Curse of over-diagnosis

Last week Prem dragged me to "Road Runner" to make me a buy a pair of running shoes. If you are not familiar with this place, this is how it works:

You sign-in and wait in line to be "evaluated". When an advisor is ready, he first makes you to walk across a sensor pad which coverts your step into a "foot map" of pressure points. This tells them exactly how you apply pressure when you walk. Then they make you walk on a treadmill and video tape that. The specialist now micro analyzes exactly how you use your legs to evaluate your posture, position and pressure. Finally they measure your feet and give you the "final verdict" which includes the type of shoes that is just right for you. Following this, they will be happy to fit you with the "perfect" shoe, completely conforming to the diagnosis they made. Of course, all of this for a hecty price tag.

So despite the kids showing signs of restlessness, I waited for my turn and went through the grand ritual, patiently listening to the guy telling me how I am not exactly walking straight when I use my left leg, how I apply too much weight on my toes in my right foot and so on. After a few minutes I got my "evaluation sheet". There I was labelled and categorized ; I am no longer just a person with big feet, but now I am a "neutral 8.5 D with a recommendation of medium arch insole on my left". With the circus finally done, I met Prem who was ready with his own report card.

As I proceeded to the display of shoes to figure out what the price tag for my category would be, my ever negotiating, deal making, "shrewd enough to know that 3 side orders of eggs is cheaper by a dime than a 3-egg omlette" husband quickly ushered me to the back side of the building, assuring me we can find the same shoes (which by the way, I figured would cost in $80-$100 range) at a much lower cost in the clearance section.

This infamous clearance section was nothing like the front end of the store. It was a dinky warehouse with several racks of shoe boxes all somewhat mixed up. I went to the first rack and much to my relief saw several 8.5s. The price seemed decent. I asked the guy who was arranging these if these were "D"s and he eagerly nodded. So I opened up several of them to find something I liked. Half way through this, something made me take the shoes and my "report card" to the guy at the cash register. He said "Sorry ma'm, these are "B"s, you need a "D". I was disappointed but having invested so much time, I was determined to find my perfect "sole" mate and started checking all the racks. If it was a "8.5 neutral", it wasn't a "D". If it was a "8.5D", it wasn't a "neutral". I quickly realized I do not have normal feet at all...There was nothing there that fitted my exact description. I bumped into Prem, who didn't seem to be having much luck with his own diagnosis either. He graciously decided to suspend his own search temporarily and help me instead. After some effort he found a box that matched my specs. I tried them on. They fitted okay but kind of looked weird. I took it to the counter only to realize they were Men's shoes. The search was on again... Prem finally found another box. These WERE women's shoes and exactly fitted my description. Bingo!! I was thrilled. I eagerly opened it, tried the left one on. It was a good fit. I walked around with it and decided to put on the other shoe to be doubly sure. The other shoe looked strange. I took a closer look and realized that this box had " 2 left shoes". I was ready to SCREAM. The kids by this time had completely lost it. They decided to play "shoe store" and managed to open up several random boxes and mix them all up. Sanju was insisting that Sahana try on some shoe, which she refused. Sahana started running around the store and Sanju was chasing her, screaming and crying for her to come back, with one shoe in her hand. I was helplessly watching them with the box of "2 left shoes" still in my hand. By this time, Prem had quietly given up on mine and went ahead with his own futile search.

This is when the "enlightenment" struck...What is this obsession with micro analyzing every thing we do? As human beings, are we not allowed a decent standard deviation from the "norm"? Why should every facet of us be "binned" and "labelled"? I was tired of all this over analysis and over diagnosis. I am just a normal person (ok, I admit I have big feet) looking for a simple pair of sneakers and I refuse to make this a rocket science experiment. With this new found realization, I went back to the boxes of "8.5"s and "9"s and just started trying them on. After a couple of tries I found a pair that looked good. I tried them on, walked around : Fitted just fine and it was just $20. Refusing to take another look at this box to figure out the exact specifications of this pair, I proudly carried that to the counter, paid up and left, remembering to toss my "8.5D neutral med-high arch on the left" report card into the nearest recycling bin. To h@?? with their diagnosis : I found my perfect pair!!

PS: To complete my story, Prem did not want to settle, he did cough up close to full price to buy his pair of perfection...