Nurture

Confessions of a woman whose self care used to include $76 running shirts

Sometimes I pick through my old running gear, deciding what to keep and what to pass on. The shirts, leggings, gloves, and arm warmers are technical marvels, garments created for so specific a purpose it’s a wonder to me there’s a niche market for them at all. I bought most of them with care and consideration, and they were perfect at the time, but now seem slightly silly.

When would you need a $76 wool shirt for running? Well, picture this: it’s 40º. You have a two-hour long run on tap today and you must start now, at 6 a.m. on a Saturday, because that’s when all your fellow running crazies meet up. The air will warm to precisely 53° after the sun comes up (you checked), one hour into the run. Since you will undoubtedly overheat, you need a shirt that’s warm, but not heavy, and easy to carry after you peel it off but still have an hour to go. Naturally, it is imperative that you also wear your $400 GPS watch to track this run, and you’d prefer to be able to start/stop it without rolling up your sleeve. Maybe you’re mixing it up that day with some speed work in the long run too, because running two hours isn’t enough. You’ve committed to memory some combination of minutes, miles, and paces of warming up, fast running, recoveries—which are still running, just slower—then more fast running, and a cool down. So you want to be able to see your pace, distance, and laps on the watch’s screen.

Fortunately, you came prepared. You wear the holy grail of running shirts: You bought two colors, because you run so much that you’d need it again before doing laundry again. It’s made from a 30/70% wool-synthetic blend, by a woman-owned brand which you connect with deeply. It has a cutout in the wrist so you can see your watch while you’re running. That feature even has a name: the Watch Window. Behold, the wonders of the Oiselle Flyout Wool Long Sleeve.

Long run goes great. You were perfectly equipped. You hit your paces. You spend most of the time chatting with your friends. It was comfortable; maybe you even got a beautiful sunrise. Then you head to brunch. What else is on deck for the day? Oh, who knows. Maybe a nap, maybe grocery shopping, maybe visiting a brewery with the same friends you spent two hours with that morning. Life is good.

That watch window shit was the cherry on top. So purposeful, so satisfying.

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Now, I don’t need special shirts for long runs.  I barely do long runs. And when I do, it’s okay if I overheat a little. I certainly don’t do workouts in my long run, so it’s fine if I can’t see my watch while I’m running. I don’t run at 6 a.m. much, either. I need so much more flexibility than what’s provided by meeting up with a big group, or one of my kids is awake and demanding attention at 1 a.m. and an early alarm no longer makes sense. If things go well, I may run later in the day. But it probably won’t be cold by then.

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My needs—setting myself up for success in running—used to be of the utmost importance. It was fruitful: I ran four years of Division I track. I ran Boston. I ran the Olympic Trials. I enjoyed most of the “work” I put into that lifestyle. But I don’t want to prioritize like that anymore, since kids came into my life. I’m not even sure if it’s possible.

I still have my Flyout wool shirts. I can still wear them, if I feel like squeezing into something a bit too tight. This is how I feel about people saying “You’ll get back to running one day.” I mean, I am back; I do run. But it doesn’t feel like I’m back, you know? The shirt doesn’t fit comfortably anymore.

That life doesn’t fit comfortably anymore.

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And so I miss the little things like a watch window, or rather, the delight and absolute certainty they gave me. Back then, when I clad myself in special socks, arm warmers and technical trucker hats, I wasn’t just getting dressed.

I was validating myself, believing I was worthy. I embraced my goals, and I embodied them in a daily practice.

I was nurturing myself.

I have a lot of new clothes I like now, that I bought for different reasons. With kids, the work of nourishing myself and others is ongoing. And it is, once more, fruitful. It looks different now though. While I am still nurturing myself, recognizing how I do it is taking some practice.