I miss a great many things, and one of them is a particular evening road with nothing on it but a streetlight every hundred metres. These are the tights for that road.
Björn Borg's women's running tights are a slim, full-length training tight in 76% recycled polyester and 24% elastane — enough elastane to give real compression and flexible stretch, enough polyester to move sweat and dry out quickly. They are not a winter thermal tight and they do not claim a membrane or a fleece backing.
They are a three-season tight, and honest about it, which is the right temperament for a city like Liège that spends half the year damp.
There is a drawstring at the waist, which sounds trivial until you have spent a session pulling a waistband back up. There are pockets on the upper leg sized for a phone and valuables, positioned high enough that they do not swing.
The details are the ones you notice on the twentieth wear rather than the first.
Vertical reflective stripes run down the front and the back, which is the detail I would not now go without — visibility from behind matters far more than anyone thinks, and I learned that on a road much like the one I keep thinking about. The recycled polyester comes from PET bottles and industrial waste, which uses less water and energy to make.
Care is simple: machine wash at 30 degrees with like colours, iron low if you must, no bleach, no dry cleaning. Colours: Black Beauty and Crocodile.
You will get use out of these everywhere from a cold morning along the Meuse to a court session back home in October, and by the way, they are also perfect for a plate of boulets à la liégeoise afterwards, which is exactly the kind of meal you want after a hill. And Liège has the hill.
The Montagne de Bueren is 374 steps climbing straight up the hillside without a bend in it — I have gone up worse, but not many, and never twice in a day.
Below it Saint-Paul Cathedral keeps a quiet cloister beside its Gothic nave, and at Saint-Barthélemy the brass baptismal font rests on ten small oxen, which is the sort of small strange detail that makes a place stick in you and follow you home.
"374 steps, no bend, no landing worth the name. It reminds me of a hill back home that I complained about for years and now think about constantly."
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