The sun hadn't even begun to burn through the morning haze of the valley when Elias pulled into the gravel lot of "The High Road," a specialty running shop that smelled permanently of vulcanized rubber and expensive espresso. He wasn't a runner. In fact, he’d spent the better part of a decade avoiding any activity that required a rhythmic heart rate. But a week ago, his doctor had used words like "calcification" and "longevity," and suddenly, Elias found himself staring at a wall of neon mesh and carbon plates.

"Asics," Elias said, perhaps a bit too loudly. "I need a few."

The clerk, whose name tag read Chloe, began bringing out boxes.

Elias stepped inside. A bell chimed, and a young woman with calves like sculpted granite looked up from a display. "Looking for something specific?"

He pulled out his phone and checked the note he’d scribbled: Buy Asics. A few.