What you’re about to read is insulting to many people. But either I’m honest about what I think about life or I should quit writing. And I’d rather cease existing than do that. So here goes.

See those shoes in the photo above? I hope I never wear them. It’s not that I don’t like the brand. I love New Balance shoes. I currently run in New Balance 880s. They are great running shoes. The other New Balance gear that I own is great stuff as well. I own an NB running jacket that is thirty years old and still looks and feels new. I owned a training mock turtle that was also thirty years old and got lost in my move a few years ago. Otherwise I’d still wear it.

But the New Balance shoes above are not designed for anything but doddering through life on a cushiony platform designed never to exceed about two miles per hour.

I see models such as these on the feet of many older men. Now truth be told, some would consider me an older man. I’m sixty-one years old. But I still run and stand up straight. Even my injuries don’t really slow me down.

I know younger men that wear these New Balance shoes that just like them because they’re comfortable. And I get that. There’s just something about the doddering nature of these white NB shoes that makes me queasy. They fall into the category of expandable waistbands and pee diapers.

Yes, that’s mean of me to say. One should not criticize or judge others, lest ye be judged. As for self-criticism, I genuinely deserve to go to hell for a long series of really bad hats that I’ve worn during my lifetime. Looking back at some of those bad hat photos makes me cringe. It’s no wonder that when I was wearing some of those hats the women of this world ran the other way. When I took off the hats, good things happened. We either learn from our mistakes, or we don’t.

That means we have to draw the line somewhere and throw out the worst hats in our lives. As I’ve written before, sometimes that’s a tough challenge. Our anxieties about personal appearance and vitality are the tarsnakes of our existence.

I accept and know my flaws quite well. Still, you’re not going to find the White Shoes of Death on my feet as long as I can move faster than two miles and hour.

Catch me if you can, but you won’t catch me wearing the White Shoes of Death.