Rustbucket wrote:
Go to a shoe store, spend an hour with an expert getting you the right shoes, then order them online. If the store doesn't have wifi then wait until you get home.
The problem with going to a shoe store is that I've very rarely found an actual running shoe "expert" who works there. I used to be in management at Footlocker, so I actually have some experience in this matter. If you can actually find a store that has some real runners there and not just some guys or gals who read the advertisement for the shoe or the little tag inside the box, then by all means listen. The best thing to do is your OWN research, and with the internet that's easy. While you're online reading expert reviews (as well as reviews by other customers), check out the prices, including any tax and shipping costs. THEN go shopping at a store and actually try on the shoes. I often read shoe reviews and expert articles, only to go to the store and find out that the shoe I thought I really wanted just doesn't work for me. Example: Not long ago I thought I might like to buy the Nike Air Max Tailwind 6. It looked like a great shoe online, and it was convincingly expensive. Here's a photo on Amazon so you know exactly what I'm talking about:
http://www.amazon.com/Nike-Tailwind-Running-Shoes-Black/dp/B00H86BHDS/ref=sr_1_4?s=apparel&ie=UTF8&qid=1414188136&sr=1-4&keywords=men%27s+nike+air+runningI went to the shoe store and found the gray/black pair you see in the photoo on sale for a great price. I asked the salesperson for my size, and the shoes looked great and felt great in my hand. However, when I tried them on I discovered that the forefoot (where those little slits are) is made of a kind of stiff material that crinkles right on the toes and across the forefoot. Stupid, stupid, stupid. That stiff material and how it creases in the wrong place would surely have given me some hellish blisters. Talk about major disappointment! I couldn't even buy them for a friend who loves Nike because I would never give someone a gift of shoes that I didn't like myself.
The only time you should buy running shoes online is after you've done your research and you've already tried the shoes on in your correct size (new runners, sizes can vary quite a bit between brands--for example, Nike runs shorter than some brands).
Now, here's something I wrote about my experience working at Footlocker (I've edited some of the profanity):
The Shoes
"Hello, Footlocker. Good morning, Harry. Yeah, he's right here."
Putting the phone down, I walk over to where Fred, the store manager, is down on one knee helping a very large man in white shorts and a blue tank top lace up a pair of Nike racing flats. I've been watching Fred with this customer for awhile, and I've become more irritated with each passing minute.
"Excuse me, Fred. Harry's on the phone."
Fred scowls up at me as if it's my fault his sale has been interrupted. His tone of voice, however, is flat. "Harry? Uh, yeah, sure. I'll take it in my office." He looks at the customer, then at me, then at the customer again. "Sir, my assistant manager will help you finish up—if that's alright with you?"
The customer looks at me and smiles. "Yeah, sure."
Before walking back to his office, Fred pulls me aside and says in a low voice, "He's pretty much sold on the Nikes, Shawn. Just wrap up the sale and put my number on it, okay?"
Fred disappears into the back of the store, and I get down on one knee in front of the customer and check the fit.
"How do these feel, sir?"
"Great. They're so light and comfortable—almost like wearing slippers."
"That's because they're racing flats—uh, shoes," I tell him. "That's what you're looking for, right, some racing shoes?"
His bushy brow furrows and he stares down at me with a puzzled look on his face. Just as I thought: he doesn't know the first thing about running shoes.
"These are racing shoes?" he asks. "No kidding? Huh, no wonder they're so light." He sits back and pats his round belly. "I really need some good shoes to jog in so I can lose weight, and that other guy said these are good." He points toward the back of the store where Fred disappeared.
I look toward the back of the store. I have to make a quick decision. Fred will reappear at any moment.
"Listen," I tell him, "these shoes aren't what you need. These are great racing shoes, but they'll never hold up under a lot of running. In fact—hey, what do you weigh, about two hundred?"
"Two-thirty," he says.
"Okay, look, see the back of these shoes?" I mash the two sides of the heel together to demonstrate. "See how flimsy they are?"
He takes the shoe in his big hands and, with a thumb and forefinger, pinches the heel himself.
"And look in here.” I show him the inside of the shoe. “See how there's no arch support?"
He lifts the shoe up to his face, looks inside, and appears surprised.
"Sir,” I continue, “these racing shoes are built for speed, not support. They don't have decent cushioning. Look at me—you've got, um . . . about ninety pounds on me. Even at one-forty, I wouldn't train in these shoes. Let me get you something better—some good training shoes with better support."
He seems perturbed now. He looks toward the back of the store again, his brow furrowed. "Well, why did that other guy keep talking these up? He trying to make a quick sale, or what?"
I defend Fred as well as I can stand to: "Well, he's not a runner. I'm a runner, and I know exactly what you need. I'll get you fixed up, okay?"
He agrees to try on whatever I bring out, so I walk to the back of the store to get some shoes from the stockroom. Rounding the corner, I nearly collide with Fred, who is headed back to the sales floor.
"You get him taken care of?" he asks.
"I'm working on it.”
"What do you mean—he didn't buy those Nikes?"
"No, I talked him out of them. He says he wants some good training shoes, not racing flats. I thought I'd show him the size 14 New Balance on the clearance shelf."
"Well, f---, dude, that's a forty dollar difference. Why don't you try selling him some of the good stuff first?"
"Those New Balance are as good as any training shoe we have, Fred. Let's sell him something he won't regret buying."
Fred's face is red. He's boiling mad. He's had a really quick temper lately. I understand the pressure he's under. We need to raise our net sales this month, or Harry's going to be all over his ass again. But that's not my immediate concern. Right now I have a customer to help, and the customer doesn't give a crap about our net sales or Fred's ass. Ignoring Fred's glare, I grab the clearance shoes and jog back to the sales floor.
The guy loves the shoes. He can really feel the difference. And of course he loves the price. We talk for a few minutes about running, and I give him some training tips. I tell him that if he wants to know anything about running to just give me a call. He says, “Thank you,” adding that he'll ask for me personally next time. He takes his new shoes and leaves with a friendly "Later, man."
Now I turn to face Fred. If only another customer would come in right now . . . but no one does. Fred walks over from where he's been pretending to straighten clothes on the racks. He's no longer red, but he's obviously still pissed off.
"Dude," he says.
"Yeah, Fred?"
"If you ever blow a sale like that again—especially my sale—you're f---in' outta here."
I am transferred to Colorado a few weeks later.