I went for a run a few weeks ago, I love to run, and after training for and running in a recent half-marathon, was feeling p-r-e-t-t-y good about my 40 something self. I started running when I was 14 and although I went through periods where I didn’t run at all, I always came back to it. Running is a gift to myself. I feel strong, I feel empowered, I feel beautiful and I feel in control and that makes me happy.
I started on my run with my favorite tunes in my ear, a little Lenny K, a little Uninvited, a little Pitbull and I’m rocking’ the miles away. I began to feel the burn in my thighs, the heat on my shoulders and the hot wind in my face. Yes, I’m killing those miles in my big, baggy running shorts, my old gray tank and my lucky Chicago Cubs ball cap. To complete my glamorous athletic look, I have short hair so if you live in my neighborhood and see what appears to be a young boy with a red face running down the street, it’s probably me. Nevertheless, I’m still running those miles and mentally patting myself on the back for pushing my body to this level at my age. My head was high and my spirits even higher.
And then, out of nowhere, in about mile three, with sweat dripping like a water faucet from my forehead and the sound of a horse pulling a plow in a heat wave coming from my upper body; a beautiful 20 something girl with the grace of a Gazelle and the body of a Greek Goddess breezes by me in what resembled a lovely little booty short and sports bra ensemble. Shit! Really? Now? While I was in my non-glamour power mode? I believe I then subconsciously lifted my shoulders high and strong, wiped the sweat off my face, took a deep breath and acted as if this was a Sunday afternoon walk. I ran so hard and fast I thought I might faint. Miss booty shorts was obviously running my same route so after considering my ever climbing heart rate, I conveniently took a side street detour and doubled back at a slower pace.
I ran another mile and stopped to laugh. I laughed at myself and at how ridiculous I probably looked but inside I felt great. I’m no longer a svelte 20 something, but I am the 40 something I want to be. It’s hard work but the benefit overflows into other parts of my life. I think it makes me a better mother, a better wife and a better professional at my job. I read a quote recently that in many ways sums this up…
“I will strain my potential until it cries for mercy”, Og Mandino.
Now go find something that will strain your potential ladies and don’t worry about the booty shorts. Inside you will feel like a sexy 20 year old with the world at your fingertips. Baggy running shorts and all.