I ran my first marathon in a basketball jersey. Not just any basketball jersey, a vintage Chris Webber Golden State Warriors number, bright blue and straight from the mid-nineties. As racers lined up at the starting line of the Sunflower Marathon in Mazama, Washington, I looked out of place next to technical T-shirts and space-age microfibers. But in many ways, that was also kind of the point: Did it really matter what I was wearing? We were all about to run the same race, did we have to look the same too?
Running is an intensely personal experience. Beyond the run club hoopla and Strava route sharing, getting up and going is an internal affair, one driven by any number of motivations, but ultimately completed by a team of one. So why, then, has running fashion (and function) become such a crowd-sourced affair?
Sweat-wicking material, temperature control technology, flat seams, lower friction points—the innovation in our outer appearance has never been as good as it is today. But it’s also intimidating. The pressure to get the exact right gear as everyone else can add an extra barrier of entry to the run game, and for some it can be a downright turnoff. Let’s be real, dropping an extra $200 on an over-designed tank top isn’t exactly screaming “go out there and have some fun.”
Truthfully, for most of us, the shirt that we feel most comfortable in is, and always will be, the ultimate running shirt. Not nanotech, lab-engineered comfortable, but “Hey, this is me” comfortable. That might mean a baggy cotton tee, a high school era cutoff, or a vintage basketball jersey. Comfort does not come in a singular box.
Sure, chafing is a scourge on the planet (this is one of the world’s only universal truths), but most of us simply are not out there pushing the technological limits of our sportswear on our morning jog. We are, however, fighting to get out the door in the first place, battling a laundry list of excuses (and a few sore muscles) in the process. Frankly, adding a uniform to the mix just gives me one more reason to hit the snooze button.
Running is a pure pursuit: one foot in front of the other for as long as we can. The rest? That’s all extra. Let’s start treating it as such. This isn’t hockey—there are no pads, no jock straps, no laser-cut helmet designs or skates making the millisecond difference in our daily neighborhood loop. Let’s keep it simple, folks. If putting on a familiar shirt gets you to the start line, that’s a win that even the most highly specialized workout top can never deliver. So get out there and let that garment game fly.
