Running Like a Girl

Running Like a Girl by Alexandra Heminsley Page A

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Authors: Alexandra Heminsley
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color that even a diplomat would have to describe as corned beef. Add to that the uncomfortable sensation that “loose” legs make as they hit the ground, and it’s all too much jiggling for me. I stick to caprilength leggings for most of the year and have a couple of pairsof long running tights for winter to prevent red raw ankles. I have a pair of heavenly thermal-lined running tights for winter, much to the disapproval of my brother, who is insane enough to run in shorts all year round.
    The only problem to be solved once committed to running in leggings is that of underwear. Big, sporty, cesarean-height, a thong like a cheese wire—the list of available options is almost infinite. I tried large sporty-branded types first, but I was left dispirited by the enormous dent that the seam—even from seamless ones—left beneath my running tights. The thong lasted no longer than two runs: It is impossible to get farther than three miles looking and feeling as uncomfortable as only having a piece of brightly colored cotton wedged between your butt cheeks while you run up a hill can make you. The solution I found is simple but effective: I no longer wear panties for running. It’s just another unnecessary layer beneath a far superior layer of wicking fabric.
    I finally worked out what wicking fabric is. Rather than being what my mother describes as “that disgusting slithery stuff,” it is in fact a highly technical fabric that moves moisture away from the body and toward the upper surface so as to dry quickly.
    When I first envisioned myself running, I saw myself as Jodie Foster’s Clarice Starling in the opening scenes of The Silence of the Lambs . So strong, so focused, so proud. She is utterly confident, completely single-minded about her training run across a terrifying assault course. At one point she runs past a tree with the sign HURT AGONY PAIN LOVE IT stapled to it. She doesn’t care what she looks like; she has shit to do, and she is going to get it done. And yet . . . she is wearing a phenomenally impractical outfit. She is in a heavy cotton sweatshirt andtracksuit bottoms and is drenched in sweat. The top is sticking to both her chest and back and looks painfully heavy. She is summoned by a colleague and heads inside past a roomful of people dressed in khaki, faffing around with guns, and then gets into an elevator. All in the heavy, damp cotton. That wet fabric must have gotten incredibly cold the minute she stopped running, and it bothers me whenever I think of the poor woman in that meeting. For years the scene was my running inspiration, yet now I am unable to watch the first hour of the film without worrying about whether Clarice is shivering from the horrors of Hannibal Lecter or because she caught a dreadful chill.
    Mercifully, fabrics these days have eradicated such issues. While modern running tops might seem oddly slithery to the touch, they feel like an entirely different prospect once they’re clinging to your chest, protecting you from sweat. Same goes for light-reflective patches on sleeves, necklines, and along the edges of calves and thighs. They are not there, as I initially suspected, as ridiculous splashes of flashing bravado but to potentially save your life on a dark winter’s evening.
    In the early days, my instinct was to buy and wear clothes as baggy as possible in an attempt to conceal my amateur blubber. I quickly realized how futile that is. Running clothes are not tight because retailers want you to be exposed. They are just easier to run in, and you’re less likely to get your headphone cables tangled in loose fabric. And, well, smaller clothes are less fabric to carry around with you or have rubbing against your shoulders, hips, or rib cage as you battle through the rain on a stormy day. I am in no way suggesting than an early-Britney crop top is ideal for every runner, but we don’t need to skulk around in a T-shirt that

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