Today, as I headed out for my 10-mile run (this week=all easy long runs before I head into summer training), I knew I had a lot on my mind and would enjoy a good dose of sweat and sun.
The first thing, though, that interrupted my original thought process was that my shorts were way too short. This morning, one of my summer "to-do" list items (oh yes, by the way, I am officially on summer break!!!!) is to clean out some of my drawers and reorganize. Usually, this task ends up feeling like shopping because I find such awesome clothes tucked away, hidden under my regular wear. Today, I perused through my running shorts and found these ones that I probably have only worn once or twice, and most definitely have not worn on a run yet. Virgin shorts, hooray.
But I did not feel so virgin in these shorts. As I took a few steps on the sidewalk, I felt the spandex rise and knew these shorts had turned into butthuggers (racing briefs that look like bikini bottoms). Since I was already at least five strides from my house, there was no turning back. I was running on the brink of inappropriateness in my cute little neighborhood.
My Running Gear
Now a lot of my friends often joke about my choice of shorts. As a runner, I am used to seeing women race in pretty skimpy clothing, and although I participate with the tightness and short shorts, I would still be seen as more of a moderate dresser amongst the running community. You will never see me running in a sports bra unless I am at the beach, and no, this is not to disguise an embarrassing stomach. I am pretty proud of my torso :). I just don't see a difference with a few inches of sports bra material to keep me a little less sexual and a little more modest. But, if completely understand if you have shield-like abs like the women at the Boston Marathon, they want to show off their hard work. I just will never be one of them, even if I have a gladiator stomach.
But, the extra inches of shorts on the legs makes a difference to me - go figure! One of my running pals, Lj, usually laughs that I take off one pair of shorts shorts and another even shorter pair are there for me to race. (It's true. I take off my "baggy" pair to reveal my tight pair for racing, which I usually do most my workouts and runs in as well). If butthuggers weren't so inappropriate at road races, I would be rocking those. In fact, I actually just ordered a pair of black Nike ones, just in case I feel a little ballsy and beastly fast in elite races.
But back to my run, needless to say, people who were on the streets of Patchogue, Bluepoint, and Bayport (yes, 10 miles puts me in a few towns) got a little show I'm sure.
My Anger
But on my run, I was thinking about another skin show, not my own, that was really bothering me. A while back, my husband, who is in a friend's bridal party, had gone to dinner with the groomsmen to plan the soon-to-be groom's bachelor party. When he returned home, we chatted about the plans and I clearly scanned the verbal itinerary for strip clubs, none to be found. Just a few days ago, conveniently only a few days before the whole gig, my husband mentions that after dinner, they will be going to a "club," leaving out the ever-so-important adjective "strip." To me, club means bar with strobe lights and a bigger dance floor, probably more Guido and hip hop music too. Obviously, my husband was uncomfortable to mention the "strip" part because he knows that I will castrate him for stepping foot in the place.
Now, why do I have such a violent reaction to these places? Because they are wrong. Currently, I am reading the Hunger Games, keeping up on my pop culture, and anyone who reads this book is like, "Holy crap, this is effed up." Well, yes, and most people should think about the inappropriateness of married men going to bars and getting naked women to rub up on them, never mind using money (that could buy the wicker patio loungers that I want) for this "accepted" form of cheating. I am not for it and have violently attacked Rob after going to a few. In fact, our two worst fights involved strip clubs (one with a video of a dancing vagina on his phone which he swears he didn't take. Hold on, need to take a few deep breaths....).
Our second worst fight involved a strip club and our wedding. In fact, I think this is partially one of my deep-rooted marital problems that I should probably see a therapist about. Instead, I just run it out, as I did on my run today, thinking about how angry/awful/hurt I feel recapping it. It has caused depressing doubt and distrust in the way I view him, a view that I never had about him until the weekend before our wedding.
After talks before both of our bachelor/bachelorette parties, both of us told each other that strippers were gross and "not my thing." Rob also explained that the last bachelor party he went to for his brother did not involved any naked women, because they just aren't "into it." Therefore, I assumed, my loving, committed soon-to-be husband who had told me he wanted to devote the rest of his life to me from the moment he went down on one knee wanted to do just that, love, honor and respect me. Instead, I had a rude awakening, after finding out through the wives of the guys on the trip that my husband went with his buddies to a strip club in Myrtle Beach. I can only imagine how filthy they are in Myrtle Beach. And my husband was filthy as well, and honestly, I will always hold a little hate in my heart for him and everyone who was there. Sad.
Alyssa Milano Performing a Lap Dance in Charmed, an Old TV Series. See. INAPPROPRIATE!
ALSO UNACCEPTABLE! (This is a woman getting a taste of what so many dumb men want)
My Philosophy
See, I am a bridge burner. When I feel ultimately betrayed, I light my match and enjoy the bonfire. Then, I walk away from the ashes and never turn back. I have two theories. 1. It doesn't matter if I burn the bridges behind me because I never retreat. I make a decision that this person did not consider me and, therefore, never deserves my consideration again. And I have stuck by this motto many a time, despite some people warning me I might need those bridges and friendships again. 2. But, my second theory is that you can always rebuild a bridge if you really have to, perhaps even better than before. I have rebuilt a bridge with my college roommate. After living together, we erupted on each other and our bridge went up in smoke. One year later, we rekindled (pun intended) our friendship. If you are shaking your head reading this, get over it, it's how I work and it's not changing.
Of course, I am more careful with my pyromania when it comes to boyfriends, just as I was in this case. I have allowed others to betray me several times without burning the bridge (and running far, far away, as I should have!). My college sweetheart (not so sweet) contacted me a little while before Rob and I got married to give me the old speech that he was sorry for the way he treated me and hope he didn't ruin who I was. I explained to him that I was exactly the same person I was when I was with him, except a little stronger and more confident than before - aka not going to take shit anymore.
My Anger, Again
And "shit" to me is strip clubs. I think it's so funny that a lot of my friends who are more liberal and feminist-ish laugh at me and my conservative viewpoint that I would give up my right to vote to go back to the way where women stayed home to raise their children and weren't expected work (and cook, clean, have babies, pick up husbands' socks that somehow always never make the hamper!). These same people also say that you can't be "that girl" who puts her foot down and doesn't allow her husband to go to strip clubs. So we can tell the government who we want to be President of the country, but we can't tell our husbands, our "equals," not to stare at naked women because it makes us feel awful.
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| Tom Welling ::sigh:: |
My Runner Mentality
Ah, I am angry and ranting. Let's tie this back to my running theme. I think a lot of the thoughts I have as a runner in races (the reason why I am a good runner) are often angry, aggressive, and cruel, which is why I am come off this way when I am trying to "win." I think my husband understands this is how I work and partially one of the reasons he loves and understands (possibly fears?) me, and has ultimately assured me he will never betray me again.
I think he also understands how hard I work for what I want (including a good body); he knows I always find a final gear to make one last push for the finish. Likewise, I won't run out of steam on this one. I have endurance. If it haunts me (like my stupid 1-second-from-third-place finish at the 1/2 marathon and like his bachelor party), I am not giving up until I find my redemption, especially when I am this hell-bent on something.
So although I know my distance runner boobs probably cannot compare to a stripper's fake ones up in my husband's face, he will just have to deal with the fact that the only woman he should be near is thirty-years old but looks 18 and is 118 pounds, poor guy! And although I did probably give the neighborhood a little show with my nice runner butt, I have too much respect for myself to ever be compared to a stripper... ever... again. But, to compare just this once, I believe, just as most of my neighbors would agree after today, my distance-runner butt is way better than a pole-dancer's anyway.
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