Sometimes goals change with your clothes.

“You're going running in THAT?” my Dad asked me before a run. The man who often gets mistaken as a homeless bum at the mall, that does not own a shirt without holes in it and who you know is “dressing up” if he is wearing pyjama bottoms at the dinner table. Had anyone else made a fashion critique I may not have paid any attention. But I take a quick survey and agree I may look a tad peculiar. A hybrid of a thug and a Shepard. In pink. The Gulf Shore road in Nova Scotia is probably as far away from a fashion runway as you can get but nonetheless I had to hit the shops. I only have one pair of running shorts (not counting the aforementioned underwear) and the weather informants I overhear are warning cold.

How smug I was to walk into the “running” section. But nothing brings me smack down on my fat bottom quicker than shopping. I have spent so much time running inside my head that I am a bit shocked that the body hasn't caught up. I haven't lost any weight. I fear it is karma for the mere 100gram weight loss I mocked last month. Right now 100 grams would be something! At this rate I will lose one kilogram per year. But people had said “muscle weighs more than fat” and it is all about “toning”and I wanted to believe them; so I did. I should have known better. The same “friends” that tell you that the second labour is quicker than the first, among other myths. And then the final blow. I cannot fit into any of the running clothes. Does this mean I am STILL not a runner? I become enraged. Whose to tell me I am not a runner? I'll show them! And fork over a small fortune.

“The only layer you need to keep warm” The label of my new running leggings says. For the first few strides I am the runner these running leggings were designed for. They are so tight that they make my legs appear two sizes smaller. A few minutes into the run I work out why: all the leg fat had been squeezed up my legs and was now an overinflated tire of blubber about to burst at the top. The label should have read “Scientifically designed to be too tight and fall down at the same time.” I had an extreme case of camel toe. I kept having to fold my stomach flab into my leggings the same way other people tuck their shirt into their trousers. At that moment I would rather look like a pink Shepard thug than expose myself to ten cars on a country road.

I have placed aside the 5 km, 10 km, half marathon and marathon goals. My new number one priority goal is to fit into my new running leggings. I paid too much for them and I can't return them, stinking of sweat while coming up with some lame excuse yet secretly aware I wore two sizes too small thermal running leggings on a 17 degree Celsius day.