BH 23: Must be the shoes

A multi-faceted update on where I am, far from SoCal

Umbrella under-appreciation is the lowest key of Southern California pastimes. Only the occasional cloud outburst is bound to make you regret carrying one. This spare nature is slightly sad, because umbrellas are extraordinary and simple machines, time honored even as they are forgotten.

Yet, when walking in Portland I tend not to go in for umbrellas. Seven months of the year I am almost always faintly damp.

PDX’s glorified mist is all but the precipitation antecedent to an outer Fresno County summer storm. Water racing to Earth… so many ways to be caught out in the rain, and this constant PNW winter drizzle somehow doesn’t convince me to carry the canopy on a stick.

On Saturday though? Some passenger before me on my Powell Street Tri-Met bus left a new one behind, and I am all about it now.

I am about the umbrella because of the new shoes.

It’s easy for me to be mistaken for a homeless person in Portland. Out here in The Numbers, people are as enslaved to their cars as anywhere in The West. I am a devout pedestrian, and the cold fact is that being unhoused remains a prime platform for Black men in town. Get homeless and you will reach the Trailblazer level of local visibility.

A great pair of shoes can elevate you from that speculation range. And these sustainably-produced Allbirds are fuckin’ dope.

Hella elevatin’.

Understand that Portland is Mecca for used sneakers. With Nike and Adidas here, freebies circulate like mad and there’s always secondary market action. So I held out through the sojourn to Sactown and through my first days in Portland.

You cannot know it from the above photo’s vantage point, but the inner heels of both white sneakers were exceptionally worn down. The shoes had only been purchased in August, but I put an insane amount of miles on them, a shit-ton on hills.

This is the part where I remind everyone that Body High is a kind of fitness feature. Before I’d been traversing The Numbers and traipsing in and out of iconically cute Portland, I was running all over Oakland. Burning calories was the point: Since leaving that physically taxing fall day gig and hunkering down at the laptop, I had put on about eight pounds.

My ass got all around The Town. Mostly around the downtown Oakland crash pad.

On those sloping inner heels.

Understand that Portland is Mecca for used sneakers. With Nike and Adidas here, freebies circulate like mad and there’s always secondary market action. So I kept holding out through the sojourn to Sactown and through my first days in Portland.

Christmas was coming and the weekend returns were going to be incredible.

Like what I’m doing? Feel free to contribute to my travel budget.

Was it worth it? Assuming there’s been no done no permanent harm done to my lower extremities I’ll say yes. Those Allbirds retail for $149. I got em for $19.99.

Paying off even more than money saved and stature gained is the time-release sensation of pain diminishing. While touching those Portland, Sacramento and Oakland streets, I cultivated a narrative of leg pain. Days after Christmas I released it—put on my Allbirds and tossed the torture kicks away. On site. Since then the vibe has been of tangible recession. Disappearance. Pain fading up my groin and down my heel.

It’s almost melancholy, the feeling evinced.

My body feels like it’s dropped three pounds. The forecast today is cold and clear. I know exactly where I want to go. And I’m in love with the umbrella on this PNW jag. Overall, I try to do the Jack Reacher thing and cycle through simple clothing. I am, however, inclined to protect these sneakers, avoiding all puddles to support the coverage overhead.

It doesn’t make you materialistic to treasure an object that’s been good to ya.