Women of 2011,
You are falling victim to a fashion epidemic. Running tights are not pants.
The time has come to give up your addiction to gym gear. Because let’s be honest, the number of times you’ve slipped on your skins does not equal the amount of exercise sessions you’ve done, huh? So, put them back in the drawer next to the Speedos, on top of the goggles – back where they belong.
It’s a tough move but you can do it. I, too, was addicted.
There was a time when a pair of Lorna Jane’s would take me through from sunrise to sunset without absorbing so much as a bead of sweat. I’d wear them to breakfast with friends and claim I was going for a walk later that day. A lie. I’d wear them to the shops and pretend I’d just been at the gym. A lie. I’d wear them to pick up my son from daycare and say I’d been working out at the park. A lie. Huff. I’d even go so far as to pinch my cheeks (the facial ones) just before jumping out of the car to give them a rosy hue.
It was all so easy. They stretch, they’re warm, they’re black. They’re the only item of clothing that goes with joggers. And joggers are oh, so cosy. And that’s the problem – it’s all too cosy.
And so, I faced a spontaneous intervention from my dear friend, Sophie, on Sunday. (In my running tights. Embarrassing). We were visiting our friend Katrina, who gave birth on Thursday. Three. Days. Ago. She looked fabulous. After a good half hour (a good time frame when visiting a new Mum), Sophie took me aside. “You need to break out of those running tights. Not only are they hideous, unflattering and offensive. They have biscuit on them”. And considering Katrina, one of the newest Mums on the planet had mustered up the energy to slip into her maternity jeans – the least I could do was repay the effort in throwing them in the wash, folding them up and letting them rest until netball tomorrow night.
