A Brief Defense of Short Shorts

shortshortsIn light of the hilarious Gizmodo article published a while back on the tiny black $9 shorts I’ve worn for years (known affectionately as “Ranger Panties”), and maybe because I’m starting to dream about running in something less than two layers of clothing, I have take it upon myself to offer this defense of absurdly short running shorts. Briefly. (See what I did there?)

Complaint: Short running shorts are exhibitionist.

Answer: It’s function of fashion. If you like running ten miles with shorts that hang past your knees and look like those things we called “Jams” back in the 80s, then more power to you. Me, I want to forget I’m wearing shorts in the first place, so I can focus on what’s important. Like finishing this horrible jog.

Complaint: Short running shorts are feminine.

Answer: So’s your mom…wait. That made no sense. OK, so, yes, the nearest approximation in aesthetic might be found stretched across a waitress’s tushie at Hooter’s. But maybe they’re on to something. Hard-working, blue collar, the shorts go the distance. Silken undies might also be classified as “feminine,” but I’d wear those bad boys without complaint. Hell, I’d run in a skirt if it took ten seconds off my 5k PR.

Complaint: Short running shorts are offensive, especially when worn while stretching.

Answer: This one’s a little hard to get around. No one wants to be eye level with Random Dude’s twig and berries during a post-run stretch. All I can say is that Web MD advises stretching after you run. There is no mention, however, of recommended attire. As my friend says, “‘Rung whatcha’ brung!”

Complaint: Short shorts result in male objectification.

Answer: Liar.

Complaint: Short shorts are outdated.

Answer: Some things never go out of style. Like plain white tees, blue jeans, Chuck T’s, high heels, the Little Black Dress, and a well-worn ball cap. I suppose I could chase current fitness fashion and run in shorts whose inseams never look north of 5″. Maybe some of those lycra booty shorts that pop up in ads for men’s yoga attire. But fellas have been running in shorties since the day some smart human realized that running naked is for the birds. You can’t argue with history.



Once A Runner

Once A Runner

It goes like this.

An inch of snow the consistency of a Slurpee. A 6.5 mile loop from the house. Two dogs. A running stroller loaded with thirty-three pounds of inquisitive man-cub. And the desperate need to run.

To say that I’ve logged the majority of my paltry mileage over the last few years while behind a stroller; it’s no exaggeration. Between developing chronic tendinosis in my Achilles, the pursuit of writing, and the endless flail that is trying to strike a balance between fatherhood/husband-ing/work, my fitness has fallen to the point of convenience. It shows around my middle, ten pounds tacked to my last marathon race weight. And in my temperament.

When I do get in a run, I feel an obligation to bring Finn with me for some fresh air and get the dogs exercise as well. An hour run turns into an hour and half, what with the prep of wrangling the dogs, getting Finn on the toilet, and wrestling him into clothes before restraining him in the stroller. And all this says nothing about the attempt to reach emotional buy-in from a toddler regarding his being strapped into a buggy for an hour or more.

Gone are the days of lacing up and strolling out the door maybe now, maybe later, maybe after I feel fully hydrated. Maybe when it’s warmer/colder/just right. Nope. The choice is now/never.

Huff huff.


Huff huff INHALE “Yes?” huff

“What’s that?”

Huff “What?” huff

“What’s that [insert unintelligible thing or whatever he sees but can’t describe]?”

Huff “Dada.” huff “can’t.” huff “talk.”

[pause for a few seconds]

“Dada, what’s that?”

huff huff huff

In the good old days, when he weighed seven or eight pounds, and was in perpetual oscillation between either sleeping a little or crying a lot, taking Finn for a run was a welcome reprieve for both Jen and I. Fitter then, pushing the light-as-air stroller we paid out the nose for, I could log ten, eleven miles. I’d come back crowing about how he slept the whole time I bounced along at a 7:30 pace. Jen got a break, I got a run. Win-win.

