Chasing Skirts

It's getting warmer. My long black running pants are getting hotter. Put on shorts, you say? Nay. You see, I was born with certian anatomical properties that produce atomic wedgies in shorts whilst running. My mom considers it an inherited badge of honor. She gushes, "I could always tell which one was you on the starting blocks (high school swim team), even from way up in the stands!". Cheers, mom!

So I take a trip to Salt Lake Running Company. Approached by a friendly employee, he asks how he can help. "Uh, do you have running shorts for, uh, "big girls"? He laughs, in a knowing way, and directs me to the running skirts. Skirts? Is this 1908?

"Trust me," he assures. "They're way cute."

Skeptical, I disappear into the dressing room with half dozen skirts. They are cute. But I haven't worn a skirt this short since 1984. I settle on the "Happy Hour" skirt by SkirtSports. Happy hour? Happy is not the word I'd use. Still nervous, I make the purchase. This running gig is getting pricey.

I run in the skirt and its strangely liberating. I run with that "I'm a Woman" song in my head ("I can bring home the bacon, na na na, fry it up in pan, na, na na...".)

Meanwhile, I'm still reaching for the day that running feels like running and not jogging through water. I look forward to the time where I reach that elusive "runner's high". Until then, if you see a 30-ish gal with alarmingly white legs huffing and puffing through the streets of SLC, do not slap her butt with a yardstick.* Just cheer for her - she's pulling a big load.

There's a rumor that a pack of crazy teenages roam the streets looking for joggers to slap with yardsticks. Really.