Welcome to September, a month where #2 pencils and fresh notebooks hold all the promise of a new year. Instead of celebrating school supplies, we’re going to celebrate our gear this month. We’re looking for your most sentimental or memorable piece of gear. The one that makes you smile when you pull it on–or think about it. 

If you’d like to contribute a short essay about your most sentimental or memorable piece of gear, email us at bamr@anothermotherrunner.com your tribute (<600 words), with a few pictures of you with the gear, and we’ll be in touch. Read our previous posts here.

My first half-marathon attempt was successful since I didn’t die. Prior to crossing the finish line, I questioned my sanity and validity as a runner countless times, though. After all, I had waddled the 13.1 miles in worn-out yoga pants, a $15 cotton blend zip-up from Target, and a 99 cent beanie from Old Navy. Imposter syndrome at its finest.

Yet I finished. I credit these early line finish line crossings to a magic piece of fabric. Similar to Dumbo and his magic feather, this plus-sized runner was seeking encouragement and validation anywhere she could get it. The whole fake it until you make it. However, it was 2008 and as progressive as the running community might seem, plus-sized runners were persona non-grata in the apparel department.

Enter Under Armour and Lindsey Vonn. First off, I understand Lindsey Vonn is not a runner. In fact, we share a sentiment of hating the actual act of running. That said, she is a badass athlete from Minnesota that encompasses grit, determination, and continuous improvement. While I have no desire to ski with a broken back or wipe-out going 100+ miles per hour, I would love to channel a smidgen of her athleticism and attitude. Not to mention her ability to nail athleisurewear.

It just so happens her partnership with Under Armour started around the same time. As a loyal IG follower of Vonn both on and off the course, I admired her racing and fashion. And, it was around this time, Vonn sported the latest Under Armour collection that included a loose fitting high-tech light orange shirt that was generously cut, allowing me to not compress my extra girth (IYKYK).

It was the first time I dropped $35 on a V-neck t-shirt. While certainly not the last, it felt like a major investment in my commitment to show up at my first half-marathon as a “real” runner. While not technically running gear, the high-tech fabric meant no chaffing. And the clothing lines commitment to generous sizing meant it fit.

The magic shirt worked. I finished my first half just 13 weeks after picking up running. In my second half-marathon, about halfway through my run in Peninsula State Park during the Door County Half, I heard the announcers handing out trophies to the winners. “I guess I’m not winning this one,” I joked to the back-of-the-packer next to me. But, I was running. Not waddling or walking, but jogging with occasional bursts of acceleration. Afterward, sitting on the grass with the massive medal laying on top of my magical sweat-stained t-shirt, I couldn’t help but feel like a runner.

That lucky shirt, combined with Vonn’s inspirational journey, would carry me over countless finish lines and endless early morning training runs. A subtle reminder that while clothes do not define us, they can be a great motivator.

Post motherhood, I finally retired the threadbare, tired tee. It was replaced with a closet full of quarter-zip finisher shirts, training tees, and endless Project Rock gear signaling my on-going passion to be just like Vonn. Athletic lines finally caught up with the times and my options were as bountiful as the racing options in my region, beckoning in a middle-aged approach to running and fashion, while never forgetting where it all started.