My Marriage Is Built on a Lie—And a Pair of Running Shoes
“The foundation of my marriage is built on a lie.”
That’s a line I’ve used when new friends would ask me how I met my wife, Maura. Over our eight years together, I’ve gone back to the well so often with that joke that Maura doesn’t even feign offense anymore. She knows it’s meant for a dry laugh. But it is 100 percent accurate.
In a borderline-desperate attempt to ask my future wife on a date, I lied. I did not, despite my request, actually need her help to buy one very, very red pair of Asics DS Trainers.
In 2011, I was a newly minted editor who had just moved to Allentown, Pennsylvania, an hour north of Philadelphia, for my first real job. I was alone in a new town, but I loathed the idea of heading to bars solo, and my new coworkers’ post-work hangouts set off my innate awkwardness, which compounded as I internally berated myself for not fully fitting in. These outings rarely led to future invites.
While I could have turned into Allentown’s youngest recluse, I discovered the local run shop and its weekly meet-up. There’s something about running—being outside, doing the same thing as the people next to me in a group—that quells my social anxiety and lets me open up.
The Tuesday night outings in 2011 were like the shop, the Emmaus Run Inn: small but mighty. At most, 10 people gathered for an easy run through the quirky Allentown suburb of Emmaus—it opted for a town triangle instead of a square. Not knowing the tangled grid of streets, I would hang back and get to know the regulars, especially the Run Inn salesperson named Maura.
She didn’t pick up on it, but running with Maura became my reason to come back every week. At first, I was drawn by the fact that she was just a year younger and had grown up nearby, meaning I could pick her brain for what to do in the area to stay sane. But as we talked, I learned that Maura possessed an infectious, and seemingly genuine, laugh whenever I tried to make a joke on the run. And I enjoyed the honesty that came out when we chatted about the random things like music or astrology—we shared a love of Young the Giant and The Lumineers, and disagreed on whether our matching Zodiac sign (Cancer) truly fit our personalities.
As months went by, we’d continue our astrological debates over postrun beers in the back of the store. I began looking for any excuse to see her outside the run, and one evening I asked Maura about her work schedule. She said she was working Thursdays until close. I blurted out, “Oh, I need shoes. Maybe I’ll be back Thursday.”
I did not need new shoes. I couldn’t even really afford new shoes. But 48 hours later I returned with a plan to shop for shoes I didn’t need as a Trojan Horse into Maura’s heart.
Maura lead me through the standard shoe-fitting process. As she watched me pace across the cozy shop, I wracked my brain: Am I walking normally? Am I too uptight? When Maura checked my old shoes for wear patterns, panic began to blossom. Have I been running in junk shoes all this time? Does she hate my style?
Oblivious to my potential meltdown, she brought several pairs for me to try on and went over why each option might work for my foot mechanics. I nodded politely, hearing nothing, while silently deciding on the smoothest way to ask her on a date.
Though I was questioning everything about myself, I was certain of one thing: I couldn’t ask her out without buying something. To be done with the torture, I hastily settled on a red pair of Asics DS Trainer 16s. For what reason, I cannot tell you. But my brain, which was approaching fight or flight mode, probably landed on the loudest color.
Two employees, Mitch and Gary, helped me shake my nerves by handing me a cold beer from the back cooler. The clock was ticking down the final minutes to closing time, but with half an IPA hitting my bloodstream, the warning lights in my mind faded as Maura bagged my new shoes.
After she handed back my debit card, I thanked her for the help. With the same breath, I launched into words I had been rehearsing for two days.
“I swear I never do this, especially when people are working,” I said, pretending I was the sort of guy who frequently asked women out. “But would you ever want to go out sometime, away from the store?”
Maura broke the tension instantly. “Yeahhhh, of course. That would be fun, but I’m pretty much a grandma when it comes to going out!” she said with a mostly happy, slightly nervous smile.
I left with her number written on a sticky note inside my shoebox.
I only remember a handful of runs in those fateful DS Trainers. One of the first gave the shoes their nickname.
I was on a cold afternoon run near the store when Maura saw me breaking them in. Because it was chilly, I had on my winter running jacket. It was red. Because I was delaying laundry day, my shorts were also red. And the shoes—those gaudy, bright, oh-so-loud shoes—were also, unfortunately, red. I looked like a slow athleisure version of The Flash.
Maura was more generous, and dubbed the shoes the “red devil” Asics. But the loud, not-at-all-me color wasn’t my only trouble with the shoes. I disliked the lacing—flat, thin laces that never stayed tied—and the low heel collar never locked my foot in for that perfect hug.
After a few runs, Maura noticed that I wasn’t wearing the shoes much and apologized frequently, saying I could bring them back to the store for something new. But I couldn’t let her know I would give up on something—anything—so early in my relationship with it.
After that first job, I got a position at Runner’s World. I’m now fortunate enough to test hundreds of shoes, and I’ve found true favorites—the Hoka One One Hupana and a variety of New Balances stick out. But none are more important than those “red devils.”
Maura and I married in 2016, bought a house in Emmaus in 2017. We added to our family with our first dog, Carson, in 2018. And, of course, we met the 10-pound chihuahua mix when the Emmaus Run Inn hosted an adoption night for rescues.
Lie or no lie, running is the basis for our relationship. We decided against any running themes at our wedding—too cheesy for our liking. But, for sentimental reasons, I took the red DS Trainers for a final run on the morning we said “I do.”
I ran around the park near our home, logging a few miles on the paths where Maura and I raced and ran together so often. The shoes, even with minimal miles, were absolutely dead from their years of aging in a closet. It was the perfect run to retire them.
I still haven’t gotten rid of them. I can’t. So now the shoes stay in the attic at our house, less than a mile from where I first got them in 2011.
Other running shoes get donated or tossed, but these Asics—the shoes that gave me so much more than mileage—will stay put.
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