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Surveying the miles these shoes have traveled
Editor's note: This is the last in a series of articles by Nevada Native Jim Weatherly, who spent weeks in the South helping residents begin the process of recovering from hurricanes.
By Jim Weatherly
Special to the Herald
According to my copy of Marathon Training for Dummies -- yes, I admittedly own this book -- running shoes are meant to last 500 miles at most. Technically, that means I should have been changing my shoes every five to six weeks since I've been running nearly 80 miles per week.
However, I'm still running in the same pair of sneakers I got last fall.
A victim of the "one pair better last the entire school year" upbringing, I've learned to take care of my footwear effectively. (I'm sure I'll pay for this at a later age, since my knees are already talking at me from the tennis years.)
How often do we remember where are shoes take us?
My most recent pair has lived an interesting life thus far. In fact, seven weeks after first leaving for hurricane relief they've taken steps most people I'm surrounded by -- outside of my fellow volunteers -- can hardly fathom.
My shoes:
* Absorbed shock as I helped load and clean our vans the week prior to leaving for the South.
* Guided me through the weather-ravaged reservoir neighborhoods my first morning in Jackson.
* Reminded me to be respectful of others‚ belongings as I jumped around debris filtered beaches in Gulfport.
* Helped me avoid pesky fire ants that butchered some of my fellow teammates‚ sandaled toes in Baton Rouge.
* Dodged waste water spewing into the streets of New Orleans while on a damage assessment tour.
* Protected my feet from the dewed drenched soccer field runs of Montgomery in effort(s) to cut boredom and not think about how selfishly I wanted to go home.
* Strolled me around a finger food filled banquet of skirts and suits in Birmingham that was being held in honor of Hurricane Katrina volunteers and hosted by Condoleeza Rice. Having returned to my "normal" life just over two weeks ago, I find myself thinking about those old Asics‚ journeys almost every day when I lurch out of bed and strap them on for a quick jog around the Tower Grove neighborhood before work.
Welcome to my neighborhood
Snug around my ankles, I lace them up in the morning darkness. Just tying them reminds me of fastening them to my pack that early morning of Sept. 6 and thinking how crazy I was to assume that there'd be time to workout while doing disaster relief work.
Looking back, those long runs were about the only thing that got me through each week by allotting me sufficient peace from the otherwise depressive state of affairs in the places and people I visited.
Upon my return to St. Louis, I went back to my work routine like I'd never been gone -- returning to my AmeriCorps‚ office role as our communications and media lead in the daytime and spending my evenings as a restaurant manager at Happy Joe's Pizza where I've been employed for a little longer than two years. It's been a challenge handling the stress of both responsibilities, but I feel like I do a good job of keeping balance although working outside of the Corps is strongly discouraged. Our philosophy is that national service is about taking a year off of one's personal life to help make someone else's better.
Last night, I decided to enjoy my sole evening off and hit one of my favorite local dives to reflect on my life in the South for those two months and what being back in my comfort zone means to me. The air is crisply dry and stale as I set out on foot from my apartment and head two blocks north on "Grand South Grand" Street. Fall is winding down as I've been nursing my once-a-year weather change cold for the past few days. I love summertime so leaving Alabama's 80-degree October was tough. Still, catching a glimpse of fall in Missouri has been great. (Any color of leaves is better than seeing trees with no leaves, gnarled and uprooted everywhere.)
First stop, City Diner. This retro restaurant is a not only a staple for south city residents but for our AmeriCorps St. Louis members. In ode to the area I've come to love so much and my fondness for breakfast anytime establishments, I order up my favorite plate, the Southsider: two eggs, spicy breakfast potatoes, and biscuits with milk gravy that are not quite 54 Café-quality, but the closest I've found this side of Vernon County.)
While waiting for my food, I've brought along a project to shamelessly appear busy. (Or as I like to call it, Dining Alone 101: The Art of Not Being Pitied by Even-Numbered Customers.) Tonight's distraction, my pack -- still full of everything I shoved in it during my trip. After my cranberry juice arrives, I decide to dissect my traveling time capsule.
Ingredients: three dated newspapers -- one from each state.
Four granola bar wrappers and one banged up Powerbar that's still edible.
Two FEMA security lanyards.
One pink Post-It containing contact info for a woman I helped in Mississippi.
One Montgomery, Ala., visitor guide -- so much civil rights history, so little time.
One ERT pack-out list courtesy of AmeriCorps St. Louis. (Of that list, some personal awards: Most Useful Item Listed -- paperback book. Most Humorous -- "Set of casual clothes to wear out during free time or community event.")
One notebook of scrawled addresses and contacts for thank-you notes.
One box of unopened thank-you notes meant to be utilized along the trip, not afterwards.
Various bits of change, gum wrappers, black pens, and grass.
My meal arrives and I multitask by simultaneously eating and scribbling notes about the things I'd like to say in my last hometown article. A patron walks by and comments on how diligently I'm studying. I overhear a man say to his wife that my food looks good. My server inquires about the AmeriCorps blazoned sweatshirt I'm sporting and wonders if I was a part of "that group of kids that went down to help with the hurricane."
"Seriously, I work in the restaurant industry --you're going to get a tip buddy so back off and don't touch my water glass," I think to myself as I suddenly start feeling like my night off is a night on.
With my senses not catching a break, I eat quickly and pack up my gear deciding in a split-second to grab a chai tea down the street at MoKaBe's Coffeehouse in an effort to savor what's left of my evening. It does the trick and before I know it I'm pounding out the last of my thoughts concerning this trek.
It's after midnight and I'm walking back to my pad. When I get home, Bruce Springsteen -- my cat -- is curled up at the foot of my bed. After spending just as much time away as myself, but at a friend's family kennel being pampered, the Boss is apparently just as excited to be back home as his owner.
Here's what I know for sure:
This year, November means two things for me: First off, Thanksgiving is my all-time favorite holiday! To kick things off a bit early, I'm headed to Kansas City this weekend to buy a new pair of runners for the big day and more importantly ... watch one of my best friends from Nevada sing her little country heart out on stage while a group of us fellow "Old 97s" watch her live out her dreams in front of the lights.
Our class is fast approaching our thirties, but for the most part we've all managed to accomplish the things we've wanted to do with our lives so far. Though our paths have taken us in very different directions post-high school, a few of us somehow manage to get together each year on Turkey Day Eve to catch up outside of obvious holiday obligations to our families.
This year more than ever before, I'm thankful for the opportunities, support, and growth my network has provided me. I've never had a problem realizing how fortunate my middle-class upbringing has been and I can't wait to get back to cherish those moments even if only for the long weekend. I'm also gracious for the simpler gifts given: utilities, shelter, food and above all else -- love.
Secondly, this past weekend I had my first 18-mile run. With a little less than two weeks until the marathon in Memphis, I'm beginning to get nervous about making it.
However, when I take a step back and ponder all the places I've left footprints in my life -- it's not so daunting. Running 26.2 miles is one thing but this race is special because it falls on the day before my 27th birthday. I figure what better way to kiss off 26‚ than by leaving it in dust at the finish line and looking forward to whatever road my future leads me down.
For more information about AmeriCorps programs: AmeriCorps St. Louis 1315 Ann Avenue St. Louis, MO 63109 (314) 772-9002, (800)459-3919, (800) 735-2966, outreach@americorps-stl.org
Our members are still working diligently in the recovery efforts of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita with two teams deployed just last week. Along with the thousands of people and pets affected by the storm(s), please remember to keep all the volunteers in your thoughts and prayers as the rebuilding efforts continue.
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