I have a secret.
Last night I was perusing the New York Times website when I came across an article about the resurgence of Crocs – yes, they’re making a comeback – and I was about to make a derisive comment…out loud…to myself…like I’m sure we all do. Then I remembered: Awww, s**t, I own a pair.
Let me tell you how that happened. Several years ago, I was in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho for a big race, along with my All-Star support crew (my mom and sister). In the two or three days leading up to one of these races, there’s a kind of village that springs up at the race site with vendors hawking various wares and services, often at discounted prices. It’s a chance to try out new gear and to see new products up close and personal. I even took a wetsuit for a test drive in an Endless Pool display.
Anyway, I’d been walking around for quite a while with my mom and sister, when the Crocs booth appeared before us. I made a derisive comment – this time out loud to other people – and was about to walk on by when Mom said “You know, they look like they might be really comfortable. Maybe you should try on a pair. “
I quickly looked around to see if anyone I knew was in the immediate vicinity. The coast was clear so I sat down, slipped on a blue pair and stood up.
LIKE. WALKING. ON. AIR. My feet felt so good in those hideous shoes. Seriously. Like being barefoot but better. I gave the salesperson cash, threw the shoes in a bag and scampered away, as if I’d just bought crack in an alley from a sketchy character in the middle of the night. Or a pair of immensely ugly shoes at a race expo from a vendor in broad daylight. I blame it on the excitement of my big race day and the heady rush of doing something you know, deep down, is wrong.
But I still own those Crocs and when I do yard work, out they come. Easy on my feet. Easy to hose off. Easy to kick off and hide if anyone stops by.
You’ll keep my secret, right?