Paper boy

Recent trends in running fashion have left me worried that we are all slowly losing our identity as runners. (On a completely unrelated note, the recent upsurge of vehicles with Alberta license plates in my hometown has left me worried that we are slowly being invaded by Canada.)

The more we “borrow” gear items previously designated for sports that are not running, the more we look like athletes who are not runners.

“That’s hogwash!” you might say.

But before you write off my concern as irrational paranoia, consider the following evidence.

Women running in skirts originally intended for playing tennis:

People running in rubber foot-gloves originally intended for yacht racing:

Dudes running in calf warmers originally intended for Jane Fonda:

If that’s not enough to totally freak you out, get this: legendary running coach Alberto Salazar recently revealed that he is asking some of his athletes—namely Olympic silver medalist Galen Rupp and high school national recordholder Mary Cain—to wear equestrian shoulder braces while training.

Yep, you read that correctly—equestrian. As in horse riding. Because duh, small people who sit on top of horses that run have a lot in common with small people who run like horses.

When I read this story, I couldn’t help but imagine poor Galen decked out in all of the crazy gear that is surely lurking in his closet. How ridiculous would he look?!?

Well, thanks to my rudimentary Photoshop skills and a slightly embarrassing amount of free time, we don’t have to imagine anymore. Below you will find my most recent exploit in a string of non-revenue producing ventures. I call it Paper Galen—soon to be the number-one toy among kid marathoners everywhere! (So far this only includes the Welsch sisters, but I have a feeling America is on the cusp of a youth running craze.)

This, not That

Five months into my half-marathon training, I have come to a terrible conclusion: I’m turning into That Lady.

You know the lady I’m talking about—we’ve all seen her, or her male counterpart, That Guy.

They’re the way-too-serious recreational runners who cruise down the local river trail dressed in head-to-toe tech gear: compression socks, arm sleeves, moisture-wicking visors, GPS watches, hydration belts, Breathe Right strips.

In college, my teammates and I used to make fun of them. Of course, most of us were too poor to afford any sort of gear to supplement the oversized sweats and T-shirts we were issued at the beginning of the season. But come on, nothing makes you more legit than running a Division I college cross-country workout in a grey cotton T-shirt that was made for the world’s fattest cross-country runner.

So anyway, now that I have a real-ish job, I have been able to add to my gear arsenal. When someone suggested that I try GU in order to combat the “ugh” feeling that I experience at around mile eight of my long runs, I went to the store and bought a whole bunch of GU packs.

And just like that, I became That Lady who stuffs GU packs in her shorts before long runs.

The only problem was that ingesting the GU mid-run caused an unfavorable reaction in my GI tract. My first thought was, “Shit—did I check the expiration date on that mayonnaise?”

Turns out, Best Foods had nothing to do with my mishap. I had completely overlooked the fact that GU is supposed to be consumed with water. Otherwise, you don’t digest it properly. Rookie mistake.

Soon, I was That Lady who stuffs GU packs in her shorts and plans her runs around designated water stops. I even considered planting water bottles along my routes.

Maybe you’ve been there, too. If you’ve ever Googled “Public water fountains in [insert your town here],” then you most likely have played the role of That Lady or That Guy at some point in your life.

Right around the time when I was researching algebraic equations that could help me determine the water and GU intake intervals that would maximize my energy levels, I realized that I had gone too far.

When I started training for this stupid race, the goal simply was to finish. Once I got a couple of long runs under my belt and realized that I was definitely capable of finishing 13.1 miles, the goal was to crack the top 10.

By the time I was crunching numbers like a tax accountant with a meth problem, I was determined to win at all costs.

The thing is, I’m the kind of person who can drive herself insane over the most minute details of a race—stuff that has nothing to do with fitness or preparation.

The 800 meters was bad enough. During my warm-up routine, my mind was usually consumed by a continuous stream of ridiculous worries. Should I wear tights or not? Is my ponytail too high? Do I have a visible panty line? Is Dancing With the Stars on tonight?

And that’s only for a two-lap race. Multiply it by, oh, 26, and you can see why I so vehemently resist becoming That Lady. My obsessive personality can’t handle That Lady.

Therefore, I’ve decided that I shall henceforth be known as This Lady. This Lady eats GU whenever she feels like eating GU. This Lady doesn’t give a rip about VPL. And This Lady is going to kick some serious ass next weekend.

No bra? Faux pas!

I really thought I’d seen it all.

I have worked out at various indoor fitness facilities for close to a decade now, and when it comes to gym clientele, nothing really surprises me anymore.

I’ve seen people sweat it out in jeans, button-up flannels, suede loafers, turtlenecks, khakis, denim cut-offs, turbans, Christmas sweaters—you name it. If someone were to hop on the elliptical next to mine in a pair of footie pajamas, I probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

For a long time, I considered such “unconventional” exercisers as inferior to those of us donning normal workout apparel like gym shorts and t-shirts.

