The author needs to take some notes from this 92 year old marathoner…
A week and a half ago, as I was packing for Chicago, I noticed that all of my good running clothes are a bright vitamin-piss yellow. My new shoes are that color. My lucky tank top is that color. My favorite socks are that color. Bright vitamin piss-yellow is not flattering on my complexion, and it never will be. My skin is the color of a baby pig.
“This is my power color,” I said aloud as I placed a series of neon yellow items into my suitcase. The marathon was in four days, and I had gone irretrievably insane.
Been there. I’m curious to look, but never seen a picture I’d ever want. And seeing the pictures made me wear a hat.