Something has been perplexing me of late. As hordes of females across the nation prepare for various charity runs, triathlons, rounders matches, tag rugby competitions and bootcamp sessions, the sporting boundaries have suddenly shifted. No longer is there a general camaraderie and we’re all in it together sisterhood, nor is it a cut-throat sprint to the end, victorious and inglorious, but rather a my shorts are sexier than your shorts.
Nobody cares that you can run 15 miles backwards up a mountain, or that you have gone from muffin top to marathon man in 2 months. You have an abdominus rectus that could be used in biology diagrams and you can bench press a legion of small children – who cares? The real measure of your sporting prowess is how cutting edge your sporting attire is. And we’re not talking aerodynamic, superhero-style lycra. it’s sequins, it’s stacked heels, it’s acid brights – these are the cornerstones of your ability to impress in the female changing rooms. Are new trouser shapes and prints strictly for the catwalk? Don’t think so. You wanna sashay up to that batting post in a pair of Sergio Rossi wedges for Puma. You wanna float into your yoga class with some Sass and Bide cargo pants. And by god, if you’re gonna run in the dark, you better be wearing the Stella Mc Cartney jacket in flouro-magenta. From the run straight to the club. It’s all gone a big Pete Tong if you ask me. The one sanctity from the relentless merry-go-round of fashion used to be the sweaty, airless gym where sartorial one-upmanship was a myth. Now you gotta flash the cash in your spin class.

Let everyone know you only drink designer at the womens mini marathon with this Stella sports bottle





















