Wear the Damn Shorts

I won’t play Captain Obvious because we all know it’s been freaking hot. Everywhere. As the temperature rises, all I want to do is lounge in shorts with a bag of ice on my stomach while laying in a fetal position next to the A/C. I’ve never been a fan of shorts especially when it comes to working out in them. It’s not that I don’t want to wear them, I’ve just never felt comfortable enough about my legs to wear shorts. Whether it was cellulite, stretch marks, leg hair or the wretched jiggle of my thighs, I always wore leggings no matter how hot it was. By the end of every summer I would have a glowy, golden tan on my arms and pasty white legs. This summer is different. 

I’ve been trying to get back into running ever since stopping back in March and I’ve been making all the excuses you can imagine to not run. I convinced myself that I didn’t have all the things I needed in order to be comfortable while running. So little by little, over the past few months, I’ve been accumulating the “essential” gear (or at least in my head) in order to run. This past Monday, I suited up with shorts, tank top, hydration vest, smart watch, wireless headphones, trail running shoes and sunglasses. I stood in front of the mirror and just kept standing there. I walked around the house in circles like I usually do when I’m feeling anxious. I opened the front door and stepped outside into the hellish heat and tugged at the back of my shorts, feeling a little too exposed. I stepped back inside to see the dogs looking up at me with googly eyes begging to be taken out. I contemplated bringing them with me. I paced around some more with two leashes in my hands and realized what I was doing. I was avoiding going outside because of the freaking shorts. 

It was so dang hot and all I really wanted was to take a shower to cool down, so I bargained and committed to rewarding myself with a cold shower only after I had finished my run. Four hours later, I finally worked up the courage to go out in public. I walked to the trail-head instead of running because I wanted to be out of sight in case my shorts started riding up. Although I was alone out on the trail, I kept tugging on my shorts whenever I felt a breeze. On my way up, hot and half-cursing myself for waiting so long, I thought of the reasons why I felt so uncomfortable in the first place. I thought of all the times I kept myself from doing things I really wanted to do because I felt too uncomfortable with myself, my clothes and what others would think of me. When I got back home after the run, I had soaked through my clothes and kept sweating even afterwards because of how hot it was at that time of day. I couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable I would have been, had I decided to wear leggings.  

I remember when I was about 12 years old I found these itty-bitty shorts in the lost and found of my middle school. My parents, at the time both conservative and Catholic, would have never bought me anything like it. Those were my favorite shorts but I always just wore them in my room. On one occasion, one of my friends invited me to go to the county fair and I thought of wearing those shorts. When my dad saw me walking around in them, about to leave, he told me to change otherwise I wouldn’t be going anywhere. I thought I was smart and stuffed them inside a backpack and hid the backpack next to the mailbox by the driveway. The plan was to change back into them once my friend’s parents picked me up. As it turned out, I wasn’t as sneaky as I thought and my dad found the shorts, grounded me and I wasn’t able to go. I couldn’t understand the logic behind wanting to wear something and getting punished for it. He later told me he didn’t want the men at the fair to stare at me. 

The following year, our school went on a field trip. By then, I had gained a little weight but the shorts still fit so I decided to take them. As I sat on my school bus, I saw how wide my thighs had gotten and how they jiggled with every bounce of the bus. I started to feel increasingly uncomfortable and wanted to cover up before anyone noticed. When the bus came to a stop, we lined up on the aisle and as we were waiting to get off the bus, the boy behind me started to flirt and poke my ribs. I asked him to stop but he kept on. I was feeling so uncomfortable about my body and having someone touch me made me want to crawl out of my skin. “Fuck you,” I said, and punched him as hard as I could on the arm.

By my freshmen year of high school my relationship with shorts worsened. I had gained even more weight over the summer and my body was molding into a skin suit that was too tight and it began to tear. Stretch marks lined the back and inner parts of my thighs, my butt and love handles. I was a volleyball player, so spandex only made the angry red lines around my body pop out in contrast. To save myself from the nasty comments I imagined others would think and say about me, I hid my body and stopped playing sports that would expose me. 

We accumulate these little stories throughout our lifetime and continue to reinforce certain behaviours whether we are aware of them or not. It took me four hours to walk out the door because I was wearing shorts. Shorts are really just a metaphor. We hide our bodies and deprive ourselves from joy and new experiences because we’ve been programmed into thinking that bodies have to look a certain way to wear certain clothes and practice certain activities. We create a narrative based on, “what will they think?” and believe it as a fact. It’s not about what you wear, it’s about what you tell yourself and whether those thoughts will keep you from doing the things that make you happy. What are the experiences you are missing out on and using x, y and z as an excuse? If you feel called to run, then run with or without the damn shorts. If you feel called to swim, then swim with a one-piece, two-piece, a full body suit or birthday suit. 

As I write this, I want to be clear and say that there are very real dangers that specific groups of people face when wearing certain clothing. It is not my intention to minimize the risk of harassment, hate crimes and attacks due to something as simple as how you choose to dress. Unfortunately, this is also part of our current reality. There are groups of people who, based on their religious beliefs or other, prefer to be covered. I am not speaking on that topic, rather, my intention is to create awareness around a limited belief that keeps us stagnant as well as to create compassion for ourselves and others. When you see somebody wearing something revealing, let them be. Don’t hype them up. Don’t comment on their appearance. Sometimes people are not asking for attention to be drawn to their bodies, they are simply just going on about their routine on a hot day. 

The best way to not pass judgement is to not judge yourself. What good is it to applaud someone else’s supposed bravery for owning their body and then pick yourself apart? Why is it that it’s considered an act of bravery in the first place? As I said before, shorts are a metaphor for a stifling belief system that keeps us from doing, exploring, adventuring and playing. Challenge your beliefs. Ask yourself, “why” at least five times until you get to the core of that old belief and ponder whether it has a place in the life and future you are trying to create. Celebrate your body as it is now, for what it can do now. Don’t wait to explore or pursue something until you have the right gear or a specific brand of clothes. Don’t wait until your body looks a certain way, just wear the damn shorts.