I’m Bringing Sexy Back

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 2013

The running program is going really well. I’m up to 3 miles already and feel pretty good about my performance. Well, on most days, anyway. Of course they aren’t all going to be good ones, but for the most part, I’m doing fine. It’s just a good thing running isn’t like gymnastics. In gymnastics, it’s a .2 deduction if your underwear sneaks out of your leo. (Or at least that’s what I heard. The seasoned pros may just be hazing the new mom.) At any rate, I can only imagine what the jogger judge would give me on presentation.

I believe in function over form. That was burned in to my brain as a kid, so I come by that philosophy honestly. And since I’m a freeze baby, it’s important for me to layer before I go out. And, well, since it’s also dark on most days, neon is key. It’s quite possible that getting dressed for the run can take half as long as the run itself. Let’s review:

Layer One: Compression sleeves on my calves. (Heard from a friend that these would help with my legs cramping. So far, he’s right. The next cramp I get, tho, I may go knocking on his door for the 40 bucks these things cost me. But so far, they are pretty right on, so his wallet is safe.) Socks. Gotta count them somewhere, so layer one it is.

Layer Two: Under Armour Cold Gear pants and long sleeve mock turtleneck. Not only does it keep me warm, it makes me look as thin as a rail! If it was socially acceptable, I’d never take it off and would wear it everywhere.

Layer Three: Red mock turtleneck with the Indians logo. Black yoga pants.

Layer Four: Black KeyBank logo zipper pullover jacket with hood.

Layer Five: Bright lime green Barnes Wendling t-shirt. Black gloves. Black hat. And my bright orange running shoes to cap off the wardrobe.

I couldn’t help but laugh at myself when a few days ago, Justin Timberlake came on the playlist singing “I’m Bringing Sexy Back” to me. Sexy is just about the furthest thing from what I am when I run, so thank goodness that’s not the point. Cuz if there were, in fact, a jogger judge, I’d never make the podium.

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