I went for a run today. I didn’t mean to, nor did I set out with “going for a run dear” on my “to do” list.

I had planned to get some fresh air and go for a walk with a clear end goal of a stop sign at the end of the road, high-five the sign, pivot and walk back.

I had every reason on earth not to run, mostly related to my walking attire until I convinced myself, if the mood should strike and the rain should pelt, why not pick up the pace and spring into a sprint?

It’s funny how clothing has defined what exercises we can and can’t do, all based on a few stitches of thread covering our bodies.

I have sat in yoga classes where I know the first ten minutes are spent first admiring other women’s toned arms and second, identifying the nicest lululemon outfit in the room knowing by the next class, five women will be wearing that exact outfit because they too admired it from the reflection in a wall-length mirror.

I remember running around the river in high school wearing a loose cotton t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms. Nobody cared or noticed what I was wearing and I didn’t mind exercising in what I had slept in the night before. We’ve become a Lulu-centric society letting our gym clothes define how we exercise.

Today on my walk-run in the rain, I was wearing a pair of cotton shorts, not comfortable running short cotton, think just above the knee, beige with a cuff, a button at the waist, pockets, shorts. I wore a plain t-shirt, a bra that was not a sports bra which in retrospect a bra, the best sports bra money can buy ($19.99 at Winners) or no bra at all, it likely wasn’t going to affect my work-out one way or another. Also, I think my bra was a “Triumph” and well, there’s something a little like a pat on the back when you have a name like that built right into the padding. I would mention my underwear but even I’m embarrassed about that. I had a really good pair of running socks—check! But lost points in the shoe department as they were more of a heavy, hiking shoe/bootie caked with dried mud from walking on some unpaved roads and perhaps loading top soil and mulch around the gardens. There might have even been some chalk outlining the soles from the two year old playing on the driveway but this made me feel a little safer knowing I would be leaving a chalk line to follow should anything happen to me. Children’s yellow hair elastic with affixed small bow, bow tucked to the underside so it was out of site because even I know when it starts to get weird.

The point is, I was by no means dressed as a runner. I thought about wanting to beat the wet weather before I got really swept up in it, I thought about aging and how at some point, maybe sooner rather than later, my knees and lungs wouldn’t allow me to just start running randomly at all and then I thought about a scene from an old Friends episode where Phoebe ran around Central Park like a crazy person and decided not to care what anyone thought.

I was going for it. Wrong shoes, wrong bra, bad shorts, rainy morning, not a stitch of lululemon on me and I did it.

It can be done.

If I’m passing on any helpful advice, I think the flannel p.j. bottoms were more comfortable than the shorts.