Never say never (except for that one thing)

This past week I purchased two of the unlikeliest pieces of apparel.  These are things that if you’d asked me about as little as 6 months ago, I would have laughed and rolled my eyes.

The first was a football jersey.  The local football team has a rabid following, which has never included me.  I mean, I feel some sort of distant affection for them since they’re local, but it’s football, I could give a crap what the score is.  Sometimes I like to go to a game if it’s sunny and the ticket was free and there’s beer involved, but that’s about it.  Other people, however, have team-themed jerseys and bandannas and sunglasses and license plate covers and photos of themselves with the mascot and green-and-white pedicures, for chrissakes.

I caved and bought the jersey because on game days, practically the entire city wears green.  Dressing to show your support is big around my new office, and I was starting to feel left out.  So I bought it, and I wear it on game days, even though I don’t care what the score is, so I can participate in my new workplace and feel included and omigod, don’t judge me.

The second item was shorts.

I don’t wear shorts.  Ever.  It can be hotter than the 3rd circle of hell, and I’ll wear a mid-length skirt or capris, but you will not find me in shorts.  I have chubby knees and cellulite and a big honking varicose vein that glows through my pasty white skin.  No goddamn shorts.

Except.  It actually IS hotter than the 3rd circle of hell, and while I’m very pleased that summer has decided to put in an appearance this year, it’s not boding well for my running.

(Which I’m still doing.  Aren’t you proud of me?  I’m proud of me.  Rest assured that I am not being smug, however, because I still hate every single second of it, save for the few seconds after I’m done.)

So in the interest of continuing to run without expiring from heatstroke, I made up some justifications in my head – I’ve been running at night, there’s less chance of me scaring small children, I’ll wear knee braces so you can’t see the chub, really, I can rationalize anything – and went off in search of running shorts.  My one requirement was that they have pockets, because I need somewhere to put my phone for tunes, and I absolutely draw the line at wearing a fanny pack.

Well.  Did you know that there’s apparently an embargo on pockets?  In any type of athletic apparel?  What the fuck, clothing manufacturers, do you think we’re all so obsessed with how our ass looks in those yoga pants that we won’t accept a visible pocket?

(I think I blame lululemon for this.)

I looked EVERYWHERE.  My last resort, the actual store dedicated to runners, where I only venture once a year to purchase shoes, where there are lots of very-fit-looking salespeople hawking complex and mysterious-looking “performance enhancing” gear, resulted in a shrug and an apologetic, “No, sorry.”

Shorts with pockets no longer exist.  I’m not sure how this alarming erasure from existence happened, but it did.  Right under our noses.

So I sighed.

And purchased a water bottle holder with a side pocket in it, the kind that buckles around your waist.


(Has anybody seen my dignity?  I swear I had it when I was younger.)