by John Schrup
I got a little bit ahead of myself. Those Newton Distance that Jordan was supposed to send me had already arrived, and were placed on the shelf in the stockroom, because we are clever like that. So I’ve got them on my feet now, double knotted, because I’m, you know, obsessive, and I’ve been told that I should wear them for a week or two, just kicking around, to soften up the membrane that the actuator lugs sit on. I don’t know much about softening membranes, but if anything on these shoes dilate, I’m going to take up rhythmic dance. So I’ll gladly follow instructions, because that’s what I do, and because the shoes were free. What can I say? I’m a dirty whore.
Unfortunately, I won’t get to tell you about my experience in them, other than when I wear them around to the Central Market or whatever, for a couple of weeks because I’m going to be a good boy and do what I’m told. Hold your horses, that time will come, and when it does I promise to be at once honest and stupid. If something ain’t right, I’ll say so. Over the next, uh, something weeks, we’re going to get real deep about Newton, the hype, the myth, the shoe. Maybe I’ll post something every day. Maybe every few days. I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll have enough time. We’ll try to be informative, entertaining, sexy.
To be completely honest, as I wear them around the shop, or on the short jog next door to Progress (all of, like, nine feet. I PR’d!!) or to the Ho Foo–where they have lovely kales, don’t they?–for lunch, I’m a little embarrassed to have them on my feet. Here in the shop, Sarah’s first comment when she saw them on my feet was, “Newton?” Not that the majority of the population will even recognize them as Newton, the brand with the actuator lugs and are obnoxiously colored and cost as much as my Yaris, or whatever, but I feel that they will and then judge me for it. Also, I don’t shave my legs, which is generally what you find when you see someone wearing Newton. Though I am thinking about getting an aero helmet to wear to the farmer’s market because I want to be, you know, competitive.
That’s the thing: They’re day-glo, or pretty damn near it. Lots of very bright yellowish-green-yellows, some orange, splash of red. You would not wear these with a, say, Brooks Brothers suit. And not that I am usually aware of sartorial obnoxiousness. One morning I walked in to meet my beloved Bitchwolves and my man, JG, looked at me and what I was wearing and in a tone that suggested slight disbelief, but which I interpreted as raw, unadulterated jealousy, said, “Really?” So, yeah, I’m not real good with the fashions. But these damn things are pretty loud.
The fit is almost what I remember from a few years back. Almost, but not quite: Really clean, pretty snug all over, but with ample room for the phalanges. They’re pretty light, and I suspect that the fit helps with that as well. The feel underfoot is pretty firm, just about what I like, but because I can feel the actuator lugs directly under the ball of my foot, I’ve got to admit that I’m still a bit skeptical. But I’m cool with that. I’m an open minded kinda guy. I’ll try anything twice. For money.
So that’s what I got. Go ahead and mingle, but keep your eyes peeled for the house lights. Stay tuned for Subtle Chuck, Amish James and Schrup go to Boulder.
Check it: For those of you who fancy yourself a dedicated runner, a dedicated marathoner, who wants to find out what you’re made of, John coaches Team Rogue on T, Th mornings at 5:30.