It was the winter of 1998. It was the beginning of the online shopping
boom. I was eighteen, just days away
from my nineteenth birthday, had a credit card, and had just discovered REIoutlet.com. Seriously?
REI gear at way cheaper prices? Uh
oh.
. . .
As long as I can remember, my father has had a sweatshirt
from a well known company (who’s name transports a person to the Southern
Hemisphere). It is black and zips up the
front. He wore it in the winter, often
when we would chop or stack wood. It had
piled all over the outside, usually had little splinters of maple sticking to
it, and I remember, when it would hang by our fireplace, drying after a
snowstorm, I would collect those little “buttons” of fuzz, inhaling the years
of carried wood and collected chainsaw exhaust, and look at the label on the
left breast, picturing myself in those mountains that graced the logo. Yes, this sweatshirt has a special place in
my psyche.
So it was with a certain titilating nostalgia that, as I
scrolled this newly discovered virtual world at www.rei.com/outlet that I saw it: for
$22.73 a “wind blocking, lightly insulated shell for all your winter
adventures.” It was blue, full zip, with a left chest pocket. And, in my (nearly) nineteen-year old mind,
most importantly, there was that beautiful logo above over the left
breast. Immediately I sent it to my “Shopping
Cart,” clicked “Check Out” and waited.
Several days later, I was opening the package, figuring this jacket was,
to paraphrase Macklemore, so much more than just a jacket. This jacket would give me the ability to climb
the highest peaks in the world (regardless of lacking the requisite skills),
would make me able to tell tales at bars that began, “As I crossed the
altiplano of Bolivia . . .” (regardless of lacking the requisite charisma. I was also not a runner at this point in my
life, instead merely a Walter Mitty mountaineer). These images rushed through my
image-conscious, teenage mind. There was
great anticipation.
Utter and complete dissappointment. This jacket, which I had come to see as a
doorway to greatness, flat out sucked.
It was ugly. It looked vaguely
like a shiny track suit, minus the retro “cool” factor. The outside felt like a nylon tarp, and the
“insulation”? It wasn’t even Polartec!
In fact, it was so thin and light that I figured this jacket should only
be used as a shower mat. And that would
be pushing its envelope of functionality.
Buyer’s remorse in full effect, the jacket got tossed into a pile of neglected
gear I never saw but once a year when I added some other ridiculous purchase to
it. Shit. How was going to reach the goddamn altiplano
now?
. . .
It was late spring, at least a dozen years later, and I was
summiting Bondcliff in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, with my great friend
Sam Jurek. We had been running in a
steady, cold rain and bitter wind for about 3 and half hours, as we attempted a
Pemi Loop. Temperatures hung around 37 degrees, and when
we had refueled at Galehead Hut, instead of warming us, as we had hoped, the
inside of the hut simply reminded us of the cold – each exhale turned to mist,
and we quickly began to shiver (a symptom that disappeared as soon as we started
marching up the soaking “staircase” to S. Twin.). This was Sam’s introduction to the Whites,
and I, being the wise veteran, had packed my once-dismissed, ugly, blue “tarp”
jacket (with the cool logo), which, despite being soaked, was keeping me warm
and, as we cruised the exposed ridge, kept the constant wind at bay.
You see, once I became a runner I discovered this jacket
in the back of a closet. It was winter,
probably around 2003, and I fancied myself a serious runner, so I needed something on a particularly cold and
windy day, to keep me from freezing to death as I headed out the door. I gave this jacket, which I had held such
high hopes for when clicking “Check Out,” a try. I don’t think I had worn it before that
day. To this day, it is my go-to piece
of gear when it gets cold. Now, like my
father’s sweatshirt, the inside (which I am now convinced is lined with some
unique, magic fabric, found in no other garment, ever) is slightly piled, the
outside is stained with tree sap and road (and body) salt, the zipper is
half-broken, the elastic around the bottom, that once helped seal out wind, is
now a bit too stretchy, so the jacket wears a little bit like a zip-up poncho, the
waist cuff often rolling up a bit, and it holds a very particular smell (after
thousands of miles of running, not quite as nostagalic as the cut wood and chainsaw
exhaust of my father’s sweatshirt, but nostalgic nonetheless). Yes, I truly love this jacket of mine. It has served me well . I have come home from “blizzard” runs several
times to have it completely frozen, a thin layer of ice around it that I have
to break to get it off. It hangs by the
door in our house, at the ready, from
October to April (although this year, it may be June). Putting it on is like going for a run with an
old (and kind of smelly) friend.
