These Are Why (I Shun Shorts)

Scrolling back through my post on the demise of my Under Armour running pants (see "The True Story of My Breakup with Under Armour"), I can’t believe how dramatic I made it all seem. But then, looking at the recent pictures of me in my new (well, still new to me) running SHORTS, I remember why I shunned them for years. And this is why. Or rather, these are why! See the legs poking out? They happen to be similar to some other legs in my family. We put the blame on an ancestor a few generations back. Of course, we don’t have a picture of this ancestor’s legs, only her face. (She never confronted the dilemma of buying running shorts!) In her defense, she can blame the bad picture on the photography of the era, but we will continue to blame her for all the physical traits we don’t like. It makes a convenient circle.

These knees are courtesy of The Ugly Lady

Sigh … if you ever flip through a running magazine (I make it a point not to), you’ll notice how everyone looks beautiful and svelte. Just like the models in fashion magazines, only maybe a little more obviously muscular and dressed in sportswear. You may deceive yourself into thinking (especially as it’s the time for New Year’s resolutions) that if you exercise regularly, let alone run a marathon, you will look like that, too. FYI: these legs here just ran a marathon. So don’t get your hopes up!

The True Story of My Breakup with Under Armour

Sometimes you end up with a few items in your closet you know you can count on. I still think about a really awesome pair of jeans endowed with the magical quality of always looking good. I know this trait was specific to the jeans because other items in my wardrobe didn’t work like that. I wish I could have owned those pants longer—I wish I had them now! Unfortunately, clothing is subject to its own mortality, unable to last forever. My capri running pants from Under Armour served me for an era as some of the most essential items I owned. I’ve been through four pairs of them: not that many, given the years, the washings, the miles run.

I bought my first two pairs, one black and one gray, at an outlet store in Park City after my first-ever (beloved) running pants became too flashy for polite company. The day I went shopping at Park City, I was, say, on the thin end of my weight spectrum; still, I remember worrying that I had chosen the wrong size, too small for ultimate comfort. I had no need to be concerned. Those two pairs proved loyal and forgiving, with their drawstring waists and flowing cut; they lasted through years of daily use, through weight changes up and weight changes back down, never seeming to change themselves. Until, eventually, they too displayed their inevitable mortality by developing holes in unfortunate places.

I wore them even after I had begun to worry about their flashiness because I couldn’t see my way into a new era of running attire. If I had to let those pants go, how could I find others to take their place? I didn’t know what Under Armour was selling that year, and anyway, I didn’t know how to find out where Under Armour was selling it. Returning to the store in Park City from my present home on the east coast seemed impractical—although potentially worth it, I couldn’t help musing! Happily, I discovered an Under Armour outlet I could visit without buying a plane ticket. And oh, so happily, I found another two pairs of capri running pants almost exactly the same as my original set. Ah, life (where life is running) could go on.

My second two pairs of Under Armour running pants seemed to seal my identity as an Under Armour athlete. I would have done endorsements for a 10%-off coupon. (OK, I would have done them for free.) When the time came to transition to yet another set of clothing, I approached the prospect with much more optimism than before. I knew exactly where to go—it was only a matter of driving to the store and plunking down my money.

Not so fast. I skipped enthusiastically into the Under Armour outlet this spring and began searching through the tightly packed racks. At first, the inventory seemed dense; I didn’t worry when my initial pass through the women’s section didn’t turn up the items I sought. I made my way back through, looking more carefully, pulling what seemed like every dark-colored capri bottom off the rack to examine it in case it should turn out to be what I was after. Hmm. Nothing.

           

“Can I help you find something?” an employee asked at one point. I usually fend off all sales associates as a rule, but my quest drove me. I described the items I was looking for. “And they have to have a drawstring,” I emphasized. I wished every pair of pants I ever wore had a drawstring. Anyway, for months now, it had been the drawstring alone holding up my running pants, the original elasticity in the waist having surrendered to too many washings. I knew how essential a drawstring could be.

The employee’s response dismayed me. What I wanted no longer existed in the Under Armour universe. Well, he didn’t admit that exactly, not right away. He steered me toward some capris I had already considered and then disregarded. Wrong fabric. Wrong cut. Wrong something. And then he told me the trends were against me. Activewear is all about compression now. And shorts. (Sigh, that part is nothing new—but I’m no longer dressing for high school PE!) Compression, he said again. That’s what people want now.

