The sun has set on another ski season here in my little mountain town, Winooski, VT.

The last of the snow seen in that shot is now gone. The snow didn’t make it to June as it often does according to the UVM research snow stake. Never the less it was a great season. As Garrison Keillor would say, they’re all “above average.”

Now that melted snow is flowing past my back porch in the Winooski River, and the kayakers come out after work to play in the Salmon Hole.

So, this is where I wax poetic about Spring-time rebirth and the cycle of life, right? No.

Actually, I’ve been thinking about gear. Which may sound obvious for a blogger on a gear company’s sponsored Web site, but I was thinking about gear a little differently than normal last night. While it can be fun to debate the merits of the latest piece of technical wonderment, or how to budget for the next über -toy, last night I was thinking about the lasting effects some of my best gear has had on me.

Yes, good gear, like a good tool, enables a skilled user to achieve better results. But what if I’m not a skilled user? What if I actually don’t measure up to the high standards that a great piece of gear was designed to? Can the implied expectations of our gear drive us to be better? Maybe….

I’m a consumer product designer by trade, and have spent years engineering the best products I can for my customers. It makes me really happy to see my designs out in the hands of a good user. So when I get a piece of great equipment I often think back to the designer behind it and wonder what she would think of a guy like me using her design.

Do I even measure up?

And this brings me to last night, and pondering my now dead shoes and how they’ve changed me. After last night’s 10k~ish jog, their trail running days are over. Many hundreds of rocky and muddy miles have sapped their spring, worn their tread, abraded the laces, and peeled the soles. They’re the best running sneakers I’ve ever had, but what made me happy last night was they also made me the best runner I’ve ever been. I was psyched to see that I had managed to wear them out, before they wore me out. I lived up to expectations of good gear.

When I moved to Vermont a few years ago, I tried to take up running again. With an older pair of kicks that had been wasting away in my closet I went out for a 20 minute jog along the Winooski River. I could barely walk the next day I was so sore. I kept at it though, eventually developing a habit of (maybe) bi-weekly post work ~5k trail runs. It didn’t take long to shred through my old shoes even with that modest amount of use. I went down to my local gear shop and got some experienced help fitting my feet to the best pair of real trail runners for me.

Dropping a three digit MSRP on a pair of sneakers was really steep for this barely reformed “faux” runner. But the expectation was there: “OK Peter, you bought these things, don’t waste ‘em!” With my girlfriend’s help we were soon running 3-5 days/week during the warm months, and staying after it in during the cold months too. My work night 5k loops expanded to 10k’s. Our long runs on weekends moved up to 20k’s. Then we started adding elevation, doing loops like The Long Trail over Mt.Mansfield.

The fitness has paid off big time for our skiing. My improvement in the local Randonnée racing has been a direct result. It’s also paid off in the development of our new favorite summer past time -> trail running explorations to find the “perfect” swimming hole.

I’ll never be a fast runner. You won’t see me winning any races. But, I do think I’ve lived up to the challenge thrown down by my fancy sneakers. I’m looking forward to buying a new pair tomorrow, and continuing to work towards those high standards.
The next question is: can I live up to the expectations of the fancy new rock shoes and harness I just bought?