I got fitted for my orthotics today, which meant another morning in Brookline, another square bagel at Bruegger’s, and another chance to marvel at how short my podiatrist is when he’s seen in multiple photographs standing next to Larry Bird.

My orthotics are full-length, and they smell exactly like the Testor’s glue we used to use to assemble half a model airplane or two-thirds of a model car. My feet now feel like they do when I would put on hockey skates, or cross-country ski boots after I hadn’t in awhile; sore in the arches, in kind of a numbing, good way. I’ll put them to the test in San Francisco next week.