A Canadian in Sweden

The Chosen Ones

As I was doing my laundry the other day, I was just about to fold this pair of socks up and put them in my drawer when I realized that these were the Best Socks Ever. I bought these socks for Phase III Army training while I was still at RMC, because the army socks at the time sucked (scratchy wool). That means I purchased these socks in 1995. If a year is - what, 7 dog years? - then I reckon a year has to be about 25 sock years. The lifespan of an average pair can't be more than 3 years or so. That means these suckers are the equivalent of 300 years old. I bet that these socks are the choice of Galapagos tortoises.

I remember purchasing them because my strategy at the time was very simple: Price Is No Object. I had no desire to have anything but the best available equipment in the field in Chilliwack, because I knew that Phase III would be extremely demanding and I didn't want to worry about having crappy equipment on top of everything else. (As an aside, it turns out my premonitions about Phase III were quite correct. At the end of that summer I was exceptionally well qualified for any job that required large amounts of digging and misery.) So, I went to the Mountain Equipment Co-Op store in Ottawa and simply asked for the most expensive pair of hiking socks they had. These puppies cost me $45 bucks.

The socks did serve me very well in the field, and when I returned to RMC that fall, I still wore them frequently in my parade boots. Then one day I did laundry and only one of the socks came back. True story. I was rather sad, but kept hope that its mate would eventually turn up, so I put the lone remaining sock in the bottom of my barrack box. A week went by, then a month. No sock. I kind of forgot about it.

Two months later - November sometime, because there was snow on the ground - I had to go into Kingston for some errand. I had no car, and rarely went into town because it was just really inconvenient. I was also in Chemical Engineering and did biathlon and therefore had no social life. I guess some things just don't change. Anyhow, as I passed in front of the Tim Hortons beside Fort Frontenac, I had to keep my head down because it was quite windy and cold. I noticed a dirty rag in the gutter. Then I stopped dead.

Yup. My sock.

To this day, I have absolutely no idea how my missing sock travelled from my Squadron laundry room to a gutter on the side of the road in Kingston over a kilometer away. And to find it two months after it went missing defies belief. But there you go. The world is a strange and mysterious place.

I gingerly picked it up out of the gutter and inspected it. There was no question it was mine. There are not too many $45 dollar socks lying around in gutters. This was my sock. Correct size and everything. So I brought it back to the College and laundered it. Then, with a song in my heart I reunited it with its long lost comrade from the bottom of my barrack box.

Since then, these socks have accompanied me on virtually every trip I have taken because they are still darn comfy and pretty much indestructible. They have run with me in at least two CIOR orienteering races and I wear them regularly inside my ski boots, so they have no doubt accompanied me on many of my ski and biathlon races also.

I now believe that these socks are immortal. They are the Chosen Ones. When Christ returns to judge the living and the dead, he will be wearing these socks. I do not own these socks. Nobody can own them. I am simply their guardian and keeper. And as such, it will be my humble honour to wear them in the Vasaloppet next week.

posted by Jeff @ 11:44 AM