Other days, I could care less what I look like while running. Normally these days occur in winter, when I’m half pissed about the cold weather and half pissed that my gator is still snotty hence dirty from my last run, and must resort to using a pillow case for face coverage. My warmest winter running clothes also happen to be the ugliest clothes I own. Outgrown wool sweater, old red windbreaker, ancient stocking hat; these clothes are not dated enough to be vintage and cool, just dated. Layers upon layers of warm hideous clothing put about eighty pounds on my frame. I like to think people have no idea that it’s me beneath the running pile of cloth.
I prefer days like today, when I only want to run in my most comfortable clothes, no matter the style. On days like this, I feel perfect all over and don’t mind if sweat completely drenches my loose cotton. My strides are smooth and effortless, my breath is slow and energizing. I love days like this, when I forget about my mismatched attire, my less-than-rubbed-in sunscreen face, and I allow myself to surrender to my strong legs that carry me forward.