Rundefeated

I’ve started to notice something strange in my wardrobe. My office shirts slowly fade, my cotton T-shirts stretch, and some of my casual outfits mysteriously develop holes after a few years. But my running shirts? They look like they exist outside the laws of time. I still own running jerseys from 2013, 2018, and 2019, and somehow they still look fresh — almost like I bought them last month. It makes me incredibly happy… but also slightly uneasy.

I recently opened my drawer and found a running shirt from 2013. Naturally, I expected some aging signs — maybe faded color, loose threads, or stretched collar. But no. The shirt looked fresh, the color still vibrant, and the fabric still smooth. Meanwhile, my cotton shirt from 2024 already looks like it survived a small natural disaster. That’s when I realized something: polyester running shirts don’t age. They simply exist… forever.

Then I found another one from 2018. Same story. Still breathable, still lightweight, still comfortable. No holes, no fading, no drama. If this were a human, it would still be in perfect marathon shape after 10 years. And then came the 2019 running jersey — which, unsurprisingly, also looked brand new. At this point, I started wondering if these shirts would eventually be passed down as family inheritance.

“Son, this is your father’s 2013 running jersey. Take care of it. It survived thousands of kilometers.”

Compared to my working outfit, the difference is dramatic. My office shirts slowly lose their color after repeated washing. Cotton shirts become softer… but also thinner and weaker. Some even develop mysterious holes, usually near the stomach area — probably caused by too much sitting and eating. But my running shirts? They just stay strong. Like they were designed for a post-apocalyptic world where only cockroaches and polyester running shirts survive.

One of my favorite discoveries was my old running shirt with a Sport Authority logo. I suddenly remembered that Sport Authority went bankrupt in 2016 and eventually closed all of its stores after failing to find a buyer. The company disappeared, the stores closed, and the brand faded into history… but the shirt remains. It’s quite ironic when you think about it. The shirt outlived the company that produced it. It’s like owning a fossil — except it’s still perfectly wearable for a 5K run.  

That’s when the realization hit me. Most running shirts are made from polyester. And polyester, essentially, is plastic. That explains everything. Plastic doesn’t degrade easily. That’s why running shirts are so durable, lightweight, and resistant to wear. But at the same time, it also explains why they last almost forever. Which is great for runners… but slightly concerning for the planet.

Of course, many companies are now trying to reduce environmental impact by introducing recycled polyester. This sounds great — and it genuinely is a step in the right direction. Turning plastic bottles into running shirts feels like a clever solution. It’s like giving plastic a second life, but this time with a race bib and a hydration belt.

But then again, even recycled polyester still behaves like polyester. Which means these shirts will still last a very long time. Your recycled running shirt today might still be in great condition ten years from now. And while that’s fantastic for your wallet, it also raises an interesting philosophical question: are we accidentally creating the most durable clothing humans have ever made?

The funny part is, runners often accumulate these shirts over time. Race shirts, brand shirts, travel shirts, event shirts, discount shirts, impulse-buy shirts. Before you know it, you have 20 running jerseys — all still in perfect condition. None of them want to retire. None of them want to fade away. They just sit quietly in your drawer, waiting patiently for their next run.

In the end, I feel both grateful and slightly nervous. Grateful because running shirts are incredibly durable, comfortable, and practical. Nervous because they might actually outlive me. One day, someone might open my drawer decades from now and find a perfectly preserved running jersey from 2013. And they’ll probably say, “Wow, this shirt still looks new.”

And somewhere, I imagine that polyester shirt quietly thinking…

“Of course I do. I told you. I’m not going anywhere.”