Dan Vs. Shoes

Yesterday, I added a new chapter to that soulful saga of soles that has become an extreme exercise in extremity anxiety. As usual, the outcome was a stalemate, and a tie always goes to the running-shoe. Facing the archenemy of arch-support is exhausting, and even when I win, finding cleats that fits my feets is always a bittersweet feat. My piggy-curator is ready for a pygmy-castrator to end the war of me vs. shoes once and for all.

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