t-shirt communications

It’s early on a bright, sunny Monday morning and I’m out for my regular easy run up and down the street. I’m stopped, waiting to cross the intersection by the new coffee shop. I’ve pressed the pedestrian button to trip the traffic signal so I can cross the street but I’m looking around, checking out the new shop and the woman walking toward me on the sidewalk with her little fluffy dog. Maybe I’m holding my glance at her a little too long. I’m trying to figure her out. She’s wearing a green t-shirt. It’s got the logo from the Irish pub across the street. Is she somehow affiliated with the pub? I’ve never seen her in there before but she looks vaguely familiar. Wait. It’s the day after St. Patrick’s Day. Has she been out all night? She doesn’t seem the type… but what do I know. I turn to face the street. My light will be turning soon… 

“That must be a tough race! Did you win?” she quips. 

It takes me a second to realize she’s talking to me. Why is she talking to me? Oh, she’s commenting on my shirt. I take a quick glance down to the logo on the front of my shirt because out of the dozen or so race t-shirts I have crammed into my drawer at home I really have no idea which one I’m wearing. I really never do. I don’t care. It’s not a statement. It’s a free shirt (just pay the exorbitant race fee!). They’re wicking and light and other than the fact that they smell like hell before you even put them on I still wear them. They function well enough - sort of. There’s a blue mule printed on my chest. I do a quick scan of my remaining brain matter. Ah. Mt. Wilson Trail Race. Don’t remember which year. Doesn’t matter. 

“Oh. No. I did not win… very steep up there!” I respond, trying to be somewhat cheery for this St. Patty, while at the same time hoping that the conversation will end, because, although I’ve turned now and am no longer facing the street but my new companion, I’m sure my light has changed and I’d like to cross and continue my run - my heart rate is dropping like a brick! And what was it that I was just thinking about before I got to this intersection… another lost blog post! 

I think she kind of gets it. But as she’s waking away, now crossing the train tracks with her puppy-doodle, she actually offers out some surprisingly genuine trail knowledge. “I’ll bet! I used to take the Girl Scouts up there…” 

“Ah! Okay! Thanks!” I say. Or some such words. She keeps going her way. I turn to check the light. It has changed for me. I can still make it across.  

A few blocks further along I recall the lost blog post - not a very good one - not even a title - just a topic, a sensation… Why are my calves sore? I read something about trying to engage one’s glutes to help alleviate stress on the calves… how exactly does one do that, again? But that’s already lost its interest for me. So my calves are sore. Probably from the big weekend. All I want to know now is how did she get that t-shirt… and how can I get one?!