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A Letter to Male Runners

Elaine Standohar's picture
male runner

A letter to my fellow male runner; the one who finds it not only necessary, but appropriate to wear booty shorts while running in public.


I, myself, am an avid runner. I appreciate the cardiovascular benefits it provides, the way it “wakes up” my derriere, and the stress relief I experience from all those feel-good endorphins it releases. All-in-all, running has done nothing, but great things for my life. That is, until you and I found ourselves on the same running path, and found ourselves on it at similar times.

I remember, not-so-fondly, our first encounter. As my eyes fell from a normal face and upper half, to the all-too revealing bottom half, the thoughts that ran through my head are not things that I can – or should ever – repeat.

I’ll do my best to put into words the awkwardness that consumes me every time I am forced to look at every inch of your overexposed man-thighs. I use the word “forced” because as much as I want to look away and wash my eyes of the horror they’re witnessing, I can’t. Your choice in bottoms is like a car crash, something I want so badly to look away from but am unable to.

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It’s obvious to me that you do not have a girlfriend or any friends of value, because they would have most certainly condemned you showing so much skin in public by now. If nothing else, think of all the children that run around these trails. Surely you don't want to be contributing to their nightmares.

The only acceptable circumstance for a male to be donning shorts of that length is if he is a USA Olympic runner or a chiseled European model. That’s it. And unfortunately for me, you are neither. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not calling you ugly or saying that you’re an unattractive ogre, I’m just asking that you show some modesty and leave something to the imagination for myself and for the other runners (especially of the female persuasion) that you share this trail with. And if you must show some skin when you run, please note that abs are 100% preferred to thighs.

Now you may find my reaction to your excessive self-confidence aggressive and unnecessary – as I’m sure you find it unwarranted and offensive, but I enjoy seeing your creamy, hairy legs about as much as I enjoy seeing two drunk old people sloppily making out at a bar.

I sincerely look forward to your fully-covered gams the next time we run into each other (pun intended).
Thanks for not taking this too personally.

The runner who no longer wants to run in fear (of your legs).