"IT STRIKES" Again: Men in black tights and the inevitability of age

[The following column was first published in Feb. 2003 in The Londoner. At the time I was a serious long distance runner. I never smiled. Maybe my running shorts were too tight! gah]

Men in black tights and the inevitability of age

I don’t mind a road race in sub-zero temperatures. I have adequate running apparel for cold weather.

I don’t mind running on a hilly course. I can train for changes in terrain by running up and down Animal Hill in Springbank Park for a few weeks.

I don’t mind being left behind by my son David or most other runners 100 meters into a race. I’m used to watching the balk half of spandex tights disappear around the first corner. As long as I finish I’m happy.

But, I do mind unsettling discoveries that remind me I am getting older by the minute.


["David is blessed with speed and grit."]

One half hour after finishing a February road race I toweled off in a YMCA locker room and enjoyed post-race chatter with David and Greg, a young runner from Ottawa. We congratulated one another on a good race and happily shared memorable moments from the event.


["Gord is blessed with an endless supply of old running gear. Go 'Saints.'"]

I was floored when I learned our new acquaintance was coached by Denis Landry, a long-distance runner I had trained with years ago at a summer camp. (I resisted the urge to whistle “It’s a Small World After All”). But I was flabbergasted by the discoveries that followed.

‘What happened to the hair on your legs?” Greg asked innocently while I was stuffing soggy running gear into my open backpack.

I looked down.

Wow. What had happened?

The smile I had been wearing since crossing the finish line was replaced by a puzzled look. How should I explain the noticeable lack of hair around my ankles and lower calves?

I started slowly, “I didn’t think it was that bad until now. It’s likely a combination of things. I get dry skin down there. Over the course of the winter I scratch my legs a lot. I’ve been rubbing on Triple Action Gold Bond (lotion) every night but I guess it’s not helping.”

“Looks like a bad haircut,” David added with a laugh. “The backs of your calves are bald.”

Greg chuckled, then turned to importance business at his locker.

“I bet the elastic in my socks and running tights pull some of the hair out when I run,” I suggested seriously. “This happens every year.”

“Yeh, but we run more than you do and it’s not happening to us,” David said (obviously forgetting that I was the guy driving him home).

All positive memories of the race faded away as I stated, “Your time will come. You’ll lose your hair too.”

I actually didn’t mind the gradual loss of hair due to dry skin, tight socks, etcetera (It grows back in the spring, about the same time dandelions take over the front yard). But on wet, winter-white legs, in the middle of a crowded locker room, the absence of hair can be an unsettling sight.

Then I made a second sad discovery. While continuing to dry off I noticed there were new and unruly clumps of hair on the backs of my arms.

“What’s this? New turf?” I exclaimed aloud (unfortunately), pulling on numerous hairs that hadn’t been there the previous week.

“That’s nothing. You should see the middle of your back,” David offered with renewed energy and a wide grin.

While formulating a response to my son that would include some scientific truths about hair and heredity I came to the realization I hadn’t lost any hair at all.

It had simply migrated to safer locations.

***