Six Dollars and a Sole

I ran most mornings. Rain or shine, the routine held. My Nike shoes were for cardio, for the pavement. Or the treadmill. They carried me.

After a long time, the soles began to pull away from the fabric. The rubber was worn thin in places. They were simply wearing out, as things do.

My first thought was to replace them. Get a new pair. Not too expensive. That was the usual way. But a friend had talked about mending, about making things last. I let the idea sit with me.

I found a cobbler at the nearby market. The cobbler didn’t occupy a shop space. He set up his shop in the corner of the market. It smelled of leather and glue. I handed him the shoes. He took them, looked them over, and nodded.

A day later, I picked them up. The soles were firm again, stitched tight to the uppers. He had done a good job. They looked ready for the road.

It cost six dollars. New shoes would have been much more. I put the money back in my wallet. It felt like a small, quiet victory.
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I put them on the next morning. My feet slid right in. They knew these shoes. We had more miles to go, more mornings to see. I felt good about it.