Caren Ware's Blog

September 10, 2011

Laces in life

Filed under: Uncategorized — Caren Ware @ 12:23 am

As I fought the Friday traffic home my mind wandered. St John Vicinity’s did they say? I grew up in Hacienda Heights with that church filling the entire block directly across from the football stadium of our High School.  The church didn’t complain of the huge High School audience.  Instead they helped us.  They threw great dances that we could count on wouldn’t end up with drunkenness and drugs.  And their priests attended all our stadium functions and walked our High school halls. They were just a part of my growing up.

I wasn’t your typical thrilled to go dancing teen.  I was the quiet gal with long legs that liked to run.  But I did give dancing a try at St. John’s.  It was a disaster.  I can recall finally getting the guts up to ask this other equally shy, but gorgeously handsome football player to dance. We spent the entire time looking at our toes.  To my horror my shoe was untied. I didn’t know what to do? How embarrassing.  Here was my chance to DANCE with a guy it took me months to even have the nerve to walk up to and my shoe was untied. I shuffled and tried to hide the flapping strings.  But my awkward attention to it made my awkward dancing even more awkward and he awkwardly said, with his forever eyes glued to the ground,” Your shoe is untied.”  And I said.”Oh.”  Oh? That was all I could come up with. Yes.  And they called those the good ole days.

Now, let’s take a stock of how many shoe laces I have had to tie since….especially as a runner.  They come untied…a lot.  And I think nothing of it. I do try and double knot them before a race. But in all the ‘unties’  I cannot recall why a lace out of place would have to be carried in my ‘embarrassing moments’ historical archive. It’s such a natural act to reach down and lace it back up.  It is if you are over sixteen.

I can recall one shoe I should have thought before retying.  I was in the first half of the Paris Marathon.  I was in my thirties by now and no longer lingering on that shoes coming untied were embarrassing. The narrow, cobbled streets of Paris, France were forcing the 30,000 of us to run in mass.  Our elbows were bumping.  It was hard to see the sights save thousands of bobbing heads prancing down the roadway. We would bottleneck and have to run in place at the turn abouts and city fountains.  But it was Paris.  And it was a marathon.  And I was so into the moment of it that I never THOUGHT what the repercussions were going to be when I leaned down, put my knee of the ground and started to tie that dang dangling shoe lace. BOOM. I was knocked down. And feet started slamming into me.  I heard. “Oh, Sorry.” “Hey, what’s that I stepped on”, and “ahhh. What are you doing down there?”. I was literally being trampled.  Every time I tried to stand up, I got knocked down by someone that did not expect a body to be in the next
step of their marathon stride.  I had to crawl in a savior type of way to the curb before I could erect and jump back into the prancing pack as a regular prancer.  Did that really just happen?  I ran on shaking my head and wondering why I seemed like the only one that ever had my shoes untie.

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