Running in Heels (or something like it)

One of my greatest fears is to trip on my heels in front of a crowd. (Oh, heaven forbid!)

Because of this, I try my best to be careful when I walk, as I am almost always in heels during work days. No casual spectator would notice, though, that I am being very ginger when I walk. As a result of constant practice, I have mastered the art of walking--even running--in heels.

When I was still working in Makati, there was this one lunch time where, with a single-minded goal to be in on time, a paper bag of burgers and fries in hand and my hair flying in several directions, I had to run a block in three-inch stilettoes, nudging strangers along the way, ejecting mumbled apologies here and there.

Now, thanks to the relative laid-backness of Alabang (though it's fast on its way to rivalling Makati in pace), I have somehow avoided having to run a block in a race against time. The most I do right now is to sprint from the car to the office elevator, muttering expletives (to myself) for not having woken up earlier than the 75 minute-allowance which should have been, at least, an hour and a half, if I had wanted to spare my feet from more varicose veins and my shoes from premature wear-and-tear.

I am aware that I am a walking recipe for foot and leg injury, but this is the point I really wanted to make, and which I will pose in question form: how do you equate running in heels to the highs and lows of life?

:)