Heavenly EBS

About 10 (11?) years ago, I somehow convinced my husband to spend more than $250 on a pair of sneakers for me. Sneakers. He obviously didn’t see the sense in it, since I wasn’t a 10k runner or training for the Ironman Triathlon on the Maui Coast in Hawaii. At that time, I was the mother of a one-year-old, which in my opinion is more physically challenging than the 10k and the triathlon combined. A trip to Hawaii would be nice, though. Maybe I should think about entering. After all, I’m in pretty wicked shape these days, with my daily five-boy workout and Zumba twice a week.

My husband is convinced that they’re called gym shoes, and we still argue about it. Because our marriage is so perfect, we’re desperately trying to find stuff to fight about so we can feel like a regular married couple.

So this pair of sneakers is actually pretty awesome. They’re called MBT’s, short for Masai Barefoot Technology. The East African Kenyan Tribe, known as the Masai Tribe, is a semi-nomadic tribe commonly known for their powerful warriors and perfect posture. They can also walk long distances without tiring, which I assume is due to their daily boost of protein-packed blood milkshakes. Eeewwww. That’s a little too healthy for me. Anyhow, the curved soles of the shoes attempt to imitate walking on a sandy beach while at the same time making you automatically stand up straight as you walk. The MBT company should handsomely reimburse me for the free plug I just gave them.

I wore the shoes for a while, and they really do improve your posture and make it super-comfortable to walk. However, they were still clunky, ugly, white orthopedic-looking sneakers, thus not a good match for anything in my closet. So there goes $250. I still kept the shoes, knowing that I would likely never wear them again. But it was too painful to get rid of them, for then I would have to admit to my darling hubby that they were indeed a waste of money. Me? Admit that I was wr-wr-wrong?? NEVER!!

Recently they came back into my life when I decided to start going for power walks with the hubs. Let me first clarify that a power walk is meant to be a fast-paced walk, leaving you with little breath to speak with each other, which isn’t a bad thing. My husband’s idea of a power walk turned out to be more appropriate for two ancient wobbly-armed ladies pushing walkers with tennis balls doubling for all-wheel-drive up a steep hill – otherwise known as a stroll.

Before we began our slow-motion marathon, hubba hubba mentioned to me that it wasn’t a good idea that I wore such old sneakers. Supposedly the soles disintegrate after a while. “Nonsense!” I replied. I had never heard of such a silly thing, and dismissed it as one of his many old-wives’ tales.

Finally, we were off! I bolted out the door only to turn around 30 seconds later to find my husband strolling 100 feet behind me with his hands in his pockets and whistling like Mr. Rogers. Hey, maybe that’s why Mr. Rogers always changed his shoes during every episode! Maybe he knew about the mysterious shoe plague that caused sneakers to disintegrate into toxic fumes!

I consoled myself with the thought of a delicious iced coffee and hot apple turnover after our power-outage walk. It’s important to replenish the energy you lose after a strenuous workout, you know.

I’ll get to the point, now. As we were walking, I noticed that something didn’t feel right about the shoes. I figured it was because I hadn’t worn them in 10 years, so I wasn’t used to them anymore. Fast forward to the five shekel iced coffee. Yeah, you heard me right! Five shekel! Take that, Starbucks! The people at the coffee shop know me so well, they don’t even bother to ask my name or what I’m ordering. I just hand over the money with a slight nod and a, “Hit me up, yo.”

We sat down at an outside table and enjoyed the fabulous winter weather. I bent forward to massage my aching calf muscles, when suddenly I let out a horrified scream.

“What?! What happened??” my husband frantically asked. I couldn’t speak. I just held up my foot so he could look at my shoe. He took one look and burst out laughing. In no time we were both laughing hysterically, with a few snorts added for good measure.

My shoes had literally fallen apart! The sole of the shoe is made up of who-knows-what and foam, along with some rubber. It’s separated into three basic layers. How do I know all this? Because the foam stuffing was literally falling out of the shoes, and I could easily put my fingers through the two large gaps between the layers. If only we had taken a picture of it.

Every step I took left a trail of foam in my wake. It was so terrible, I was almost embarrassed! To make things worse, I couldn’t walk normally, because the bottom of the shoe is curved, making the front and the back higher than the middle. Basically I was walking with my heels way below my toes – like a reverse platform. A reverse white, orthopedic-looking, ugly, environmentally unfriendly sneaker.

Boy, did the old lady let me have it. All the way home, he couldn’t resist reminding me that he was right, and he told me so, and blah, blah, blah. Oh, he had so much fun with it. When we pulled up to our mansion in our Bentley, I had him summon the butler to the car with another pair of shoes in hand, so he could immediately dispose of the garbage shoes.

This experience brought to mind a famous phrase that we all know, yet prefer to ignore: you can learn the easy way, or the hard way. Unfortunately most of us are compelled to learn our life lessons the hard way. I’m not really sure why that is, but for some reason, we internalize our lessons better. Seriously, what’s wrong with listening to good advice? Does anyone even do that anymore?

Thank God, there is a way we can learn our life lessons the easy way. Double thank God, it doesn’t mean we have to listen to our parents. Oy, that’s the worst! Here’s some great advice: when Hashem sends you a tribulation, say, “Thank You!” and do your best to find the lesson hidden within the tribulation.

If we’re open to learning what Hashem wants to teach us the easy way, He won’t have to send us harder tests. Sometimes the test comes in a whisper, and in many cases it comes via a loudspeaker. Don’t let it get to the point where Hashem has to turn on the Emergency Broadcast System to get through to you!

I remember watching TV as a kid and suddenly having the show interrupted by that annoying noise that makes you cringe. Then some serious voice says, “This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. This is only a test.”

Isn’t it preferable to encounter daily annoyances rather than go through serious challenges? The tests don’t necessarily have to be so impossible! To avoid the blood-curdling screech of the Heavenly EBS, read Rav Shalom Arush’s “The Garden of Gratitude.”