Running, Healing, and the Case of the Baggy Spandex

The summer I started training for my first half marathon, I decided to buy myself some “real” running clothes… by going to the local thrift store. Because honestly? I wasn’t convinced I’d stick with running. (Narrator: She stuck with running.)

For about $35, I scored several pieces of name-brand gear. #Winning

I wore those clothes all through my half-marathon training summer. The following year, still very much running, I pulled out my warm-weather gear, fully expecting to squeeze another season out of them.

Wrong.

Somehow my spandex running clothes were too big. Not all of them, but enough to make me question the laws of physics. My cutest piece—the orange-and-pink tie-dyed shorts—had gone from snug to parachute. They wouldn’t even stay up when I ran.

Baggy spandex.

I was baffled.

Who has ever heard of spandex that doesn’t cling like its life depends on it?

The only explanation I could come up with was that the universe was playing some kind of cosmic prank.

At the time, I was taking an anti-cancer medication. I had lost weight during chemotherapy, then puffed back up like a balloon afterward. When I Googled how to lose weight on that medication, the internet basically said, “😂😂 Good luck with that.”

But running—this thing I never expected to love—wasn’t just healing my mind. It turns out it was healing my body, too. I never started running for weight loss, but it happened anyway.

I don’t have the stereotypical runner’s body. I probably never will, and honestly? That’s fine. This body—this one right here—does amazing things. (Including tripping over absolutely nothing, but that’s a story for another day.)

One of the surprising joys of running has been watching people’s reactions when they discover that I, in this body, have run marathons. I was chatting with a colleague recently and casually mentioned that I was training for two fall marathons—numbers three and four for me—and I swear their eyes nearly fell out of their head.

Rude? Maybe.

Did I care?

Not even a little.

But my all-time favorite stereotype-shattering moment happened last year. A few days after my fall marathon, I wore my shiny new Chicago Marathon finisher shirt to work. Someone I didn’t know noticed it, gave me a once-over, and asked—very skeptically—if I really ran that race.

So with my sweetest innocent expression, I said, “Oh this? Found it at a thrift store. Thought it was cute.”

Reader… the look on their face as I walked away was absolutely priceless.

Here’s to all the okayest runners, shattering stereotypes one race at a time.