Then I met people—most of whom fell under the previously discussed Longwinded Techy category—who lambasted me for my own clothing choices, including my extensive collection of Gildan 100% cotton t-shirts.

“Oh man, you’ve gotta get yourself some Under Armour heat gear. You’ll never wear cotton again,” they would tell me. Well guess what? I like cotton. I like the way it looks. I like the way it feels. I like the way it washes up. And I think there is a reason that cotton, not segmented polyurethane, is advertised as “the fabric of our lives.”

And so, gradually, I adopted a more forgiving attitude toward exercisers with eccentric gym wardrobes.

What I saw today, however, was utterly unforgivable. No pun intended. Well, you probably wouldn’t understand the pun yet anyway, but you will in a minute.

I was cruising along on the elliptical, watching the Harlem Globetrotters on ESPN2 and minding my own business. The Trotters were performing all sorts of amazing tricks, but when a flash of red diverted my attention from the bouncing basketballs on my TV screen to the running track that circles the cardio area, I fixed my eyes on another set of bouncing spheres.

The jogger on the track—a woman in her mid-40s or 50s—was decked out in red running gear, from the shoelaces on her training flats to the moisture-wicking fabric of her fitted shirt. It was what she wasn’t wearing that was so horrifying.

If she was trying to make a feminist statement, it definitely wasn’t working. I get it—bras are uncomfortable, and we as women must free ourselves from the social expectation to bind our bodies under layers of mesh and underwire.

While that argument might apply to women in non-exercise settings, I simply cannot accept it as a logical line of reasoning when it comes to women who jog. Today, I witnessed the effects of running braless, and even the most eloquent defense attorney could not convince me, beyond a reasonable doubt, that this woman was more comfortable sans support.

So, if you are a woman who is considering pulling a stunt like this, please consider the following points:

1.) Sports bras are made to be comfortable—so comfortable, in fact, that you might forget you are even wearing a bra.

2.) This does not mean that you should actually forget to wear a bra.

3.) There are two things in this world you don’t mess with: Texas and gravity.

4.) Some things cannot be unseen. Have some respect for your fellow exercisers.

And if you really must go braless, I would advise you to, at the very least, invest in some nipple guards.

The things I think while working out: gym stereotypes

With every gym comes a certain cast of characters. If you’ve spent a considerable amount of time at your local athletic club, you know exactly what I am talking about. Actual gym population make-up may vary by region, but here are the main profiles I’ve identified so far:

The Rocky Balboas: These are the guys who show up in head-to-toe gray cotton to sweat it out on the stair-stepper like they’re cutting weight for the high school wrestling championships. Other key defining traits: grunting, snarling, teeth-gritting, spitting.

The Biggest Losers: Inspired by NBC’s popular weight loss series, these newbies purchased a gym membership in hopes of shedding pounds without being harassed and demoralized by Jillian Michaels. Other key defining traits: pedometers, Sketchers Shape-Ups, hyperventilation.

The Has-Beens: These former high school sports stars haven’t quite accepted the fact that their athletic careers ended 17 years ago, and they’re here to relive their glory days. Often taking the form of 40-year-old men playing pick-up basketball, they can be heard saying things like, “If only Coach could see my jump shot now. I’d be in the starting five, fo sho!” Other key defining traits: thinning hair, visceral fat, beards, high-fives.

(Note: Has-Beens may also take the form of washed-up ex-college track and field athletes.)

The Trainers: They got into the business with glamorous visions of training Olympic weightlifters and pro football players. Now they’re stuck helping thirty-something women tone their thighs and lose pregnancy pounds. Other key defining traits: abs, clipboards, forced enthusiasm.

The Overbearing Sports Parents: They can be seen spotting their seven-year-old on the bench press and screaming, “Up! Up! Uuuuuuuppppp!” each time junior struggles to punch a rep. They are convinced their kid is the next Peyton Manning, so they’ll make sure he does everything he can to propel himself to NFL stardom—be it power cleans or MasterCard commercial auditions. Other key defining traits: stopwatches, windbreakers, chewing gum.

The Longwinded Techies: These are the guys who hop on the treadmill next to yours, GU packet in hand, and tell you how awesome their new GPS watch is. When you don’t respond (because, hello, you’re in the middle of a workout!) they ask you if you have one. You (sort of) politely answer no and hope that will be the end of the conversation. Just as they prepare to deliver a 20-minute expository speech on the merits of GPS devices, you put in your headphones and pretend to listen to your iPod, which died half an hour ago. Other key defining traits: hydration belts, Dri-FIT apparel, bad breath.

The Schwarzenegger Wannabes: These roid-raging beefcakes will hog the platform for upwards of 30 minutes per lift, as they will spend several minutes flexing in the mirror between sets. They show up in waves and speak only with each other, presumably to share protein shake recipes and compare cut-off t-shirts. Other key defining traits: spray tans, weightlifting belts, acne, anger.