STRANGER THAN FICTION: RUNNING DOWN THE PATH TO GREAT ATHLETIC SHOES

You ever seen a cute shoe in a size 11? It just loses something in the translation.

We've settled into a little financial rut.

The Other Half and I usually get paid on the same day, twice a month. The first check goes to rent and insurance. The second check goes to car payments and assorted bills. We end up with about $10 left to blow on something wild and extravagant. Whooooeeee!

But under this system, a magical, calendar-related event happens twice a year. There are months when we pay the rent, insurance, etc., etc., and end up with what we like to call a FREE CHECK. This is a check that isn't committed to anything except catching up on the bills not covered on the other two checks. ("No, really! We mailed it two weeks ago. You haven't received it? That darn U.S. Postal Service!")

There's usually a little something left over. Recently, we figured it was high time we treat ourselves to new pairs of athletic shoes.

This may sound snobby, but I refuse to buy anything but name-brand athletic shoes. I remember well the days of my youth when Mom and Dad had five mouths to feed and 10 feet to shoe. Mom bought us gym shoes from major discount department stores. She always picked a brand known as "Buddy-L."

Wearing Buddy-L sneakers assured students at Sikeston Junior High School that they would become instant outcasts. The name Buddy-L actually became an adjective to describe anything cheap and shameful. For example, kids would say, "What are you doing wearing that Buddy-L jacket?" or "Man, I hate bologna sandwiches. They're soooo Buddy-L."

Sure, Buddy-Ls were made to look like the major brands, but they couldn't fool wily 14-year-olds. And when they found out you were wearing cheap shoes, they were merciless. As if being more than 6 feet tall and overweight wasn't shame enough.

Maybe it's only my warped childhood talking, but expensive athletic shoes just feel better. You slide your feet in and walk around -- feels like walking on air. The white leather shines brightly, bringing attention to your dingy socks.

The cushioning in my old athletic shoes was shot. Maybe that's because they had a 200-plus pound woman jumping on them for three years. Who knows?

We went to Cape Girardeau's newest shoe source to look around -- the Foot Circus or something like that. Mr. Half walked in, tried on one pair of shoes, loved them immediately, spun the "Wheel O' Discounts" to get $6 off and was out within 10 minutes.

My experience wasn't quite so pleasant. I've been cursed to wearing size 11 shoes. Just for kicks, try walking into an athletic shoe store and ask for a size 11 women's shoe. The salespeople just stare at you with open mouths, little trickles of drool streaming down from the corners.

One store had a size 11 in running shoes but nothing else.

"Could I just get those?" I asked.

"That depends on what you'll be doing," the saleslady replied.

"Stairmaster and treadmill," I said.

She launched into a long explanation about how running shoes are cushioned in the heel, aerobics shoes are cushioned in the toe, cross-trainers are cushioned everywhere and how I'd be absolutely nuts to get anything but a cross-trainer.

Four stores later, I found a pair in my size. For some reason, my shoes looked so much cuter in the size 6 that was on display.

"You didn't think they'd put a whopping size 11 out for display, did you?" Mr. Half asked. "They'd never sell any!"

Glad he straightened that out for me.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.