The Ballad of the Missing Running Shoes

After almost six months of regular running it had become apparent in recent weeks that my shoes have gone about as far as they can take me.

I am way past the four months or six hundred miles whichever comes first cutoff and it really has become apparent. As I have started putting in 30-plus mile weeks my feet and lower legs have become the repository of different aches and pains after every run.

So, one weekend last month I went looking for some new shoes here in Lima. I didn't think it would be simple but I figured it would at least be possible. What I didn't contend with is that size 13 shoes do not exist in Peru. None. Nada.

The largest size running shoe I could find was a 10-and-a-half and don't even think about finding one with decent motion control like I require. So after visiting no less than a dozen different shoe stores over a two-day span it became clear. I was SOL.

Then I remembered that the awesome folks at Performance Footwear in Tempe, Arizona had a record of my last shoe purchase. Not just a record, the brand, the size and even the other shoes I tried out and liked as well.

So I got the phone number and rang them up to see if they thought buying a pair blind using my info was advisable. After a nice chat on the pluses and minuses, we agreed it was about the only option I had. So they put a pair of the shoes on layaway and my mom went and picked them up a few days later.

Now, instead of everything working fine from this point on as one might expect, this is where everything rolled up into a tight little ball of fubar.

The woman at the store suggested the shoes be mailed separately. Shoes are a common target for mail thieves and the postal service to Peru is not the best. I asked a few of my friends here about it and they agreed it was probably a good idea. So I told mom to use two packages and so she went to the mail store and they took care of it sending the packages a day apart.

Well, the first one showed up pretty quick, less than a week later. But it seems the Peruvian authorities were concerned it might contain all sorts of important and valuable stuff that is subject to taxing so they flagged it. Instead of a cardboard box, I recieved an official piece of paper saying I had to go down to their office.

So I did, expecting the worst and Lordy, I got it. It was a two-and-a-half hour bureaucratic hell. There were six service windows in the little office and I had to visit each of them at least twice not to mention a discussion with the office manager at one point. I signed my name no less than nine times and more than a dozen forms needed to be completed by either me or one of these paper pushers.

All that and, in the end, it was not even taxable.

Quick side note, my cousin mailed off a box of gels, drink powders and energy bars about this time. This package is arguably taxable since they could say I was trying to sell it due to the quantity of items. Anyhow, after one week a nice gentleman rings my doorbell and hands me the package. No problem.

So then I wait.

And I wait.

And I wait.

I passed the 10-12 business day mark last week which was the outer window for it to arrive and I still wait. I finally just assume the shoe did get stolen or the idiots in the post office misfiled it somewhere. I gird myself to get to know my good friend pain even better over the next few months.

But then, today, another guy came to my door. Not the nice delivery guy, no, this was a not-very-nice man with the piece of paper saying this package was also flagged by the customs people. And now I have to go back down to their office and endure another round of the bureaucratic nonsense to pick it up.

So I merrily saunter down there, once again, prepared for the worst. But this time, since it was completely ludicrous to go through this whole farce once again for one shoe, I wasn't going to simply go with the flow. Oh no.

The first time I got any static - it turned out they wanted me to go find a copy shop and make a photocopy of my identification this time - I went ballistic. Complete ugly American. I ranted. I raved. I waved papers. I mixed English curse words with choppy Spanish. The security guard even came over out of concern. I was a complete and total asshole.

Needless to say, after that I had no more problems. I went down the street and got the copy they wanted, came back and gave it to them and they got me out of there damn quick. Twenty minutes, total.

So, anyhow, now I have two new shoes to start running in. I am really hoping that the change, allied with the week off coming up takes care of my recent problems and I can get back to my normal training schedule.