I’ve been on the hunt for the perfect pair of shoes to solve my foot problems.
I blame it on my last pair of tennis shoes. I wore them down and didn’t throw them away for a new pair.
I began my search in Berkeley, the home of seasoned walkers. I came away with a pair of Mephisto’s with a scandalous price tag. I have never spent so much money in my life on a pair of shoes and I was feeling quite guilty about it. I rationalized it by telling myself the shoes would outlast me in longevity and I could bequeath them to my daughter along with the African Grey parrot that will outlive her.
I walked in them for a few hours inside the house to test them out. Pretty soon my feet were on fire. Not a good sign.
I went back to the store and discovered I couldn’t get my money back, only store credit. So I came away with two pairs of shoes that were on sale for the price of the one pair I returned. There were two I didn’t really need – a pair of Dansko’s and fleecy bedroom slippers – but could use them eventually. I felt somewhat better but not a whole lot.
Then I realized the Dansko’s weren’t really walking shoes as much as standing-on-your-feet-for-a-long-time kinda shoes like chefs need or tulip growers in Denmark.
This time I tried several shoe stores in San Francisco. The sales personnel at one shop were used car salesmen in another life, trying to sell me shoes that didn’t fit my needs. The next shop didn’t have anything that remotely looked like it could support a gymnast let alone me.
But I hit the jackpot in the third store.
I came away with a pair of Jewish shoes. I should have known. I have Jewish feet. Of course Jewish shoes would fit me.
They’re Naots and they’re made in Israel.
It was as if a Jewish shoemaker had measured my feet and created a tailor-made pair for me.
And I didn’t have to pay as many shekels for these.