The Thrill of Potential Nudity

An important milestone happened this week. I exercised enough to run out of workout clothes. I had to do an unscheduled load of laundry, or run naked. This has not happened to me in a very, very long time. At the height of training for my first marathon in 2008, I regularly did an extra mid-week load of laundry to keep away the stink.

I have not had consistent laundry issues since then. (I also have not run a faster marathon since then.) You may be thinking, girl, just go get yourself enough workout clothes to last a week, which would be an entirely logical solution. Unfortunately, it is also a rather expensive one that I have a hard time justifying if most of those new workout clothes are going to languish in my drawers once the heat and passion of a new running goal, or new training regimen, or new gym membership have inevitably worn off.

My running bras alone are breath-taking works of architectural ingenuity. Investing in architecture requires thoughtful financial planning to ensure a good return on your investment (minimal chafing is permissible in exchange for a bounce-free experience) and avoid bankruptcy (show me effective, breast-taming architecture that costs under $75).

Then there comes the task of finding running tights that A) fit properly, B) are comfortable, C) will not immediately burn through at the inseams due to the heat and friction of my mighty thighs, D) maintain opacity when I bend over, and E) cost less than what I would spend on a week of groceries. (I regularly compromise on C and D for the sake of E, and to do all my gym stretching with my butt facing the wall.)

But after several months now of imperfect, but consistent training and healthy-esque eating, I venture to claim that I am actually making the long-term, sustainable changes in the patterns of my life, which are the foundation of my big running goal. And since I want these patterns to include changes in how I think, then I think I should go buy some new workout clothes.

Embedded beneath my self-confidence, firmly lodged right under that touch narcissism is a voice that tells me I should wait until I'm a certain kind of runner, or have a different body, or have somehow earned new workout clothes. This voice implies that the version of myself that exists right now is not good enough and doesn't deserve it. When I think like this, I mire myself in a sticky, toxic narrative that posits present me is not the real me. It says happiness and satisfaction only exist in the future when I'm finally not who I am right now. That's gross!

And so, to honor present me, and celebrate the authenticity of the joy in my life, I'm going workout clothes shopping this week. And then I'm going to use those workout clothes. Because I'm a runner. And I don't want to run naked. Ever.