Here’s the thing.
My friends Jeannette and Teri and I went out to the Outer Banks to run a half marathon. No matter how hard the forecasters try, the weather out there is completely unpredictable. What you see is what you get.
We got cold.
So we made our way over to the local Kmart to buy some tights to wear under our running gear in an attempt to stay warm during the race.
You know how they say one size fits all? Nuh-Uh.
These tights LOOKED like they would fit, but they had little elasticity and virtually no give.
Jeannette, who happens to be fit and trim, managed to pull her tights over her legs but by the time she worked them up to her waist, they were so tight she couldn’t bend her knees.
“I think they’re too tight,” Jeannette said.
“They look just fine,” I responded, in the soothing tones your girlfriends give you when you are worried your clothes make you look fat. “Maybe they’ll stretch out when you start running.”
“But I don’t think I can run in these. I can’t bend my knees,” Jeannette announced, struggling to stand up in the hotel room. She took a stiff-legged tour around the room and almost fell down.
Jeannette didn’t wear those tights. She went back to Kmart and got a different style, which fit just fine. So fine, that I got the bright idea to wear tights beneath my running pants on cold mornings.
Last Saturday, on a morning covered in frost, I put on some tights and then my pants over them.
I embarked on a 10-mile run with my running group, and about a hundred yards into it, those tights started moving.
Lower and lower they crept.
After a few minutes, we took a short walk break, and I pinched around my pants as discreetly as possible and inched the tights back up.
A few minutes later they had already fallen back down around my hips. I inched them back up only to have them creep down to my upper thighs.
Who cares about discretion? I dove inside my pants, grabbed those forsaken things and hauled them back up.
It wasn’t long before they had worked their way down to mid-thigh.
At first I was reassured that because I had pants on, they couldn’t come all the way off. Then the reality of the situation set in. The tights couldn’t come all the way off, but they could pull my pants down, tripping me in the process. They seemed to have developed a life of their own and their mission was to take me down.
I became obsessed and panicked about getting them off, but how could I, trapped as they were by my running pants?
There was no way outside of sitting down by the side of the road and undressing.
In my mind’s eye I saw myself, a big chunk of runner roadkill, tripped by my own pants and tights down around my ankles.
So I hopped along, alternating between running a few steps and reaching inside my pants and pulling on my tights until we hit the halfway point and EUREKA, a bathroom.
The feeling of freedom felt so sweet.
Score 1 for me; 0 for tights