I have a pair of Newtons in a box in my closet.  I was wearing them a few years back when they only offered two shoes: a trainer and racer.  Actually they offered four shoes since they had two of each type: one offering more stability and the other offering less.  I needed some stability in my life so I went for the stable trainers. Translation: the shoes for slow old guys. Except for this one time, when I got a pair of stable racers to try and qualify for Boston. Those are the ones sitting in my closet.

To be honest I had forgotten about them.  The last time I had a run in with Newton (the company) was on our recent trip around the world.  We were up in this small little Viking settlement somewhere along the coast of Sweden when I ran into a guy wearing a Newton visor. No joke, he was definitely a fellow American and one of maybe four other people in the entire place.  As soon as I saw the logo I immediately ran over to him shouting that I too am part of the Newton movement: a convert from California, a seasoned fore foot runner and a tried and true believer. He looked a bit taken back when I explained all this and I noticed he was trying to shield me from his wife and family.  I kind of understand why in retrospect.   I wish I had bothered to shave.

Apparently he was in Europe for some World Masters Championship.  When he asked what event I was running I started laughing and mumbled something about being a “bit out of shape” for my Newtons at the moment and explaining it was from the “gouda in Holland” . He looked very concerned and started backing away from me.  I probably should have let things be but he was wearing a bright orange/yellowish/reddish Newton visor. You have to understand that one begins to feel that all fellow Newton wearers are like family, as if we all have this common bond. He was good about it and in the end it all worked out, well, sort of.  I just wish I had not chased him out to the car.  I hope he doesn’t think less of Californians.

By the way, I mention all of this because I went to register for a race here down under with my new local running club, the Nelson Striders, and low and behold Newton Running is one of the race sponsors. Imagine that! Newtons are here on the tip of the South Island.  They have worked there way back into my life.  Now I have to fess up and ask myself, “do I need them (one side of the line and definitely a $175 US per pair problem) or do I just want them (the other side of the line, a lot more manageable, but still a $175 US per pair opportunity)?” Decisions, decisions…

You see Newtons come in mesh bag.  How incredible cool is it to show up race morning with your shoes slung over your shoulder in a mesh bag.  It screams confidence.  Clearly you need to be “in the zone” to be able to pull off taking your racing shoes out of a mesh bag and lacing up just before the start.  With shoes like that you don’t have a choice but to exude 3:59:59 from every pore.  Who cares that you are a middle of the pack – hoping to break four hours – weekend warrior. The mesh bag makes you feel like a rock star.  To be honest I use any excuse to carry mine around in public, with or without the shoes.

And the bag is only half of it.  The folks at Newton must have studied Steve Jobs and the Apple eco-system before they brought their shoes to market because once you enter their world and start running in the shoes there is no turning back.  You can’t be half in.  It’s true that they run differently than any other shoe on the market.  It’s the technology, whatever that means, so trying to alternate between say a pair of Brooks and your Newtons–it’s pointless: the Brooks just end up gathering dust and looking all neglected, sad and depressed.

My Newtons transformed my running style.  They made me as fast as I dared to dream.  They carried me across the streets of New York City for three hours-twenty eight minutes and forty two seconds one perfect day in November, giving me my fastest marathon on record so far, and a hard earned spot up in Boston.  Those are the ones resting in the box in my closet: caked in sweat, water, gatorade, e-gels, cliff shots, bananas, oranges, dirt, mud, sand, rain, snow and tears.

Are they expensive?  Absolutely.  Worth it?  All I can say is that when it came time to clean out the closet and twelve pairs of old running shoes found their way into the charity pile earmarked for less fortunate runners in far away places, my racing Newtons were the only pair that I could not part with.

Every morning when I slide the closet door open and see them sitting there I flash back to the finish lines of New York and Boston and flash-forward to the starting lines of what’s next.  I don’t need a new pair of Newtons: I want a new pair of Newtons. Why?  Because I want to go fast!

I want to go three hours-twenty eight minutes and forty-one seconds fast!