So you can imagine the great internal struggle, when,
just a couple of weeks ago, I received a brand new, super-light weight (and
sweet-smelling!), Race Elite 260 Thermoshell from Inov-8 (even the fact that
this new jacket has a specific, technical name impressed me. My jacket is called, I don’t even know what
it’s called. I guess just “running
jacket”). (FULL DISCLOSURE: I am
sponsored by Inov-8, who, despite my being laid up with an injury for the past
12 weeks, has continued to show a great deal of support and encouragement to
me). When I first heard about the
Thermoshell last year I was, to say the least, excited. It is a very
sharp looking piece, like a runner’s version of a puffy jacket (and I prefer to
be warm and sweat a little (or a lot) on a run, than to be on the border of
warm and freezing my privies off). It
packs down to about the size of a large orange (or, perhaps, grapefruit, if you
are particular about the size of your citrus), and is designed for pure,
athletic function: half-zip, with one chest pocket, single hand cinches around
the waste. It feels like air holding it.
The real kicker? The inside is made of a
wind-blocking material, and the jacket is reversible, so if you flip it
inside-out, for some reason, it’s actually warmer! If my running jacket is a Chevy Nova, the
Thermoshell is a friggin’ Ferrari. On
steroids. (And yes, the whole flipping
it inside-out to make it warmer thing is legit.
We’ve had plenty of days to test that here in New England this
winter).
The day I got it, I didn’t try the Thermoshell on until
after my boys were asleep. I think I
didn’t want them to see me “cheating” on it.
And when I did finally pull it on, I felt guilty about how good it
felt. If you have ever changed into a
puffy coat on a cold night to go sit by a campfire, you know what it felt like
slipping the Thermoshell over my head.
“CURSES!” I thought. The thing
felt like Mithril from the mines of Moria, light, flowy, comforting. (Yes, I know, I’m sponsored by Inov-8. Yes, these thoughts did actually go through my mind when I put this jacket on). I decided to give the jacket a real test the
next morning, biking to school. The temperature
was forecasted to 1 degree by the time I would be biking. After thirty five minutes pedalling through
those temps, my core was totally comfortable (my hands however were not. My
hands were numb after about eight minutes).
The jacket works: it will keep you warm.
When I wore it on one of my “attempted” runs, (“attempted” because my
injury allows me to run about 2 miles at a go), again, on a bitter morning, I
actually had to use the small second zipper to let some air out (a nice feature
– the half zip actually has a top and bottom zipper. Once you zip the top zipper, you can pull the
bottom zip to create a window of ventilation.
The jacket stays comfortable around your neck (I despise getting drafts
down my back), but a lot of extra heat can escape out the front). And,
to top it all off, on the first day I wore it, I went to the grocery
store. Now, I am not one to get compliments on my style or fashion choices (see
above description of my running jacket).
I kid you not, two people,
approached me and commented on the Thermoshell.
One to say, “Man, that jacket looks really warm” and one to say, “That’s
a really nice lookin’ jacket.” I felt like an absolute rock star.
Which is where I will end this tale. A tale of a boy and his jacket. A love story.
To be honest, I feel guilty: Since I got it, I have only worn the
Thermoshell. My running jacket still
hangs by our door, but now it seems like one of those old dogs that can’t quite
keep up with the new puppy and just sort curls itself up in the corner, looking
annoyed by the young whippersnapper’s playful antics. It’s more than a little sad. I have honestly felt a bit of guilt in my move
to the Thermoshell as well. My running
jacket was working just fine - I had yet to freeze to death on a single run. Is this new choice of jacket (and willingness
to simply toss aside such a faithful companion) not a simple choice of
functionality, but more of a window into my soul and character? Does it show a shallowness, only wearing this
new jacket because I was complimented by those two people when I wore it to the
store? Does it reveal a hellbent
consumer, fueled by the hungry ghost of materialism, creating an unethical
demand on the world’s resources? Gosh, I
hope not, because if that’s the case, I’m gonna have a hell of a hard time
saying goodbye to the Thermoshell! And
if it does, is there anyone out there who can provide a happy home to a 16-year
old, blue, running jacket, with a partially broken zipper and unique smell?
