Wednesday, March 20, 2019 // The Statement
2B

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Andrea Pérez Balderrama

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 Designers

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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