This coming Sunday, I’ll be running in my first Army Ten Miler race. Just me, Craig and 29,998 of our closest friends. With three ATM races under his belt, Craig is an old pro. Old being the operative word. Ha! Sorry, I have to get in an old joke every so often. He expects it. And, if I’m not mistaken, I think he kind of likes it. You know, with men getting better with age, and all. Women wither; men look distinguished. Blah.
Anyway, I’m kind of nervous about the whole thing. The biggest race I’ve participated in was the Girls on the Run race I ran with my neighbor last May. There were about 7000 participants. The Army 10 Miler is so much larger. I have the spectating portion down, except for the part where we were waiting under the wrong tunnel last year, ahem, but the running part kind of freaks me out. On many levels.
So instead of talking about the actual running, which you probably don’t care about anyway, let’s talk about clothes. In general, I only like to wear tank tops when I exercise. I wear shorts/capris too, unless that last sentence was unclear. When I’m in the gym, tank tops are no biggie; they’re wearable all year round. However, when you’re running outside (and training for a marathon in the fall/winter in Virginia…whose idea was this? oh yes, MINE) tank tops won’t cut it. I have a few long sleeved shirts I purchased on clearance for $2 a piece, but I’m saving those for when it really gets cold. I needed something in between for the race on Sunday. Because if you can’t run fast, you can at least wear a nice shirt.
Sunday morning I went to Wal Mart to purchase a cushiony new mattress pad for Caroline’s bed. I struck out on that account (had to order it online) but I did find some workout tshirts on clearance for $3. Man, I love a good deal. Three dollar shirts make my heart sing.
Ugh, I had a heck of a time posting this picture and it isn’t even a good one. So, just pretend it didn’t take 24 hours, $5, 9 attempts and a couple of curse words to upload that picture. At this point, it’s either take this picture or my laptop might find it’s way through the kitchen window. They are nice shirts, though. So vibrant. They’ll make my eyes look even more, um, brown. See, that’s the thing about brown eyes; no matter what, they’re always brown. Craig and Caroline have hazel eyes that change with the color their wearing. Also, when Caroline cries, her eyes get really green. And mine? Still brown.
I digress…. Back to the shirts. They’re quite the score: pretty colors, on clearance AND made of that dry wicking material, which is great for someone who sweats as much as I do. Do I tend to over share sometimes?
Anyway, I jumped at the chance to purchase two new shirts and couldn’t help but imagine myself stumbling across the finish line (in a sweaty, discombobulated heap) looking mighty fetching in my new turquoise (or pink…I haven’t decided) shirt.
But life is never that easy, right?
Keeping in line with my unfortunate kind of luck, I have a sad story to tell you. You see, as I was waiting to post this blog entry (due to the whole needing to buy more picture storage), I sent my new shirts for a spin in the washing machine. I probably didn’t NEED to wash them, but there was a minuscule green speck on the turquoise shirt. The speck was barely noticeable to the naked eye; unfortunately I have the keen ability to pick out the teeny tiniest little spot. It’s like on CSI where they zoom in on a microscopic drop of blood, barely the size of a pin point, on one solitary carpet fiber. I have spot radar. So help me God, I have spot radar. It’s quite possible that a normal person, when faced with a little green spot on her new shirt, would say “oh well, I’m just going to run and sweat in it anyway, so who cares.” But, as we’ve clearly established, I’M NOT NORMAL.
Nope. Not. One. Tiny. Bit.
So, I grabbed my Spray N Wash with Resolve, pre-treated the spot and threw it in the wash.
Good news. The spot came out.
Bad news. The shirts shrunk. Like really shrunk. They’re 60% cotton, so I didn’t expect that type of shrinkage.
In my usual stubborn, I’ll-make-this-work-even-if-it-kills-me fashion, I tried to squeeze one over my head. Happily, the head hole wasn’t too much of a problem. However, my linebacker shoulders and broad rib cage-of-steel proved to be quite the obstacle. I figure being able to properly breathe while running ten miles is far more important than wearing a lovely new shirt. I mean, I’m no pro, but I’m really quite certain having your rib cage bound tightly by an ill fitting shirt is a big no-no. Anyway, since the shirts are of no use to me, they’re currently being tucked away for Caroline’s future usage. She’ll be able to fit in them in a couple of years. Heck, at the rate she’s growing, probably sooner than that.
I’m sort of back to square one again with the whole race day wardrobe thing. I do have a purple running shirt in my drawer which I forgot I bought at Kohl’s a while back. Maybe I’ll wear that? Or maybe I’ll go back to Wal Mart and get the next size up. They’re only $3, after all.
I’m sure you’re all quite relieved to know that I do have a few possibilities to work with. You know it would just be horrifying if I were to wear a shirt that is too old or too small or too soiled by a tiny green speck….especially in times such as these where people all over the world are unemployed, sick, hungry, impoverished or bound by oppressive governmental regimes.
As I sit here and type this, I realize my tendency towards obsessing over minute details, especially those of the wardrobe variety, is really quite shallow of me. Shallow as a kiddie pool, as they say. But then again, I’ve certainly never intimated that my mission here is to be socially or culturally aware.
I’m just me.
The Neurotic Housewife: Keeping it real with skewed priorities and self absorbed blather since 2009.