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.

Talking shirt

Even though I ran cross country competitively for more than a decade, I will be the first to admit that it isn’t the most exciting sport to watch.

There are no big plays, no big hits, no juicy hot dogs and cups of beer. Instead, there are dozens—sometimes even hundreds—of competitors to keep track of on a course that is probably long, hilly and annoyingly spread-out.

The only thing giving cross country even the smallest iota of entertainment value is…the shirts.

Clever t-shirts have been making long distance running more exciting for competitors and spectators alike since Stop Pre.

Over the years, I came up with quite a few designs of my own, although they never seemed to catch on with my coaches or teammates, presumably because they were sort of counter-inspiring.

For example:











The problem is, my humility, coupled with my not-so-secret disdain for cross country, made it difficult for me to come up with catchy, positive phrases that would help build team confidence.

But when I was listening to the radio in the car the other day, I realized that during my competitive racing years, I had completely neglected a potential gold mine of ego-pumping wordage: pop artists.

Of course! Is there anyone more arrogant and self-absorbed than a young modern music star? I could just jack some lyrics, slap them on a t-shirt and…voila! Here are some of the samples I’ve cooked up so far:










Orders can be sent to my email address.

Muffin-(s)top

This is a humor blog, and its main objective is to be funny. We’ve shared a lot of laughs over the weeks (at least I hope I’m not the only one laughing), but today we need to address something very serious. And that something is muffin-top.

Imagine yourself in the following scenario: you are getting ready to go work out at your local exercise facility. You haven’t been to the gym in, um, awhile, and as a result, those cute stretch pants you bought last January (you know, right after you made that New Year’s resolution to go to the gym every day) are a bit tighter than you remember.

You decide to wear them anyway because (1) you still feel guilty about how much you spent on them, (2) you’ve convinced yourself that the snugger fit is helping “suck things in” and “smooth things out,” and (3) the lateral accent stripe is the EXACT same shade of pink as your new sports bra. And your iPod Nano. And your Nike cross trainers.

So far, so good. Here’s where things go south: you stop in front of the mirror on your way out the door, giving yourself the once-over to make sure you’ve secured any fly-away hairs and removed any Cheeto residue from your face. You are so distracted by the task of eliminating any VPL (visible panty line) that you completely overlook the much more serious situation occurring in and around your waistband region.

You enter the cardio area smiling, shirtless and completely oblivious to the fact that everyone else in the room suddenly looks like they just watched a Nicholas Cage movie. (Hint: their wide-eyed, jaws-on-the-floor stares have nothing to do with your impeccable color-coordination.)

The disturbing thing is that this little series of unfortunate events, unlike a Nick Cage film, is a nonfiction story that unfolded before my very own eyes just a few short days ago.

Look, I’m not trying to launch a smear campaign against muffin-top. We’ve all been there at one point or another, whether we enjoyed one too many Saturday morning Krispy Kremes or just unintentionally shrunk our pants in the dryer.

I’m simply pointing out the fact that, hey, they make pink shirts too. I understand that to some people, matching workout apparel is of the utmost importance.

I would argue that my mental and emotional wellbeing is of equal or perhaps greater importance. Either way, I think a t-shirt is a pretty fair compromise to this issue.

So before you decide to bare your midriff for all the world to see, stop. Look. Assess. Learn to recognize the signs of muffin-top, and keep an emergency stockpile of wardrobe alternatives to use when necessary. Together, we can eliminate VMT (visible muffin-top) and help make gyms safer and more comfortable for exercisers everywhere.

If tees could talk

From the moment you were old enough to understand the difference between designer denim and Lee Dungarees, fashion was important. If you were forced to endure the everyday popularity contest that was junior high, you might recall begging your parents for overpriced crap with brand names like Billabong plastered all over it.

High school was more of the same. You put considerable thought into choosing your daily wardrobe. You even packed color coordinated shirts, shorts, and scrunchies for afternoon sports practice.

Then you went off to college. With finals and papers and late-night games of flip cup, it was enough of a struggle to show up to class. Your fashion standards slipped, little by little, until oversized sunglasses, mismatched sweats and Ugg boots became your signature look.

And your workout attire? Well, since you were too lazy to do laundry more than once a month, you constantly found yourself fishing at the bottom of your t-shirt drawer. You would wear any clean shirt you could get your hands on, regardless of whatever logo or ridiculous slogan happened to be printed on it.

And that, my friends, is risky business. Sometimes, what you think your clothes say about you—if you have indeed thought about it—is very different from the actual message you are inadvertently communicating to your peers.

To better explain what I mean, I have provided paired examples in six different categories. The following is based on real observations at an actual college gym:

Category #1: The billboard shirt

(A)

What you think it says: “I am environmentally conscious. I now use this shirt—which I received as a birthday/Christmas/eighth grade graduation gift when I was 14—as a cutoff workout tee. Reduce, reuse, recycle!”

What it actually says: “I still feel guilty about letting my mom pay $84 for a white cotton t-shirt, and I am going to keep wearing it until it literally falls off of my body—which shouldn’t be too long, considering it was made in Honduras at a cost of approximately 17 cents.”

(B)

What you think it says: “Wings and beer! Yum!”

What it actually says: “Scantily clad girls with low standards! Yum!”

Category #2: The sports team shirt

(A)

What you think it says: “Long live the Who Dat Nation, ya'll!”

What it actually says: Same. You’re actually pretty safe with this one.

(B)

What you think it says: “I am a loyal fan who sticks by my team through thick and thin. I am a champion of underdogs everywhere.”

What it actually says: “I have become accustomed to failure. I don’t mind losing or being subjected to public embarrassment over and over again.”

Category #3: The sporting event shirt

(A)

What you think it says: “I completed an Ironman triathlon. That means I’m a legit athlete.”

What it actually says: “My training is more important yours. So get off that treadmill and do your power walking at the mall.”

(B)

What you think it says: “I am a kind and generous person. I volunteered my time for the benefit of athletes with disabilities.”

What it actually says: “I (might have) competed in the Special Olympics.”

Category #4: The concert shirt

(A)

What you think it says: “I saw Tom Petty live and in concert. It was awesome, and so am I.”

What it actually says: Same. Again, you’re safe here. (No bias whatsoever. I definitely do not own a souvenir t-shirt from Tom Petty’s 2008 summer concert series.)

(B)

What you think it says: “I don’t care what people think about me. Miley Cyrus is a talented artist and performer, and Hannah Montana should have won an Emmy.”

What it actually says: “I am secretly a 15 year-old girl. Or Billy Ray Cyrus.”

Category #5: The non-profit organization shirt

(A)

What you think it says: “I support the constitutional right to bear arms.”

What it actually says: “I have a house full of creepy animal heads.”

(B)

What you think it says: “I support the fight against animal cruelty.”

What it actually says: “We could never be friends because I would judge you for eating chicken McNuggets.”

Category #6: The cheesy slogan shirt

(A)

What you think it says: “I have a special affinity for the Lone Star State and the people who live there.”

What it actually says: “George Bush! Chicken fried steak! Yeaaaaaaahhhhhh!”

(B)

What you think it says: “Look at me! I have a sense of humor!”

What it actually says: “Don’t mess with (Walker), Texas (Ranger).”