Rundefeated

There’s a golden rule in the world of running gear: the more expensive it is, the more likely you are to guard it with your life. Your carbon-plated supershoes get their own space in the closet. Your 2XU compression tights get hand-washed like they’re made of ancient silk. But sunglasses? Ah — sunglasses are the sneaky ones. They start out as a prized possession, and before you know it, they’ve vanished like that one sock in the laundry. I have lived through this cycle three times with Goodr.

Goodr, for the uninitiated, is the rockstar of running sunglasses. Affordable, polarized, quirky names like “Flamingos on a Booze Cruise,” and that millennial-friendly vibe that makes you feel like you’re part of an exclusive club of runners who also brunch ironically. I bought my first pair of Goodr OG series with the same giddy excitement one reserves for new shoes or finding an unopened snack in your bag. I wore them everywhere. I even took selfies where I pretended I was a professional marathoner, even though I was just running five laps around the neighborhood.

Then I lost them.

Not dramatically. No daring rescue attempt in a river, no heroic fall off a cliff during trail running. No. I put them down somewhere between a water stop and a conversation about electrolytes and poof — gone. I looked everywhere. Retraced my steps like a CSI episode. Nothing. So naturally, I mourned for about two days before buying the Mach G aviator series because surely, this time I’d be responsible.

The Mach Gs made me feel like a Top Gun extra who also did 5Ks. Sleek, slightly more grown-up, but still screaming, “I have disposable income and a Strava account.” I wore them to races, to beach runs, even to the supermarket because they were that cool. For about three months, I lived my best aviator life.

And then, they disappeared.

The pattern was clear: Goodr glasses and I had a toxic relationship. I loved them. They ghosted me. Like some kind of Romeo and Juliet tale if Romeo was a pair of polarized running sunglasses and Juliet was an absentminded, overly confident runner with too many pockets. But being a hopeless romantic, I bought a third pair. The RVG series. Bright, bold, practically a neon sign for my face.

At this point, you’d think I would have learned. I promised myself I’d keep these safe. I even gave them their own case. But fate had other plans. Somewhere between a sweaty long run and a roadside coconut water break, they vanished. I don’t even know how. I just remember wiping sweat off my face and realizing my eyes were suddenly naked. Again.

This was my breaking point. I could no longer pretend I was someone who could be trusted with moderately priced, trendy eyewear. If I was destined to lose sunglasses, then I’d better start losing cheaper ones. That’s when I walked into Decathlon. Now, Decathlon is like that one friend who doesn’t care about brands but always looks put together. Practical, no-nonsense, and suspiciously affordable.

Their running sunglasses section wasn’t big. Just a couple of models, all looking like they were designed by someone who read a book titled “Sunglasses: Function Over Form.” I picked up a pair for 10 USD. No fancy name. No cool color options. No influencer campaign. Just a tag that said “Running Sunglasses. Anti-UV.” Done. I bought them with the same enthusiasm I reserve for buying a new pair of socks.

To my surprise, they were… good. Lightweight, snug fit, no bouncing on my face, and most importantly — after six months, I still have them. Maybe it’s because they don’t scream for attention. Maybe it’s because I don’t treat them like precious artifacts. Or maybe it’s because there’s nothing more humbling than realizing you’ve lost over a hundred bucks’ worth of sunglasses to the void.

Sure, they’re not polarized. And yes, when I run by a lake, there’s a bit of glare. But for 10 bucks, I can squint a little. Or take a slightly less dramatic selfie. The Decathlon shades have survived rainy runs, long runs, even being thrown in the bottom of my gym bag. No case. No special care. They’re like the rugged uncle of the running sunglasses family.

I’ve come to accept that maybe, just maybe, I was never meant to have fancy sunglasses. I am a Decathlon sunglasses kind of person. No frills, no drama, no heartbreak. The sunglasses equivalent of plain white rice: reliable, functional, and goes with everything.

Do I miss the Goodr era? A little. Mostly because saying “Flamingos on a Booze Cruise” out loud made me happy. And those polarized lenses did make everything look like a curated Instagram filter. But I don’t miss the heartbreak. I don’t miss the endless searching under car seats or accusing random strangers at the track.

These days, when people ask me what brand of sunglasses I run with, I just shrug and say, “Decathlon. Ten bucks.” It either impresses them with my practicality or horrifies them, and honestly, I’m good with either reaction. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about the price tag or the trendy name.

It’s about having something that stays on your face for the whole run, makes you look moderately less like a sweaty raccoon, and doesn’t leave you sobbing into your electrolyte drink when you realize it’s missing. And for that, Decathlon — my humble, unassuming, non-polarized Decathlon — you are the true MVP.