Running Like a Girl by Alexandra Heminsley

Green Flash. He had worn through the soles by the end of the race, but I didn’t recall ever having heard him complain about it. Indeed, despite the story being extraordinary, I believed that we were the only people he had shared it with. His approach to running was so simple, so self-sufficient. While I was hanging on to support wherever I could find it—from the team at Sense, the Internet, a magazine I found on the train—my dad seemed to have a firm grasp on the key fact: Only you can run a marathon. No one else can do it for you.

    Still, I remained loyal to the idea that the perfect running outfit could do a couple of extra miles for me. With the twin pillars of running shoes and a bra in place I moved on to socks. Getting a decent pair is an absolute must.
    How complicated can socks get? I went for a few runs in the rain in regular socks and found out firsthand. These raw weekend runs taught me just how much a sock can chafe once it has been drenched; they persuaded me to invest in some double-lined sports socks. Effectively two socks attached to each other in some sort of never-ending megasock, they remove the friction from your feet, ensuring that any necessary rubbing goes on between the two layers of fabric rather than fabric against skin. A revelation! And don’t get me started on compression socks, something I thought was a fad until I ran a marathon and discovered the sweet, sweet relief that they bring. They feel like leg hugs, comforting and warming in equal measure, as if you have your feet up even when you don’t. I have been known to wear them to shows.
    Once socks had given me the confidence to swagger around a sports shop asking for what I needed, I was free to experiment with buying all sorts of other products. The more I shopped, the more comfortable I became around the weird and wonderful world of sportswear design while testing the boundaries of what worked for me. I was intrigued by how I might juggle everything I needed for the longer runs. For months I diligently left the house with a sixteen-ounce bottle of water only to return home under an hour later with it unopened. You don’t always need it. Unless it’s a very hot day, you will be fine for about an hour as long as you’ve had a good couple of glasses before you leave the house.
    For those longer runs, there is a variety of options, from the ergonomically pleasing sixteen-ounce bottles with a hand-shaped grip, to the high-tech backpack-style devices that carry a couple of quarts, feeding a straw into your mouth when you need it. A good friend told me years later that when she undertook her longer runs, she left small water bottles at the foot of trees she would pass, drinking them as she went. For me, the simplest solution was to warn my friends that I’d be stopping at their homes for water along my runs. Otherwise, I’d pop into cafés where the staff knew my face.
    In those early days when I obsessed over the disasters that could befall me on anything longer than a 5K run (being hit by a car, passing out from exhaustion, becoming delirious with dehydration, crapping myself in the gutter, et cetera), I continued to leave the house with keys, cash for a cab, iPod, and water. I’d get home with a sodden fiver and the imprint of my front-door key on my palm where it had been pressed up against the water bottle. These days I take keys and iPhone in my hand, having lost patience with those armband holders long ago. They always seemed to slip down to my wrist within three miles.
    I’m glad I made those early forays into the world of running gear, though I’ve changed my mind about a lot of it since. One thing I have remained steadfast on is never wearing shorts to run. I’m not sure I will ever be able to face my raw thighs looming toward me every time I take a step. They are chunky at the best of times, and when I’ve been running for longer than about ten minutes, they tend to turn a