The tearful tale of my Ukrainian trainers

Today I want to share a tale about my Ukrainian trainers (sneakers for my American friends) which on a deeper level, isn’t about trainers at all, it’s about how to let go of something that means a lot to you when it’s time to let go…

About a year ago I started getting pain in my hip. But it turned out that it wasn’t my hip that was the real problem - it was my ankle, which turns in slightly, and this was putting my hip out of alignment.

Therefore, in order to solve the problem and alleviate my hip pain, I simply had to correct the position of my ankle and that would keep everything else in line.

I say ‘simply’ but in reality it took some custom-made insoles and a long search to find the right trainers so that I could still enjoy pain-free walks and hikes.

And I love to walk and hike, they’re a vital part of my daily routine.

So imagine my joy when I finally found a pair of trainers that supported my ankle and fit just right and left me pain-free. I treasured those trainers and wore them everywhere.

Then, in July, I went to visit my son in Ukraine, and of course, my beloved trainers came too.

My son also loves hiking so, a couple of days into my visit, we went trekking through a forest in search of an ancient castle.

the castle

Now, in case this all sounds magical and fairytale-esque, it most certainly wasn’t.

The weather was baking hot and humid and we’d been woken by an air raid alert the night before.

My son had got used to the almost nightly alerts by then, but it was still new to me, and I was feeling a low level, bassline of tension throbbing away in my head.

We made it to the castle, by which point even my ear lobes were sweating, then turned and headed back. And it was at this point that disaster struck…

my son surveys the view

As we were making our way down a really steep hill, I slipped and fell, landing on my arse (butt for my American friends).

But that wasn’t the disaster. The disaster was that when I looked at my feet, one of them was hanging right out of its trainer.

The force of the fall had torn a massive hole in my shoe. The only shoes I’d brought with me to Ukraine. The only shoes that saved me from hip pain. And I wanted to cry.

From embarrassment. From frustration. From fear that I’d have to go back to being in pain every day.

And then of course, all of my other fears that I’d been trying so hard to keep a lid on rushed in. Fears for my son’s safety. Fear for the whole of Ukraine.

It was a shitty day.

But the next day the humidity broke and it began pouring with rain. My son took me to a sports shop, one foot hanging out of my broken trainer and getting soaked in the puddles.

By this point I didn’t care if the shoes I bought caused me pain, I just wanted something to tide me over and keep my feet dry until I got back to the UK.

What happened next felt like something of a miracle. We walked over to the women’s section, I immediately saw a pair of trainers in my size, and I tried them on.

Just like Cinderella and her glass slipper, they were the perfect fit AND I could tell instantly that they supported my ankle and hip.

It had taken me weeks to find trainers that did this back in the UK. There in Ukraine, it had taken seconds.

And once I’d worn the trainers for a couple of days I realised that they were even more comfortable than the previous pair!

I’ve worn those trainers pretty much every day since, walking and hiking for miles in them, in the UK, France and America. And every time I’d pull them on I’d think of my son in Ukraine and feel that connection to him.

So imagine my sorrow when, last week in America, the side of one of them split. I’d already worn holes in the toes, which I could live with, but a gaping hole in the side meant they’d become unwearable.

Thankfully, I’d brought another pair of (non-hiking) shoes but I still felt really sad. I can’t throw them out, I kept thinking to myself, they’re my Ukrainian trainers, they’re a connection to my son.

But, as a digital-writer-nomad person, I’m currently living out of a suitcase and will be for the foreseeable future. I don’t have the baggage space to cart a pair of broken, unwearable shoes around the world with me.

And so, on Sunday in Arkansas, I threw my Ukrainian trainers away.

RIP beloved trainers

I’m now back in the UK for Christmas and yesterday I went to a sports shop to buy a new pair of trainers. They won’t be as good as the Ukrainian ones, I told myself as I walked into the store. You won’t be lucky enough to find another pain-free pair. 

But this time I was lucky enough to be served by a really nice and super helpful guy, and when I told him about my ankle issue, he whisked a shoe off the shelf like Prince Charming producing the slipper for Cinderella. And once again, it was the perfect fit. And not only that but I think they may be even better than my previous pair!

I went on a trial hike in them this morning and as I was bouncing along, I had a light-bulb moment. The reason we become so attached to certain objects is because of the stories associated with them.

My Ukrainian trainers made me think of landing on my butt in the middle of a forest, and having a humidity-induced hissy fit, and hating the Russian army and their effing invasion and air raids, and feeling like an idiot for getting so stressed over a pair of trainers, and feeling guilty for being grumpy with my son when I’d come all that way to spend some precious time with him, and then the sweet, sweet feeling the following day when the problem was sorted. 

In short, those trainers reminded me of the sometimes messy but also wonderful business of love.

And I realised that even if we sometimes have to get rid of precious mementos, we still get to keep their stories. We always get to keep our memories in our heads and our hearts - an infinite and portable storage space.

Until next week, sending love,

Siobhan