But what about me? What about what I want? He couldn’t have known the darkly brooding mood I had plunged into by the time I fled to the sidewalk outside the store. I thought of my college French professor’s joke to me when he handed back the first grammar quiz I’d failed to ace: “Where do we look for truth now?” Where, indeed? Suddenly, the future of running appeared very dark.

I began strolling aimlessly down the sidewalk between the outlets, toward the other end of the mall. I’d passed a few other sporting goods stores, glancing at them disdainfully, on my way to Under Armour. Now my mind clutched at them as possible solutions to my problem. Come on, I chided myself, Under Armour is not the only brand of activewear in the universe. Never mind that I’ve worn Under Armour for five years and twenty-some-odd marathons. There’s other stuff out there! (I didn’t really believe my pep talk, but I couldn’t think of any better options than checking out the other sporting goods stores in the area.)

So I tried to keep an open mind as I browsed through the outlets of some big-name brands. After the initial shock of disappointment, I even considered that compression might not be too horrible. I couldn’t imagine tight pants feeling good after miles of sweaty running, and of course I’d look hideous in them—but if other people embraced them, and other people looked all right in them (they did, I knew from observation), maybe they could be worth a try. Here, in my opening up to new possibilities, I smashed into another barrier: price. I remembered what I paid for my last set of running pants, and I was prepared to pay about that much again. I was not prepared to pay twice as much for an item that could only substitute for what I really wanted. I rushed from store to store, hoping for something better, for, OK, a miracle, a hidden gem of drawstring comfort, or at least some compression pants that might squeeze my legs but not my budget. I was nearing the other end of the outlet mall and the end of my shopping options when I ventured into the Champion store.

I had owned some Champion shoes once, and I liked them. Still, I didn’t think of Champion gear as serious sportswear; it was more like play clothes. I did remember the shoes having an important quality going for them, and that was a good price.

The inventory in the Champion outlet didn’t immediately lift my spirits. At least now I knew what kind of market I was shopping in, where the “trends” had abandoned people like me who shrunk from presenting the lower body in detailed outline—heck, who shrunk from even acknowledging that the lower body had a detailed outline. I cast myself as a brave realist when I selected a few possibilities from the rack and went to face my reflection in the dressing room. Here the wished-for miracle asserted itself. The different styles of running wear—one a pair of knee-length shorts, the type of thing I’d shunned since before junior high, the other a capri-length pant that was touted as something like loose compression, if such a thing is possible—they looked … not horrible on me. And they felt … not horrible. Like I might be able to run in them. For a long time.

I think I gulped and sighed a few times on my way to the register and again when I handed over my plastic payment. The true test would come with my next long run, Monday morning. It was late Saturday afternoon. I let the idea of the new clothes settle into my mind. Monday, I chose the knee-length shorts. I ran 13 miles. I felt the air against my legs. A few inches seemed to let in a lot more breeze. And I liked that.

After my run, I walked over to the grocery store without changing, and I caught my reflection in the glass front doors. I cringed, but only a little. I wasn’t used to seeing my legs poking out like that. But they looked … not horrible. And they basked in the caress of air against my skin.

I tried out the tight-to-me capri pants on a shorter run because I harbored more skepticism about their performance under pressure, that is, sweat. Amazingly, they felt as comfortable as my old Under Armour gear. I ended up wearing them in the freezing cold of the Stockholm Marathon, and they carried me through. Yeah, they’ve won me over. I don’t even cringe anymore at my reflection in the shorts; I’m used to it, resigned. The capri pants have proven themselves in heat and cold. What more could I ask for?

It’s a new era now. Under Armour pants? Who needs them! (Insert wistful sigh, for the sake of all the memories.) I love my new running gear: I’m a Champion girl for now. That is, uh, at least until my next foray into sportswear shopping. Which I can only hope won’t be necessary for a long, long time.

Now, if they ever seriously change my Mizuno shoes … !!

Clothing: Classic (with Coverage, without Compression)

Under Armour gear, R.I.P.

