Pants. I want to talk about pants. Not the underclothes kind, but the ones you are forced to don if you are a runner.
In normal life, my favourite colour is black.
I can barely work out what I need to put on in the morning as my wardrobe is so dark.
That’s not exactly true, actually as I have branched out and some grey has crept in there. It’s positively summery.
But when I go running, another me has been unleashed.
I now embrace colour and the wackier the pants, the better.
I’m approaching my two-year running birthday.
Two years! Who would have thought I’d have lasted this long?
When I started, I had a ratty old pair of jogging bottoms, that I already owned to ‘lounge’ in rather than run, obviously, and cotton T-shirts with humorous phrases on, including my favourite ‘I don’t really like running’.
That sentiment hasn’t really changed, by the way. I got the feeling I was kind of letting the side down when Sam rang me one day to talk about all things exercise and the conversation turned to kit.
She advised Lycra. I wasn’t keen. I’ve never been a fan. But she uttered the magic words “it’ll make you run faster” and I was convinced.
I went to the sports shop in Workington, feeling like an imposter and wondering if they sold the size mahoosive and how I’d feel if I ripped the pants while trying to encase my thighs in the changing room.
Thankfuly, it turned out I only needed a size medium and while they were snug, the shop lady told me they were meant to be. And she didn’t even snigger.
That first week, I wore a pair of shorts over the top, not feeling quite confident enough to unleash the thunder thighs on the poor people of Cockermouth.
Luckily, the clocks changed, it got darker and I was happier to run without the shorts over the top a la Superman.
Well, there’s been no stopping me. I’ve had all sorts, some more successful than others.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, I fell in love.
I spotted an ad for an online store which seemed to specialise in mad running pants.
They even had a line of Mr Men pants.
Mr Men pants! Genius. I had to have them.
I hesitated for a moment as because it was aimed a fit people, my normal go-to size in a normal shop (large) was listed as 2XL.
No woman wants clothing marked 2XL but I really wanted Mr Men. I took the plunge and they arrived in all their primary colour glory.
Husband asked me if I was really going out in them.
“Of course,” I scoffed. “Warn the people of Cockermouth to wear sunglasses,” he replied.
And someone at work asked me if I wasn’t too old for Mr Men. You’re never too old.
Also, they were a little bit big. I say a little, if I got a pair of braces I could wear them as a bodysuit, which is gratifying.
So when a second pair of Little Miss Fun pants wafted in front of me, in a sale, I couldn’t refuse and they fit like a glove.
My one complaint? They don’t make me run faster. Sam fibbed. But I think they help the others, who don’t want to be seen with me, so up their pace.
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