As a runner, getting a new pair of shoes can signify so many things. For me, it’s where I go and how I feel while wearing the new shoes that helps lift my heavy depression, especially when I cross the finish line of a race. The feeling of crossing that line is literally one of the happiest moments of my life. The finish line feels have honestly saved my life. Knowing that this kind of happiness is possible makes me feel like I actually have a will to live. I also feel immense gratitude that I can not only afford to buy a new pair of running shoes, but that I can safely run in them, too. 

What I accomplish in these shoes is what staves off the dark, desolate emotions I have when my mental health is spiraling. When I barely want to live, being able to put on new shoes and run feels like an act of hope. 

Earlier this week, when I opened the box of my new Nike Zoom Fly 6’s, I didn’t expect a miracle. I’ve been running long enough to know that a new pair of shoes doesn’t cure depression. They don’t manage your intense emotions or intrusive thoughts. But they can offer ritual, and my ritual is survival.

The fresh smell of running shoes, the rubber, and the clean, untouched fabric, perfected and unscathed. Trying something new while being depressed felt like an act of defiance. Like, I know there will be more days. I am going to survive the tough times. There are more versions of me that don’t quit and keep going. They weren’t just shoes; they were a quiet promise to myself.

Running with depression is not what people imagine. It’s not always smiles and sunrise photos. Some days, it’s bargaining with yourself to make it out the door to even start. 

There’s something deeply symbolic about new shoes for a runner. They mark a beginning. Miles are tracked, you watch the tread wear down, and feel the midsole slowly lose its bounce. When depression tells me I’m stuck, that nothing changes, the scuffed soles say otherwise. They say, “You have been places.” You have covered ground. You can keep going.

I remember buying my first pair of running shoes nine years ago, the Brooks GTS 2017. I bought them with alimony money from my divorce (lol). I was completely new to running and hadn’t run since high school, and ran a mile in old shoes I bought from the grocery store the day before (literally); these were shoes you’d barely even want to mow the lawn in. When I went to the running store to get proper trainers, the entire experience felt like a significant life moment, and it really turned out to be life-changing. Here I was, reeling from a divorce and experiencing suicidal ideation daily. My life was a mess, and I felt extremely alone and lost. 

After buying those shoes and running a few miles in them, I felt a sudden shift, a change in how I had been feeling for months. There was a light, excited feeling any time I put the shoes on and ran somewhere new. It was so neat to me that I could explore anywhere I wanted by foot. Even though I didn’t always know where I was going when I was running, my life felt more connected, and I felt a lot less lost. Life had possibility again. 

As a runner with depression, I’ve learned to be grateful for the small things. A new pair of shoes is an invitation: to try again, to step outside, to place one foot in front of the other even when my mind resists.

For a runner with depression, new shoes are not about pace or personal bests. They are about possibility. They are a quiet contract with tomorrow. As long as there are laces to tie and pavement to meet, there is still a direction to move. Every time I put my running shoes on, I’m not just preparing for a run. I’m choosing to ignore the thoughts in my brain telling me I can’t. As long as I keep moving, I am not entirely lost.