

So with a healthy dose of trepidation (and intimidation), I knocked on the 14 foot Oak Doors, adorned with ornate carvings of famous runners, walkers, joggers, and saunterers alike. As I was studying the carvings, the door slowly opened with an ominous groan, and lightning crashed in the sky behind me. Crap, I forgot to roll my windows up. The Oracle stood there in front of me, skin weathered by winds of the road, and shoulders heavy with the knowledge of studying so many training logs. 'Come in' he uttered, and lead me to a seat. As I sat down I noticed that he was wearing an eye patch made of what looked to be the bib of a marathon past. "Grrr." He growled "So you've come for advice."

"I have," I said "and I have brought my old shoes as a sacrifice to you and your Gods." I presented the Oracle with my old tattered running shoes trying to to engage in direct eye contact. It was hard to tell beneath his grizzled and forlorn appearance, but I think I saw him flinch at the sight of the wretched foot accessories. But it may have been illusion on my part, my vanity playing tricks on me (who am I to think anything could surprise the great and powerful Oracle?). He studied them for a few moments, pausing at parts and mumbling to himself in agreement. And then, with a flick of his wrist, cast them into the large fireplace to my right. The flames, which were tepid and small before, erupted into a burst of blue and then orange, sizzling and popping like an alka-seltzer on steroids. The expression on Havey's face grew grim. After a moment of ponderous silence, he spoke.

"This is worse than I thought." He said, "I haven't seen that color from the Great Flame in nearly ten years." I didn't like the sound of that. "But", he added emphatically, "if anyone can help you. I can." It was obvious that whatever the Oracle saw in those flames had rattled him. "Follow me," he instructed.

He lead me to the back of the room where a dark and winding stone staircase plummeted into what appeared to be the bowels of the earth itself. "We are going down into the darkness" - he said, "stay close to me, and under no circumstance, pay any attention to what you see!" I wasn't really sure what that last comment meant, but I agreed to stay close. "Oh, and watch your head, it's a low ceiling." he added.

So with a gasoline-soaked torch he started the decent cautiously into the dank and cold stairwell. I wondered what awaited us in the depths of the shoe store, and what the Oracle's cryptic warning could have meant. But that fear was soon replaced by pain and regret as my head slammed into low-hanging stone ceiling.

To Be Continued...