In Praise of Shirts

By Michael J. Warner

I never believe them when they say that they just grabbed a singlet out of the drawer or that this is the one that was reasonably clean. We run for them. We collect them. We display them. Our race shirts.

I started to run with a handful of cheap tank tops from Champion's dollar bin. Plain white, lightweight, breathable fabric. The right price. They were made to order. They still become the main choice when running alone in the summer. Yet I could not wait for my first race shirt. Seeing people working out in the Kodak gym with race shirts that, to this day, evoke images of classic runs; Utica Boilermaker, Brown's Berry Patch, the Lilac, the Chase Challenge, Ten Ugly Men. The marathoners would come in with classier long sleeve t-shirts and sweatshirts from Boston, New York, The Marine Corps, Chicago, and Columbus. The club and running group shirts were especially intriguing: GRTC, GVH, Oven Door, Bagel Bunch and CATS. I wanted one for my own.

Finally, I laid out my $15, ran my first 5k and got my first shirt. What a let down. It was a dark blue-black, in color. The weave was heavy and tight and felt like a lightweight sweatshirt. The logo proclaiming the race I had run so hard was miniscule and covered a few square inches over the left breast - you know the kind. No one could see that I had actually run a race! The neckline was high and choking when I ran in it. It did not hang low enough to tuck into my running shorts. It was a disaster. It now resides at the bottom of the stack just above a California Raisins t-shirt from the 70's.

You're right. It's all about the running, isn't it? Sure. But at my next race. I registered early - much cheaper. The threat was "shirts for the first 300 only!" But only 275 ran. I collected my shirt and low and behold, it was what I had sought after. A singlet with loose weave and big arm holes. A colorful race logo on the front, easily identifiable from yards away. Big, bold letters that told the world "This is the race I ran!" By my car I stripped off the unadorned shirt I that came in and donned my new acquisition. Heaven. I-looked-good. I looked like I ran races. I looked like - one of them.

I went out on that hot August afternoon and ran a PR in that shirt. Keep in mind, it was only my second race. That race shirt would take a place not far from the top of the stack from there on. It is a favorite. It is a small thing in the overall scheme of running. Insignificant to many. But you, who run at the front of the pack, bear in mind what many of us run for. We will never place in the first few times of the elite runners. We may never see a money prize, a trophy, or even a ribbon. We may never even take our age categories unless the race is very obscure, hopelessly rural, has a very small field of runners, and we have a truly great day. Our numbers deal more with cholesterol, beats per minute and age, rather than minutes, seconds and splits. So there is a joy in the small things others take for granted. There is pride in a shirt that proclaims to all who know about the intensity of the weekend warrior that I ran that race and I really finished it. I finished it! Me! I am a runner. So while you toss your new acquisition into the depths of a drawer somewhere and forget about it, amongst the dozens you already have - I treasure mine. It is folded lovingly and finds its way into the pecking order of favorites to be worn another day.

Goals? Goals? Yeah, I have my goals. My goals see me driving back down the Thruway to Rochester with a Utica Boilermaker shirt on the seat beside me. Our shirts.

Mike Warner is a member of GRTC and runs with the Bagel Bunch.