So in the best tradition of soccer legends who defend their familial honor with a head to the ribcage of the offending party, my pink running shirt has knocked the air out of me for the last time this summer. Red card, pink running shirt, red card! Get your hooligan/ not-at-all-breatheable self on the bench. You are not doing the great galumphing tradition of this running outfit proud.
You all remember the pink shirt. I am wearing it in nearly every photo on here. I ran my first half marathon in it:
Wait, no that's not the pink shirt. Here, you will surely remember the streamlined cut of the pink shirt:
Damn, that's not it either. The seams of the pink shirt hugged my surfboard-like figure to create the illusion of curves:
Gargh! While that shirt(dress) is certainly pink in the awfullest way, it's not the garment under the microscope here. Here, here is the clothing item I'm looking for:
And here again:
I should have known when I returned from the above run that it was not just the humidity that was causing me to dump gallons of water through my cavernous pores. It was the cute but suffocating shirt I was wearing. Does it wick sweat? Yes. And there is plenty of sweat to wick. Does it breathe? Let's just say the sweat suits my husband wore to drop weight from Hot Strapping Hunk weight to welterweight in high school breathed more. I do believe that the "sauna suits" pictured below would have allowed me to catch more of a breeze than the stifling pink shirt:
These people look refreshed. Maybe it is because they have absolutely no more fluid in their bodies and their eyeballs are on the brink of shriveling up. But still, they look sharper than I do after moving half the distance they did in this photograph in the pink shirt.
Pink shirt, you have served me well, time to mothball you until the temps dip below 70 again. Now on to the search for a breathable tank top. I'm eying up this one, but I don't know if I'm as "Hip Hop" as the very street guy wearing it: