Running trails in a skirt

There's something I like about running trails in a skirt.  Maybe it's the juxtaposition between rough and rugged and flirty and feminine.  Maybe it's feeling light on my toes as I leap over roots and branches, my skirt flapping in the breeze.  Maybe it's the surge of power that I get, knowing that beneath my girly purple skirt is a pair of strong legs capable of climbing the hills at a fast clip.  I didn't intend to run trails when I put on my running skirt the other day, but I traded the pavement for the path about 3/4 into my run and never looked back.

I wouldn't necessarily consider myself a girly girl, though I did go through the Laura Ashley phase many years back (c'mon, who didn't?)  Growing up I was more of a tomboy.  I played in the woods, had lizards for pets and chose softball over cheerleading.  I was never really into Barbies or princesses.  Instead, my heroes were Dale Murphy and Mary Lou Retton.  I could shoot a gun, hit a target and catch a fish.  I played a mean game of badminton and caught frogs in the back yard.

Don't get me wrong, I adore the color pink.  I could dance all night long.  I devour love stories like chocolate, and designer makeup is my guilty pleasure.  But sit me in a kayak or take me to a trail and I will feel right at home.  The sky will always be my roof and the dirt will always be my carpet.  I would happily give up TV forever in exchange for a cottage on the water.  I may wear a skirt when I run, but peek under my manicured toenails and you'll likely find some dirt.  That's just the way I like it.