I discovered the theft on December 30. First, I looked frantically for my stolen pair in all the places that I may have left them (I still couldn't come to terms with the fact that someone had stolen my lifeline). Once I was convinced that there had indeed been a thief on the prowl, I sat silently and mourned for my departed pal. The bigger issue was that starting my walking regimen from the first day of the New Year was my topmost resolution and it was broken even before I attempted to honour it. People walk—in chappals, sandals, stilettos, wedges and all types of footwear. They are the brave ones. I need my shoes. For spinal and moral support. I was mortified that I wouldn't find the time to buy a new pair before January 2012 arrived. My worst fears were confirmed, when I reached home from work, way past 9.30 pm. on the 31st. Woe was me! But, I was determined that I would be out at the crack of dawn, 5.30 am to be precise, and walk, come what may. I examined the four pairs of footwear I own. Though they are sensible, functional pairs, they didn't look like they'd last the assault on their being of a 50-minute brisk, purposeful walk. I needed a pair of walking shoes urgently.
As I racked my brain to think of a source, I saw my daughter's er... soiled pair sitting desolately on the shoe shelf. It had obviously not seen the outdoors for a long time. That we wear the same shoe size was a blessing. Never have I exulted at the sight of a pair of shoes, not even at annual sales that sell the best of designer brands for half the price, as I did then.
They are a snug fit. I haven't walked in them yet, but something tells me that they will share my new journey towards fitness. Also, I'm taking no chances with them. They are hidden away in a dark corner of the lowest shelf in the shoe cabinet. Away from prying eyes. I'm sure nobody will make the effort to bend down to fish them out. For now, I'm set. With Bandaid, a soft pair of socks and some grit. I love the lightness of being coming my way.