The Full Monty?

The meaning of certain phrases can change over time.
On father’s day last, my daughter very kindly bout me a new Asics kit. There is a very pleasant shirt with pockets and variegated but subdued stripes of colour. There is also a pair of shorts, which are similarly marked, coloured and pocketed, and extend just below the knee. There are both a splendid gift. I am entirely content to wear the top, and I am managing (just) to feel that I am getting away with the legs.
There is, however, a flaw in my dear daughter’s plan: they match.
Since father’s day I have regularly run in either, but I confess that I could not bring myself to wear them together – the Full Monty, as it were. This challenge has caused endless minor amusement to those running around me. I live to please.
This week however, that same darling daughter got married. We ended up staying on Sunday night just above Newcastle, and on Monday night at High Newton, just below Bambrugh.
I packed. I knew I would only get a run in. Now was the opportunity. Together, neither, or do I take cowardly options. I took the only manly option, and packed only the two together. If I was to run, this was how it would be. So, it was, and I did.
I doubt entirely that Asics will want me to model their strip, but I ran in it – twice.
The picture was taken just after, so I was still a bit breathless.

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