No Midis Here

I recently read two completely unrelated articles that gave me pause.  One I could relate to and one not so much.  Maybe not so much that I couldn’t relate but that I didn’t want to.  The first article was from Runner’s World by Marc Parent.  He calls himself an average runner.  Relatable.  He did not start running because of some grand reason — not homeless, not jobless, no cancer, no demons chasing him.  He just runs because he wants to live longer.  Again relatable.  Mr. Parent has no plans to run a marathon.  He is content with his 5Ks.  He admits that when he first started, he had grandiose visions of running ultras, but that didn’t seem to last.  He just runs.

I didn’t start out as a runner.  I was a walker.  I walked because I quit smoking and didn’t want to gain 500 pounds.  My daughter came along for the ride.  We didn’t think about running.  But one day we decided to run for a block.  Then it was run a block, walk a block.  Pretty soon we just connected the dots and before we knew what was happening, we were running.  My husband suggested a race.  We laughed.  He had run a few races himself years earlier and suggested the Renaissance Run.  We reluctantly agreed to give it a try.  No winners here, but we were hooked.  More 5Ks followed.  I ran a 10K leg of a marathon which for me led to doing a half and then the full.  For me it was a natural progression.  Not for my daughter.  She did start running halfs and finally did one full marathon.  That was it for her.  She has bragging rights.  I did five full marathons before menopause stepped in and stopped me in my tracks.  I now am content to run halfs.  I do have a competitive streak though that comes out whenever someone mentions training for a full.  I get edgy.  But honestly,  I am happy to complete a half marathon.  No ultras for me.

Image result for old runner cartoon

I get up and head out for a run three to four days a week.  I have been sick and injured –probably just about every injury a runner can have including a broken ankle which happened on a run.  Once I’m healed, I am back plodding down the road.  Sometimes it is hard to get out the door, so occasionally I don’t.  I skip it.  But the next day, there I am, running.  Running just makes me feel happy — sometimes just at the end of the run.  So, yes, Mr. Parent, I can relate to you.  Some runs are just not fun, but hopefully they are adding years to my life.

The other article I read was about dressing your age.  Most of it I liked.  Be trendy — carefully.  I’m not 16 anymore.  No leggings as pants.  Agreed.  But then the author (I didn’t catch her name) basically said no tights even with dresses.  Disagree.  I don’t care for pantyhose.  That feels like it ages me unnecessarily.  Kate Middleton may get away with it, but no thanks.

She argues against athleisure wear.  I understand that on some level, but I will still wear my sweat pants to Wal-Mart.  I don’t have chic athletic wear anyway.  It’s all sweats and race shirts for me.  Reluctantly agreed.  She may have a point.

Image result for women in baggy sweat pants cartoon

She really lost me on skirt length.  No mini skirts.  I don’t wear mini skirts, but she suggested midi skirts.  Definitely not agreed.  I am short and a little chunky.  Midis make me look even more uneven.  Then she went farther to suggest wearing pumps with it.  Is she crazy?  That just seems like a really dated look, like one my mom wore.  I wear my skirts just at the top of my knee.  I  don’t think they’re too short.  My friends might disagree, but they’ve never laughed in my face.

Maybe I don’t want to acknowledge my age.  I’m old enough to be a grandmother, but am not one yet.  I don’t want to look or dress like a grandma.  Or act like one.  I know that grandmas can still run and travel and have fun.  I know that I am ridiculous.

I plan on running my half marathons and wearing above the knee length dresses.  I want to live a healthy, long life.  While there may be no more marathons, there will certainly be no midis.  Maybe if I live to 100, I will wear longer skirts.  But maybe I won’t.

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