Now: see above for the work required. And that’s best-case, assuming no meltdowns, or as I discovered on a recent trip to tow him on a cross-country ski — I don’t do something boneheaded like somehow bring two left foot ski boots.

Taking Finn on a run or ski is like having the exercise partner who won’t stop talking. Except, the beauty of an adult running partner who talks for an hour straight is that they usually don’t expect a response. Finn is a toddling interrogator, and if he doesn’t get an answer, or understand it, well, he’ll just ask again. And again. And again. It would try the patience of a seasoned extrovert, let alone a self-absorbed narcissist who does best left alone (that’s me in case you’re wondering.)

I’ve been told that a big part of active parenting is lowering expectations, and in my experience, it couldn’t be more true. Maybe that six mile run needs to be just three. Maybe plan on stopping if the route passes a park. Maybe slow down so you have the breath to explain something. Maybe plan on skiing for fifteen minutes before heading inside for forty-five. Because — and here’s the kicker — if you make the kiddo hate the activity, that’s going to stick with them for the lifetime.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. Last summer, Finn asked to “run like Dada” every time we went out. I let him out near home, maybe a half mile to go, and was tickled when he managed to keep up a ten minute pace for several blocks. Of course, there were some really interesting leaves/rocks/branches/dirt/concrete/street signs/air/just about everything that simply had to be investigated at that very moment. But he was running. And this winter, I built a little snow hill off the backyard deck. Finn just learned to make it down the hill on skis without falling, and the smile on his face was worth all the hot chocolate bribery of last winter.

So, hang in there. What you once were, is still who you are. The cool part is letting that thing that made you who you were, evolve as you become who you are.

Do Work

Oh Well (2) by Lydia Komatsu

“Oh Well (2)” courtesy of Lydia Komatsu

Sometimes, you read a publication and think that’s where I want to be. The first time I read Meter Magazine, I knew I’d found an aesthetic that matched mine. It was writing focused, which is to say that of course all magazines feature writing, but that doesn’t make the writing worth reading. And when it comes to writing about running, the last thing I want to read is another 250 words on how to train for a marathon on 10 miles a week.

The heritage of the running is so rich, so ancient, for crying out loud, that I’ve wondered why writing about it has gotten so damned boring. Anybody remember The Runner’s Literary Companion? My goodness, there was some incredible work in there. Sure, we had to put up with AE Housman (groan) but we also got  some killer writing by Whitman, Sillitoe, and Joyce Carol Oates. And of course, no discussion about running writing is complete without mention John L. Parker, Jr. and my favorite sleeper, Haruki Murakami.

Reading Meter, I knew I’d found a publication that believed running was worth art. Immediately, I started thinking about how to write for the magazine. The magazine is published by Tracksmith, a new running apparel company out of Wellesley, MA. My initial queries to customer service didn’t get too far, nor did I expect them to jump at that chance to publish someone untested when they could get Toni Reavis or Chris Lear on board. Regardless, I started drafting something about a very cold run I took one winter day in Alaska.

When the time was right, I pitched the editor on the piece, which had morphed into something I didn’t foresee when I began. It started as a pretty straightforward exploration of what it takes to run in the Alaskan winter. But as I added context through layers of scene, I realized there was something else about running I wanted to get across. How it has been there for me through a lifetime of war, a common thread even. And how sometimes it has felt like running has gotten me through difficulties along the way.

In other words, it grew legs. Took on a life of its own.

“42 Below” ran on the Studio Tracksmith page a week ago, and I’ve had some very nice feedback since then. Which is nice, but not really the point of this blog post. The point is that when you believe in a project, you find a way to make it happen. Do the work required to make the project come to life. Write and edit and write some more. Go exploring and use social media to establish connections. Exercise patience with the knowledge that time tends to make all writing better.

Hopefully, you’ll see me in the pages of Meter some day soon. But until that day, this little victory is going to keep my hope meter at least half full.