The Real Reason I Work Out? Because I Want to Live in Leggings

The woman I want to be looks something like the woman I saw in a recent Athleta catalog. She�s effortlessly jumping across a babbling brook in a verdant forest�while wearing sleek slate-gray workout tights and a quilted jewel-toned hoodie. Or wait: Maybe I�m the lady doing yoga on the beach in a slouchy pale-pink tank top, who I saw pictured in the window at Lululemon. While I definitely admire both of their strong bodies and what looks like adventurous spirits (as well as their choice of vacation spots)�I also really, really want those clothes.

Confession: I�ve never met a pair of leggings I didn�t love. As far as I�m concerned, if I could spend 90 percent of my life in slimming, strategically seamed workout wear that makes me feel ready to leap and bound, I would.

But it comes with a catch. If I want a piece of new gear, I�ve got to earn it. I have to be out there logging miles, slogging through spin class, grimacing through the ridiculously hard thigh portion of barre workouts. I need to be using the stuff so much that occasionally the items actually wear out and have to be replaced! It�s simple: The more consistent I am with my exercise regimen, the more justified I feel bringing home a new goodie.

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Judging from what I wear the majority of the time�note that I work from home�you�d think I was pretty much always coming from or going to the gym. But that�s the point. The last person I want to be is the lady who looks like she is suited up for the gym but whose main cardio is gabbing at school drop-off. Oh, and my little sweat-for-spandex bargain also works once the gear has come home with me. On a day when I�m short on motivation, a cute new top is often what gets me out the door.

Look, I�m not aiming to be the best in the class, the fastest in the park, or even a seven-days-a-week exerciser. I�m only trying to keep myself on track when it comes to my spending, my sweating, and my style. Some people need a prize at the finish line. Me? I need something dangling at the starting gate�something just within reach and preferably ankle-length.