In one of my recent posts, we talked about the joys (or not) of freeing oneself from the shackles of technology. This post is the same, but with pants.
Or, more accurately, without them.
I’ve always worn underwear when I run, because… well… you just do, don’t you? But over the years there have been a few times when I pondered the fact that most running shorts have a mesh inner-pant lining, the kind you find in swimming shorts. Only the most fervent of deviants would wear pants under their swimming shorts, wouldn’t they? And on the deviant-scale, I’m barely more than a keen amateur. But I suspect that most people share my insistence on wearing underwear with their running shorts. And the reason for this? Well, frankly, people are just a bit weird.
But anyway, the other night I wasn’t even wearing shorts. I was just getting ready to head out for a run, and had pulled some running tights out of the drawer1. As I started to get changed, I pulled some underwear out of another drawer (I know, I know: two drawers. Aren’t I fancy?), but then I hesitated, pants in hand. Guided by some unseen force that to this very day I can’t explain, I put on my running tights without a stich underneath. Seriously, I have no idea why; I’m putting it down to alien mind-rays2.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I was out of the door and jogging happily down the street. IMPORTANT NOTE: It was dark, and I was wearing quite a long top. Please don’t call the police.
I don’t want this blog to descend into talk of winkles and lalas, so I’ll hold back on some of my more colourful observations, but my overall take on running without underwear was really quite positive. The good folk at Ann Summers might disagree with me here, but it taught me that pants really aren’t necessary.
I ran with a sense of emancipation (and a noticeable, but not unpleasant, cooling breeziness), and my thoughts only turned to chafing a couple of times. The issue with running tights is the droppage of the gusset3, and I was conscious of the chafing that might occur if it fell down a bit. However, I somehow resisted the urge to run along while clutching the waistband with both hands and pulling it up to nipple height, and the fear soon passed.
Would I recommend running commando? Yes I would.
Am I going to make it a regular thing? No I’m not. Unfortunately, my new found sense of freedom pales in comparison to my fear of little old ladies. I’m worried that they’d somehow know my secret, using their old-lady-sense, and would tut mercilessly at me. I’d rather be chased by lions than tutted at by a steely-eyed midget with wispy hair and a tartan handbag.
1 And no, I wasn’t going to wear shorts over the top of them. I know it’s a divisive issue among the running community. Many of you will insist that one should ALWAYS wear a pair of shorts over the top. We could debate this all day, and you’d still be wrong.
2 I put most things down to alien mind-rays.
3 incidentally, this is one of the greatest words in the English language.
Tenuously related links for your “enjoyment”:
BEFORE YOU GO…
Hey lovely person who’s reading my blog! How are you? Guess what, I’ve been shortlisted 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. Last year there weren’t snacks, but this year there might be snacks, so please please PLEASE don’t let me not be a part of the potential snack-eating. Fankoo!
Coffee and cake? Yes please, that’d be lovely.