A load of pants

Okay, first things first: I’ll admit that this blog post is mostly an excuse for me to repeatedly use words like “pants”, “knickers”, “bottoms” and “trumps”, all of which make me giggle to myself like that Dutch man who was in the news recently who died after falling into a tickle machine.

Might have dreamed that bit, but anyway, here’s the burning question:

Are you supposed to wear pants while out running?

I always have, but it’s not a subject I’ve really thought to broach with other runners until recently. My confusion started a few weeks back, when I pondered the fact that all my running shorts have an inner lining, like swim shorts. I tend to wear snug boxers under my shorts, and it suddenly occurred to me that they sort of poke out from the mesh lining in a way that suggests they shouldn’t really be there. I briefly considered trying to go commando while out on my next run, but decided against it. I’m fairly sure I read somewhere that vampires can’t get you if you’re wearing pants, but there are other reasons I don’t want to go commando:

  1. I’m terrified of change. I’ve always worn them, so something terrible might happen if I stop. What if I forgot how to drive a car, or suddenly started being sexually attracted to geese.
  1. My Nan always used to tell me that I had to wear clean pants every day, in case I was hit by a car1 and the ambulance driver saw them. If I needed urgent medical attention while out running and they found out I was sans pantalon, they’d probably just spit on me and then leave me at the roadside with a shout of “defibrillate yourself, you ruddy deviant!”
  1. I’ve spoken about Ski on here before, he’s my Scotch friend who made me a ceramic ewok to commemorate my first ever half marathon. Well, earlier this year, something happened that made Ski very happy to be wearing pants, and I hope we can all find a lesson in his misfortune. Or at least laugh at him a bit. I won’t go into all of the gory details. Actually I will: A summertime run. A squiffy tummy. A convenient bush. A lack of toilet paper. A soft pair of pants that essentially did the same job. A slightly draughtier journey back. This all culminated with a Scotchman sitting down in front of a bemused class and opening a training course with the immortal words “So… full disclosure… I just shat myself”.

The worse bit is, I liked running around the fields where this happened, and the bastard won’t tell me exactly where he discarded the befouled item, so now I daren’t go back.

So, it’s pants all the way for me I’m afraid. I’ll leave the commando running to you bloody hippies.

Anyway, as luck would have it, I got sent some special running pants last week by the people at Runderwear. The cynic in me wonders whether the product name came long before the product itself. See also Runbrella, Runjee jumping, Jogzilla.

I just thought; they could make some specifically for long races: the Marathong. You’re welcome.

Anyway, I got my Runderpants. They’re  essentially the arch-enemy of chafing; very soft and without a seam in sight. I don’t usually wear briefs (they’re a little bit 1980’s gigolo for my liking) but normal fashion rules don’t tend to apply when running is concerned2 and they were snug and comfy, so there. Sometimes on a long run, I’ll get an annoying pant malfunction (“Pantfunction”. See? Now I’m doing it too) where the material gathers up in that little bit between the… well, in a place that’s quite delicate,  and I’ll have to do a weird little hop skip thing every couple of minutes to stop it from rubbing. It seems that the boffins at Runderwear HQ knew about this, and (here comes the science bit) developed a way of making this not happen. Also, they have blue on them. I like blue.

They’re not cheap, so you wouldn’t fill a drawer up with them (unless you just had one pair that was REALLY big), but it’s worth considering just for especially long runs or race day. The highest praise I can give is this: If Batman wears underwear under his batsuit, I’d imagine he’d have something similar to these. Except with a hidden sachet of shark repellent and a tiny spare grappling hook, obviously.

Finally, you have my word that I will do my absolute utmost to resist the obvious temptation to take a picture of myself with running pants on my head. That would just be crude, predictable and really quite offensive. 



Disclaimer thingy: I was sent a pair of Runderwear pants for no money, but was under no obligation to write stuff about them. All nonsense spouted is my own. They’re really very comfy. 

1 Perhaps one that was being driven by someone who’d foolishly decided to go commando, and had now got muddled up while trying to remember which foot-pressy-thing made the car go all stoppy.
 2 The exception to this rule is capri tights on men, which will quite rightly get you pushed into a canal. Ideally, one filled with scorpions.

Hey lovely person who’s reading my blog, how are you? Guess what, I’ve been nominated again for the 2016 Running Awards. Yay! I was nominated for an award last year, and while I didn’t win, I did get horrifically drunk and became very excited when I found a button on the floor. Long story. Anyway, if you enjoy reading this blog, then frankly you’re a bit weird. But also, it’d be lovely if you could spare a few seconds to vote for me in the online/blog category (I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m unlikely to win “Shoe of the Year”). Here’s the linky: Running Awards 2016. Fankoo!

Twitter? @borntoplodblog

Facebooks? Facebook.com/borntoplod

Coffee and cake? Yes please, that’d be lovely.

7 thoughts on “A load of pants

  1. As a bloody hippy, I’d have to say commando is the only option. The shit-tastic disaster that is number three is a good point, though I find taking a pack of Handy-Andies is a good plan (and more bio-degradable than pants – see told you I was a bloody hippy).

    No pants. Back to nature. These are my demands. Watch out for excitable forest creatures…

  2. No pants. Leaves are great for e-turd-gencies when left with no other choice. With longer distances any sort of undies are a chaffing risk.

  3. Pingback: Freedom (part two) | Born to Plod

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