the ball of the foot, for example. Heel spurs, for instance. Shin splints. Achilles tendinitis. Excessive pronation—remember our old friend pronation?” And he refreshed my memory by yanking my ankle inward. “And then,” he said darkly, “there’s always chondromalacia.”
“There is?”
He nodded with grim satisfaction. “Chondromalacia. The dreaded Runner’s Knee, every bit as fearful as Tennis Elbow.”
“It sounds terrible.”
“Potentially terrible. But never fear,” he added brightly, “for Feinsinger’s here, and relief is right around the corner. All you need is the right pair of custom orthotics and you can run until your heart gives out. And for that I’ll refer you to my brother-in-law Ralph. He’s the cardiologist in the family.” He patted my foot. “Just my little joke. Stay with running and the chances are you won’t need a cardiologist. It’s the best thing you can do for yourself. All we have to do is make sure your feet are up to it, and that’s where I come in.”
Orthotics, it turned out, were little inserts for me to wear in my shoes. They would be custom-made for me out of layers of leather and cork after the good Dr. Feinsinger took impressions of my feet, which he did right there and then before I had much of a chance to think about what I was getting into. He took my bare feet one at a time and pressed them into a box containing something like styrofoam, except softer.
“You’ve made a good first impression,” he assured me. “Now come into the other room for a moment, my friend. I want to have a look at your bones.”
I followed him, walking springily on the balls of my feet, while he told me how my personal pair of orthotics would not only enable me to run without pain but were virtually certain to change my whole life, improve my posture and penmanship, and very likely elevate my character in the bargain. He led me into a cubicle down the hall where a menacing contraption with a faintly dental air about it was mounted on the wall. He had me sit in a chair and swung the gadget out from the wall so that a cone-shaped protuberance was centered over my right foot.
“I don’t know about this,” I said.
“Guaranteed painless. Trust me, friend.”
“You hear a lot of things about X rays, don’t you? Sterility, things like that.”
“All I take is a one-second exposure and nothing goes higher than the ankle. Sterility? There’s such a thing as the ball of the foot, my friend, but unless you’ve actually got your balls in your feet I assure you you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
In a matter of minutes the machine had done its nasty work and I was back in the other room pulling up my socks and lacing up my Pumas. They had never felt wide before, but they certainly felt wide now. With every step I took I imagined my Mortonic feet slipping dangerously from side to side. Heel spurs, shin splints, the dreaded Runner’s Knee—
And then we were back in the reception room where I let a redhead with a Bronx accent book an appointment three weeks hence for me to pick up my orthotics. “The full price is three hundred dollars,” she told me, “and that includes the lab charges and this visit and all subsequent visits, in case you need any adjustments. It’s a one-time charge and there’s nothing additional, and of course it’s fully deductible for taxes.”
“Three hundred dollars,” I said.
“No cost compared to other sports,” Feinsinger said. “Look what you’d spend on a single ski weekend, let alone buying your equipment. Look at the hourly rates they’re getting for tennis courts. All you have to do to get the full benefits of running is get out there and run, and isn’t it worth it to spend a few dollars on the only feet God gave you?”
“And running’s good for me, I guess.”
“Best thing in the world for you. Improves your cardiovascular system, tones your muscles, keeps you trim and fit. But your feet take a pounding, and if they’re not set up to handle the task—”
Three hundred dollars still seemed pretty pricey for a custom version of the little arch supports they sell for $1.59 at the corner drugstore. But it dawned on me that I didn’t have to pay it now, that a thirty-dollar deposit would keep everybody happy, and in three weeks’ time they could sit around wondering why I hadn’t shown up. I handed over three