You know, I think Sigmund Freud was on to something …
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of jogging — mostly with my shirt off. Don’t freak out, I’m always wearing a sports bra, but I’m just wearing a sports bra. I’m adopting this new lifestyle: Telling t-shirts to take a hike.
Running in a sports bra is absolute freedom. I did it for the first time on Saturday, and I don’t think I’ll ever wear a shirt while jogging outside again. I became one with Mother Nature. The wind and air caressed my torso, and all the world was laid before me in the form of a never-ending cross-country course. My feet never got tired and I never wanted to stop running. The sun hugged my shoulders, back and stomach, and I smiled back. We’re pretty good friends now — the sun and I. We’re close.
Where does Sigmund Freud come in, you might ask? Well. As I said, I’ve been running sans-shirt lately — but that is only when I’m jogging outside. I work-out daily at the LA Times, as there is a wonderful gym in the basement of the building. So, last night, as usual, I packed my gym bag with my daily work-out necessities (gym clothes, gym shoes, what have you), and I grabbed the bag this morning when I went to work.
But when I got to the locker room to change, I was surprised. I had packed everything I normally pack — except a shirt. Now, of course, there is no way I’m going to jog shirtless on a treadmill next to my colleagues (aka: the premiere journalists of the nation), but I did find it a bit hilarious that, subconsciously, I knew I wanted to work-out without a shirt. It feels that good.
Unfortunately, I had to abandon my work-out plans at work today — but who knows? After work, I might just make a pit-stop at my local cross country track. Sure, I don’t have a shirt with me, but then again, in the luscious, loving outdoors, do I really need one?
Ah no. No I don’t.