So, we’re halfway there: me and the shoes. Walking around, the rocks more easily pierce the soles and dig sharply into my feet. There is a crack on the left shoe strap, making my nerves on edge as I wonder where I’ll be when they finally snap. Because I loved this style of shoe so much I have an extra, brand new pair stuffed inside of a packing cube, waiting for their emergence onto African soil. I knew the ones on my feet would make it at least halfway through the race. And we’re there.
It blows my mind how far these shoes have come. They places they’ve been. My memory would have forgotten all the place its feet have traipsed without being able to look down at them and remember all the times I tripped or slipped on whatever road I was trampling down.
In Costa Rica, they stood on public busses to San Jose. They were used as a burn prevention device on the hot sands of Jaco. They waited patiently as the team and I sorted through clothes donations at the church. They hopped on tables to avoid being touched by rats. They carefully mudded through the slums and prevented my feet from getting raw sewage on them. They played soccer and tried their best not to let me stub my toe. The shoes bounced all around as my legs were strewn across all the baggage when myself and the entire squad were crammed on a 25-passenger bus with our packs to Nicaragua.
In Nicaragua, they walked to get coffee with a best friend every morning at 6am inside a woman’s house who had two sweet boys. They walked to get ice cream or find Snickers because that was the only sweet you could find in the mountain town of Palacaguina. They stayed inside all day while I wore the tennis shoes to the building site. They were glad for the rest. Every night they stood on the concrete floor for church, youth group, or team time. They delicately spread across the gravel as we both watched the stars come so close to us that we could walk on them. They stood on for an hour and a half bus ride numerous times just to get a homemade brownie from the closest city.
In Honduras, they were crucial. In the middle of the night, they would travel outside to the bathroom, holding on as tight as they could by a giant pair of wool socks. My brown feet were always in them after we hiked so they became a cooling and resting agent. Every day I washed my legs and my feet and I know they were appreciative of those clean feet. Halfway through the month they got left behind as we went in for what would be a 12-day stint in the hospital. Day three, we were reunited and my feet finally felt free. They wandered the dirty hospital hallway and were there when giving a sister a bath. They sat beneath the hospital bed every night as Rachel and I slept through many nurses coming in to check her IV. They even found themselves in a five-star hotel after waiting around for an appendix to be removed. This was a big month for them.
Thailand was also a big month. They played the part of walking shoe, prayer shoe, and dressy shoe. Finally, they were given the sweat they had never expected. This month is when they may have started to get a little worn in. I stubbed my toe a lot because as they stretched out they would get caught on things. At night they would sit on the bar stools outside of Grace Bar with the sweet girls who I’d grown to laugh with and love. Once they accompanied two girls to McDonalds for their first time. They rode an elephant and the elephant sneezed on them. They went bamboo rafting. They rode in many taxis and again traipsed the hospital. They had to sleep outside at night because you don’t wear shoes inside in Thailand. They would constantly be piled up with other shoes on various floors and porches. They prayed a lot.
The prayer carried over into Malaysia because it was a rough month for me. Nearing the halfway point of the race, they faced a little heartbreak. But they stayed on strong despite the toe stubbing becoming a bit more frequent. They approached too many street food stalls to count. They prayer walked through palm oil neighborhoods and Hindu homes. They went to Singapore and walked around the city day and night. They were annoyed with their hostel mates who brought in Wendy’s every night around 2am. It smelled something awful and would awake me from my sleep. They’d be used at that time to go to the bathroom. They sat outside many a night, just like Thailand. And hit up more street food vendors. They were trained and seasoned this month.
And now here we are: me and my shoes. We’ve been hotter than normal this month, worried if we’ll melt. Literally. The rocks are coming through the soles more than ever, prompting me to think so hard about the places the shoes have taken me. They are overcome with smog and hope as they enter and exit countless tuk-tuks. They turn down the motorcycles that want them to hop on for a ride. They hang with the kids at the orphanage. They are busy this month. Very busy.
We’re halfway through the World Race. Next up, Rwanda, Kenya, Uganda, Nepal and India. Only five more.
But we need you to get there. Our final financial deadline is July 1 and we need about $2800 to stay on the field. If you have any spare change, please consider donating to my shoes and I. We love you for getting us this far.
