There's a magic number for runners in the Midwest: 60.
As in degrees F.
Sure we like it in the 40s when we're racing, but that's after training all summer in the heat and humidity.
After a winter of cold, windy, snowy runs, 60F is the calling card of spring.
To celebrate, I broke out the shorts.
I'm old school, when it comes to my running gear. I like it light, unobtrusive, and, well there's really no way to say this except that I'd like to forget it's there.
That means, boys and girls, that my running shorts are a little short for today's fashion. Think Larry Bird.
Here, I'll help.
At the time, these shorts seemed totally normal. Larry Bird was cool, and, to some, not unattractive. Even in his shorty-short-short shorts.
Put their relevance to current fashion aside. These shorts are just better for moving around. Much better than the coolots that basketball players wear today. How do they move up and down the court with what is more-or-less a large tablecloth or small tent hanging from their waist?
Can you imagine trying to run in these? All I can think of is the "flap flap flap flap" that must be going on as all that fabric gets thrown around. I bet one good gust could pick you up and drop you in Kansas.
My shorts are short enough to get me ridiculed from passing cars. My kids are mortified when they realize that I go out, in public, in my running shorts. Still, I'd rather be smugly defiant than suffer the chafing that 3 yards of fabric can dish out on unsuspecting inner thighs.
Note: I broke out the short shorts on an overcast day. Figured it wasn't fair to unleash my whiter-than-white legs on any spy or weather satellites that might be passing overhead. Wouldn't want to fry their imaging processors.
Numbers: 2.6 miles on grass. Ground was very soft, like running on a mattress... a mattress that has the occasional really damp spot. Ewwwww...