Matthew Zimmerman

I bought a new pair of running shoes today. There's a specialty running shop here in Charlottesville, Ragged Mountain, staffed by a crew of young, fit people with disgustingly good abs. The guy in his early 30's that helped me find something for my freakishly misshapen feet, kept 'analyzing my stride' and talking about 'pronation' and 'support' and 'motion control'. It's weird; I've heard all of those words before, but in the running world, they all mean something really different than they do in the rest of reality.

I tried on about 20 different pairs, and the guy kept trying to tell me how each shoe would solve this problem or that; problems I never even knew I had. I couldn't even kept track of which shoe fixed what problem. Or what the problems were. My only major concern, personally, was that a big guy like me would get enough cushioning underfoot.[1] Like, say, floor pillows. Or queen-size mattresses, maybe.

Clearly this guy was used to selling shoes to people who run marathons every other weekend, who have very complex footwear needs. My needs are much, much simpler. I need a pair of shoes I can walk in for a few weeks, then jog in for a month or two, then set in my closet for six months until the whole cycle starts all over. I didn't have the heart to tell him this. He seemed like he was having fun.

[1] Are you one of those fit, trim running-type people? Let's try a little thought experiment. Imagine yourself running. You're running along, making good time. Now imagine a clone of yourself, sitting on your shoulders. Not running so fast now, are you? Now you know why we big folks keeping talking about cushioning, okay?

Well, it has been two months since I announced I would write every day, and since that time, I posted a grand total of three blog posts. (So I was little off.) Part of the problem is that I am often moved to write about topics I decide are too personal to post here. My name's in big green letters at the top of this page, and I'm paranoid about the consequences of what could happen if I were to post the wrong piece of private information in this space. So I err on the side of caution, probably too far. As a result, all that you get are occasional posts about novelty carols in half-dead languages and double entendres about jazz singers. (Please forgive me for the Norah Jones thing, by the way.)

One of these personal stories is that my family conspired together to give me a laptop, a Dell Inspiron, for Christmas. I'm writing this post on it right now. I plan to finish my Ph.D. work this year, and as you might guess, this requires a fair amount of writing: papers, presentations, dissertations. I have a computer at home and use another computer regularly in the lab, but they differ in operating systems, software installed, and general capabilities. I no longer have to worry about a lot of problems I would have had transferring data and converting files, and now I can get out of the house and work if I have to. (God bless Panera's wireless access.) This was an extraordinary gift, and I am honored by it.

To be honest, I feel truly blessed to have Mom, Dad, Ben, and Suz in my life, computer or no computer. If it weren't for their love and support, I wouldn't have made it here in grad school as far as I have. More times than I can count, a call or two to Pennsylvania has given me the strength I need to keep going. So if I haven't made it clear before, folks, thank you. I love you guys.

I'm listening to Norah Jones:

Like a flower waiting to bloom
Like a lightbulb in a dark room
I'm just sitting here waiting for you
To come home and turn me on

For the love of all that's good in this world, won't somebody please turn her on?

(I'm willing to volunteer...)