For many, it’s a cause for celebration. Their calves freed from the suffocation of denim and allowed to breathe free, much like the fabled Colossus of Emma Lazarus. For me, shorts weather means another thing entirely.
It started a while ago, with a crash. No, not a metaphorical crash. A literal one. I was hit by a car. Now, if I sound blasé about it, it’s only because it’s happened so many damn times, but this was the first.
It was mid-training season for the Chicago marathon. I had spent too many Friday nights in with a warm glass of milk and too many early Saturday mornings faking pep and running ridiculous distances to let getting hit by one little car to hold me back. I mean, it was a Jetta, how bad could it have really been? So despite getting hit by a car on Friday, I still opted for my 16-mile run on Saturday.
You know what they say, hindsight is 20/20. Okay, I didn’t really need hindsight to know that run was still a bad idea, but I had already devoted so much to this, I wasn’t about to back out now. So, while I was running, I’m fairly certain I should have been seeking medical attention. I’ve always been bad about this kind of stuff. Hell, I broke my hand five times before I ever went to see a doctor about it. So yes, I have a history of bad decision making.
Long story short (too late) my legs haven’t really been the same since, specifically my knee. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I still run, but my knee won’t ever be the same. In fact, there’s a little patch on my knee that has never been able to go hair back.
That is my secret shame: summer, spring, fall, or winter you will not find me baring my knees, unless I’m wearing shorts on a run, but even then, I pull my shorts low enough to cover my knees. I will never sit down and cross my legs in shorts, for fear of showing my right knee. It’s such a minor thing, probably unnoticeable to most folks, but when I wear shorts, it’s all I ever see.
Well, this has never really been much of a problem before… I mean, back in Chicago, you could still stand to wear jeans year round, and in LA- well, it was an unseasonably mild summer for the year I lived there, but here I am, in North Carolina.
You ever lived in the South and covered your legs the entire time? It’s not easy. I’m already sweating bullets half the time and there is no worse feeling than sweating- well, “downstairs.”
Half out of necessity and half out of some bizarre sense of empowerment, I’ve decided that’ll hafta change this year. I mean, there’s no way I can wear my jeans all year. It’s suicide.
So, this summer, I boldly do something I have not done since 2008- wear shorts.
… it’s a small victory, okay? Don’t judge!