A Hobo Runner No More

Goodbye days of the hobo runner, I have new running clothes. And if I don’t mind saying so, I look like an Olympic track star.

Truth is, I’ve never looked like any kind of athlete while out running. Maybe an athlete mauled by a bear. But that’s not to say I’m a bad runner. I’m pretty good — I finish OK in races and I’m starting to do some early training for October’s Marine Corps Marathon in Washington D.C. (I’m registered, so only an injury — self-inflicted if-must-be — will get me out of it now.)

I’m a fairly good runner with a lot to be proud of. But while the rest of the world exercises in special track suits, designer duds, and aerodynamic, flashy threads, I always looked more like a fraternity brother after a long night … of being mauled by a bear.

I have runner’s shorts with bleach stains on them and elastic that so long ago disintegrated that you have to wear them with suspenders or duct tape them to your waste. Sometimes when I wear them, the only way to keep them up is to hold on to them in the front, which makes for awkward strides and an odd running style. Passersby must look at me and think, “There goes a guy who really has to use the bathroom.” It was time for new running shorts.

My socks started getting far too many holes in them. My toes would work their way through those holes, and then like snares, the threads would cinch tight around their prey, cutting off circulation to my southerly digits. The whole run I would be wondering why in the world my toes were going numb and throbbing. When I got home and took my shoes off, I would find purple sausages nearly strangled to death.

“I’m sorry, fellas. I didn’t know,” I told them as they gasped for air. It was time for new running socks.

I used to run in tank tops like a Foster’s Lager shirt that was so old, the label read, “Made in the original thirteen colonies.” Someone who knew a beer distributor had snagged it for me years ago, back before the world was round, and I’ve been running in it ever since. The elderly threads struggle just to hold it together, and its former white has turned to a dull beige. People would stop me while running because they were convinced a permanent sweat stain on the back was the spitting image of Elvis. It was time for new running tops.

But new running clothes can be expensive thanks to all the technology that goes into them. They wick away sweat as you run, protect you from UV rays like sunscreen, keep the odors from coming out by spritzing you with cologne and create optical illusions that make you look fast and breezy, not slow and gorged full of pork rinds. You pay top dollar for good running clothes these days.

Still, it was time to get serious and get with the modern times.

My wife was ecstatic when she saw the package with my new running duds arrive in the mail. “That means you can burn all your other ones, right?” she asked. I could tell this was less a question and more a call for lighter fluid as she clapped and jumped up and down.

“No,” I told her. “Those running outfits are all still good. Sure, the one shirt might be growing unidentifiable green fuzz, but the rest of them still have life.”

But who am I kidding? After running in my new socks, shorts and tank tops, it’s over for the old guys. I never thought running clothes could feel so good, or look so good. Yet, they do. They don’t chafe, or require emergency stitching in the middle of a run to avoid a public indecency ticket. They don’t cause stray dogs to chase you.

So my hobo running days are finally over. I just hope these new guys can hold up for the next 20 years like the old batch did.