Wednesday, March 20, 2019 // The Statement
2B
Managing Statement Editor
Andrea Pérez Balderrama
Deputy Editors
Matthew Harmon
Shannon Ors
Designers
Liz Bigham
Kate Glad
Copy Editors
Miriam Francisco
Madeline Turner
Photo Editor
Annie Klusendorf
Editor in Chief
Maya Goldman
Managing Editor
Finntan Storer
statement
THE MICHIGAN DAILY | FEBRUARY 20, 2019
Running along
S
trewn
in the
corner was a pair of beat-up, grey
and light blue Nike running sneakers.
“Are these yours?” my roommate asked.
“Yep!” I responded.
“Are you throwing them out?”
“Um … no not yet.”
She looked at me, confused, and walked
away. From my desk, I could see my sneak-
ers peeking out from behind the trash can.
I slyly
tip-
toed
over,
picked
them up to
inspect
the rips around
the laces and placed them back in my clos-
et. I kept doing this for a week, putting my
sneakers by the trash with the intent of
throwing them out and then taking them
back.
Yesterday I finally parted ways with
them. As we left the apartment, my room-
mate watched reassuringly as I gave my
sneakers one last longing look, took a deep
breath and tossed them into the dumpster.
Dramatic, I know. It’s just that my feet had
called this particularly pair of sneakers
home for eight years. They had
molded perfectly around each
toe and knew everything
about where I’d been. I just
didn’t think there would
ever be a time to say good-
bye.
The bottoms of these
sneakers were practically
shaved off due to my love
for long-distance running
— a hobby that stems from a
childhood of long walks with
my grandpa. What I remem-
ber most about him was his
penchant for going on unrea-
sonably long walks whenever
he visited my family in America.
We would leave for hours at a
time and meander around, hop-
ing not to get lost with his lim-
ited English and my nonexistent
map skills. I would stand next to
him, trying to mirror the length
of his steps and bending back to
match his beer belly. Those are
my favorite memories — walking
side by side, town to town. Before
cell phones, before growing up and
before Parkinson’s, it was just us two.
The diagnosis came to us as a com-
plete shock. My grandpa had been a
force of nature, always on the go, but
suddenly this disease made it seem like
the older he got, the younger he became. It
was painful to sit at the kitchen table and
watch silently as he struggled to cut his
food but refused to let us help and succumb
to the disease. We watched as he lost his
ability to move his body, his ability to be
self-sufficient and, eventually, his memory.
He passed away because with everything
he lost, he held onto his stubbornness.
Refusing to sit still, he insisted on walking
so he could get better and get on a plane one
last time to visit me in America. On his last
long walk, he took a hard fall and was gone.
This is what you would have learned if you
were in my shoes four years ago.
After his passing, the runs were long,
angry and sad. When I ran, I experienced
a pain that made sense and physically
manifested itself. I could focus solely on
breathing, and forget all the worries and
responsibilities in my life. I ran until I was
so exhausted that I couldn’t feel. I was
resentful that I couldn’t attend his funeral
all the way in Korea, and I was devastated
that the last thing I got to tell him was that
I had been accepted to the University of
Michigan. Never would I be able to walk
alongside him and talk for hours about how
amazing my life would become. During
those runs, I was really heartbroken.
Eventually though, the runs got hap-
pier and freer because through my runs, I
found closure. With every mile, I thought
about the times I did get to have with my
grandpa. How on our long walks, we would
talk about his childhood in the rural areas
of Korea, and how I would fill him in on the
latest book I was reading or the new friend
I had made at school. The runs became
less about expelling anger and more about
reflecting on our extraordinary relation-
ship. I began to slip on my sneakers with
enthusiasm, ready to take another joy-filled
run for the day.
Those sneakers were my crutch for eight
years. Throwing them away was hard
because I was throwing away my sole com-
panion in the especially difficult days after
my grandpa was gone. They had been with
me every step of the way, literally. There
were hard times, yes, but I think back now
that there had been even more great times.
I wore them for every field hockey game—
celebrating in them after an incredible
nationals win. We took the very first step
out of the van and into Ann Arbor together,
to the place where I would grow and learn
the most. We avoided the ‘M’ on the Diag as
we learned the nuances of college life, and
trekked miles around cobblestoned Europe
during an incredible semester abroad.
Today I got a new pair and presented
them proudly to my roommate. “My feet
have a new home!” I exclaimed as she
laughed. Then I stepped outside, ready to
log a new set of miles that would take me
who-knows-where. I started with a left
and ran, just not away from something or
against someone. I ran towards another
exciting, unforeseen eight years and I ran
for my grandpa. Sometimes I even like to
think he’s here again, healthy, and running
with me.
BY MICHELLE KIM, STATEMENT COLUMNIST
ILLUSTRATION BY CHRISTINE JEGARL