it is a curious punishment for me that my physical therapist and running coach have come up with: they have prescribed wearing shoes with high heels whenever i’m not actually out running. (they’re not just doing this to mock me and my fondness for butch shoes — it’s supposed to ease the chronic achilles tendonitis i have been struggling with for the past two months). those of you who know me, and know what a tomboy i am, particularly when it comes to matters of fashion, will realize how funny this is that, in the pursuit of the marathon, i end up with my toes pinched into a pair of high heels. the upshot of this, plus the fact that i misplaced all of my shorts* means that i’ve suddenly been wearing a lot of dresses and skirts since the weather warmed up. it’s interesting. i move very differently when i’m wearing heels. i feel girly and a little precious. i feel a little like something that should be admired from afar (perhaps on a shelf of collectibles) but not very hearty. other women i know tromp along in heels without a second thought, looking both sexy AND functional. this is just a piece of fashion education that escaped me, somehow. all those years when the other girls were reading Seventeen and gossiping about boys, i assume they must have also been developing the poise, balance and calf muscles needed to wear high heels, marching back and forth in someone’s parents’ basement rec room with a book balanced on their heads. during those formative years i was spending much of my time programming an ancient UNIX mainframe with my posse of nerdy boys, or running barefoot and a little wild in the idaho desert on archeological digs, studying to become the next indiana jones. indiana never wore impractical shoes, you see.

* when summer finally rolled around and i did the bi-annual rearranging of clothing in my closet, i pushed the wool sweaters and fleece-lined jeans to the back and went to pull out my box of shorts…and discovered they were all gone. i apparently either 1) mistakenly gave them to goodwill with my last closet purge, or 2) accidentally gave them to my ex-boyfriend when i packed all his shit for him last fall. and since he has rebuffed recent attempts on my part to reopen any sort of friendly dialogue (even about pants), i can’t exactly ask for them back. it’s quite a blow to the wardrobe to lose an entire category of clothing.