"You're Crazy"

Last Thursday I ran in a pair of bright green Hometown High School Physical Education shorts that are helpfully emblazoned with a giant "L" so everyone can see my size at a glance.

Naturally, I don't condone stealing of any kind, and certainly not from public schools. But gym shorts are sort of a special category. At my high school, gym was required for what seemed like forever. And you couldn't buy your own uniform (unlike at my first high school) but you had to wear one. This put girls at the mercy of the woman working behind a little half door in the middle of the locker room. Every Monday she'd look at you, determine your size (student's input not requested or heeded if offered) and hand you a uniform for the week. Every Friday she'd watch you closely to insure that you dropped all components in the laundry bin.

I got the impression that she hated her job or else delighted in making us suffer because she was always handing me these nasty little polyester size smalls. They looked more like cheap, unflattering volleyball bloomers than gym shorts. Toward the end of my high school career the school invested in a few longer, looser-fitting cotton gym shorts. These were obviously in high demand! I rarely got them, and always wanted to keep hold of them when I did.

But I'm no good at stealing. Fortunately, I have two little sisters, God bless 'em. But honestly I have no idea how this particular pair of shorts made it home, so I cast no aspersions. I was just glad to find them in my drawer one morning last week while searching for non-wicking attire to wear in the rain.

I graduated from high school in 1993. What this means: the 18-year-old elastic was completely shot. No problem, I figured. They never had very much stretch to begin with. Other than the wide elastic waistband, the fabric itself has no give whatsoever.

As long as I keep moving and keep my glutes firing, the shorts should stay up just fine. Hah.

Naturally, at the furthest point of my loop, the shorts started to go. I rolled the waistband and kept moving. Then I rolled it again. Again. The shorts were now as short as their polyester predecessors and still sliding.

Good thing Thursday's run was a short, easy workout. I spent about a mile running comfortably, another mile yanking up my shorts every few houses, then walked the last half mile while staying decently clothed. (Apparently it's the bouncing up and down of my running style that encourages clothing to slither from my body.)

Moral of the story: stealing never pays? But I still love these shorts. So maybe I'll just invest in some new elastic.

(Today's blog post title thanks to a telephone repair dude I met en route. It's raining lightly, everything slick and yucky, and he's standing outside loaded down with electronics, probably about to climb up some big pole. But I'm crazy?! Maybe so, because no one's paying me to run. Anyway, he said it with a smile.)