Until recently, I had maintained a life-long policy of wearing skimpy racing tops only for races. Donning a singlet in a non-racing context has always seemed equivalent to announcing to the world, “I take myself, and my running, MUCH too seriously.”
My morning commute has prompted me to reevaluate this policy. My 5.8-mile run from home to the lab leaves me sweaty and stinky. Not wanting to overwhelm my coworkers with Eau de Crowther, I towel off and change shirts, but it would be even better to perspire less. So my old singlets — from my rave-green one to my black-and-yellow “Bumble Racer” to my Team USA jerseys — are back in circulation.
With my singlet and my commuting backpack, I must appear to be training for some sort of elite urban survival challenge. I guess it’s OK to look funny as long as I don’t smell too bad.
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