Dressing Down

I think I read somewhere that Abraham Lincoln insisted that every Union soldier wear a union  uniform.  If my memory is right he thought the use of a common look would help solidify his army. But more importantly he knew it would change the man inside the clothes.  The man would no longer be what what he had been; a farrier,  a professor or a wainwright. Now he was a soldier.  The clothes truly made the man and Lincoln knew it. 

It is an idea that is quite old; put someone into different clothes and much like wearing a mask, they transform into someone new, morph into someone that they were not. 

I do the same thing when I go out for a run.  There is something transforming about gathering my running gear and putting on the clothes of a runner.  Suddenly I feel totally different, almost dare I say, athletic.  Suddenly I feel lighter and eager to attack the road.

The most transforming of running paraphernalia are running shoes, currently my third pair of Nike Vomero's.    They have black and red and look fleet.   Just the act of getting them out, giving them a quick look top and bottom and then meticulously fitting them onto my feet, remakes me. Having them on makes me want to run.  My feet practically beg me to take them outside.  Wearing running shoes inside the house is simply wrong and they scream at me like a pair of ugly step-sisters, PLEASE TAKE US OUT!  

The only other transforming piece of the ensemble are my running shorts.  It could be that because the 1970's were my impressionable years,  I am comfortable in shorts of that particular brevity.  It's not a body image thing, that I see my legs as the only part of my body that isn't totally disgusting and so don't mind showing them.  But wearing the short shorts does make me feel more conscious of the running half of my body. For the moment my upper half is less interesting.   Suddenly I am all legs and sporty shoes.  And I've got to get them outside for a run, usually regardless of the weather. It has to be darn cool, near freezing or colder, before I'll go for the long pants.  And running tights?   That wont happen.

Now this isn't to say that I'm not fond of some of my other running accoutrement; gadgets, hydration belts,  gels and goos and of course techy souvenir shirts from past road races.  I love all my running stuff and have even exalted them by cleaning out a dresser drawer so that they has their own special place.  

But my shoes and shorts are what take me to that other place, that place where I win or lose the battles of the road.  They make me feel like a runner.