Bring the Mizunos and Throw in Some Magic Jelly Beans

Saturday afternoon I’m waiting for a free sales associate in the specialty running store because buying a new pair of running shoes is on today’s must-do list … only I keep getting distracted. The store is maybe the busiest I’ve ever seen it. I drift around catching bits of conversations: one guy explaining that he’s jogging about three miles a day now, a couple discussing the carbohydrate information they’re reading off the packets of energy gels and caffeinated jelly beans. Finally the wife asks a passing salesperson, “Do you have anything that’s low glycemic?” I hear her apologetic “I know this may sound weird,” but I don’t hear the salesperson’s reply. I can’t help being drawn myself to the array of edible goods. It’s sort of like being in a candy store, only not the conventional kind—more like a Harry Potter version, with unexpected concoctions that many a runner hopes will prove magical two or three hours into a four-hour race.

If this were my first time in a running store, I probably wouldn’t wait around. The cheerful chaos and tight quarters would have intimidated me a few years ago, when I felt wobbly in my identity as a runner. I remember the guy who helped me select my first pair of high-quality shoes. I can still picture him, even though I’ve never been back to the same store. I remember the novelty of being sent out onto the sidewalk with unpurchased $100 shoes on my feet so that he could watch me run in them. Back then it was a whole new world opening up; it was me doing things I’d never believed I could do. Now I shift between annoyance and interest, but I stay firmly in my comfort zone as I eye the neon green dry-wicking shirt towards the back of the store, where the apparel beckons.

It is a milestone of sorts. Not as thrilling as the Thanksgiving weekend a few years back when I first ran two miles continuously, with no walking breaks (woohoo, I knew then I could someday earn one of those cool T-shirts they give to runners of 5Ks, and all other running events worth participating in). Still, it’s something, standing here in a crowd of runners and feeling I have nothing to prove. The atmosphere, the talk, the brand names are all familiar. I haven’t stumbled into this world by accident; I’m part of it.

And apparently I’m blending in too well. I’m going to have to stop floating around, put down the box of magic jelly beans, and flag down a sales associate. After all, my request can be filled quickly: I know exactly what I want. I’ve been wearing the same kind of shoes ever since I bought my first Mizunos at that first running specialty store I ever visited, the one I’ve never been back to. And I’m determined now to take a fresh pair on my trip to Ireland for the Dublin marathon next week—I’ve built up too much sweat and blood on my current pair to haul them overseas. They’d be a hazard on the plane.

I’ve been to Ireland before. I ran the Dublin marathon in 2007 as my first marathon outside the United States. Since then I’ve run marathons in Norway, Iceland, and the Netherlands, and I’m registered for the 2012 Stockholm marathon. But I have good memories of Dublin, and I got nostalgic sometime this spring when I was running on a treadmill watching CNN coverage of the Queen’s visit to Ireland. Her green suit really got to me. It clinched the deal somehow. Not that I have one like it to wear on my trip ... but I’m going to try for some green hair. No one ever thinks anything you do during a marathon is too weird. So I want to run with green and purple stripes in my hair. (Green for Ireland, purple for me: my favorite color.)

Finally a newly freed sales associate spots me and offers to help. I put in my order for Mizuno Wave Riders and tell him the size, and while he’s in the back retrieving the shoes, several other salespeople ask me if I’ve been helped.

When he returns with a shoe box, I insist I don’t need to try the shoes on. I’m ready to finish my errand. He gives me special treatment and rings me up right away, and it turns out I have good timing. The shoes are less expensive than usual because the next model of Wave Riders is on the verge of debuting. I must always remember to buy running shoes at the end of October.

Before he sends me off with my purchase, he takes the shoes out of the box to double check the size. That’s when I see the trim is pink this time. Here’s a trick-or-treat involved in buying Mizunos: they are always coming out with new colors of trim, but only one color scheme at a time. So you get what you get, but chances are it’s different from what you’ve had before. For sure I’ve never had pink. I’m not pleased this time. It seems too delicate and girly. I’m going to be scared to subject these shoes to the trauma of sweaty feet (oh, it sounds so much more noble to say “blood, sweat, and tears,” although the tears rarely get all the way down to the shoes).

Monday morning I don’t dare wear my new shoes. I slog through my morning run in my old, familiar ones. I tell a friend I can’t wear pink shoes. And she reminds me pink is for supporting breast cancer research and those affected by breast cancer. I didn’t think of that. I decide maybe I like the pink trim.

And she reminds me that Sharpie pens come in lots of colors. Hmm, I wonder if they can color hair?

On to Dublin!