When I first started my 5k training, I worked out daily at the high school track down the street. Prior to daylight savings, workouts were done after dark under the dim night lights of the stadium. I was typically alone, clad in layers to protect myself from the cold. Then two months ago, I bought a membership at a local gym and moved my efforts indoors to avoid injury.

Whoa, what an adjustment. Suddenly I was surrounded by hard-core fitness freaks and beautifully toned athletes. I was a high school and college athlete, but most of my adult life has been spent court side watching my kids compete. So I felt a little…out of place…at the gym.

My initial solution was to purchase a small workout wardrobe and attempt to blend in with the Spandex Society. But lately I’ve realized that my wardrobe isn’t the issue. A few weeks ago, a twenty-something blonde woman was running on the track in front of me. Typically I try not to pay much attention to people like her so I won’t become discouraged. You know the ones — they don’t seem to sweat and their every move seems effortless. This girl was one of those. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the back of her t-shirt.
“Why are you chasing me???” it read. Oh, you smug little twerp. I was so irritated that I lapped her.

Then tonight, I was running behind a blonde high school girl. Her t-shirt? “We’re not pretty fast. We’re pretty AND fast.”

Okay. Really?

The sad part was…her t-shirt was right. I couldn’t have lapped her egotistical little self even if I had wanted to. She repeatedly passed me like I was standing still — with the strongest, prettiest, easiest stride I’ve seen. I was too awed to be irritated.
But then it occurred to me. You know what? I’m not a high schooler any more. Heck, my youngest son isn’t even going to be a high schooler much longer. I’m a 41-year old mom who’s trying to achieve something I’ve never done before. I’m not chasing anyone. I’m slow. I sweat. My face turns Christmas red. And that’s okay — because I’m getting better. I’m going to incorporate my old crappy t-shirts and sweatpants into my workout gear — starting with a t-shirt message of my own, as shown above. Until they make a shirt that says “I don’t have to pad my resume…or my bra”, it’s the best message I can convey to the younger pups as they lap me.