A benefit to all the walking we have been doing (plus my being sick a while back) is that I’ve finally started to lose some weight. Not much, not even noticeable actually until I step on the scale. It’s coming off very slowly, but that’s the right way to lose, right?
As much as I enjoy walking with the girls and the dogs, I’ve always thought I’d like to give running a shot. There are two issues with this idea:
- I would need to buy a sports bra. I’ve tried shopping for one and found that I can only special order, and the boulder holder would cost in the triple digits. I guess the price tag matches the number of alphabets in the cup size.
- I run funny. My first husband saw me run once and never stopped laughing. I shared this problem with my friend Skippy and he said he ran funny, but that didn’t stop him (he runs MARATHONS, y’all). I just need to get over myself.
I am insanely jealous of those that run regularly. Every single person I know that runs is in fabulous shape. Plus, when you run, you get to eat the good shit. I want to be that girl.
Many years ago, I did give running an honest shot, and I loved it. I got an adrenaline rush like I’ve never gotten from any other form of exercise. I would run every morning with my old girl Dusty-she was in charge of dragging my fat ass. We mostly walked, but I tried to run as much as I could. Our running days were over when she stopped on a busy road to gobble up a bagel someone dropped and I took a face plant on the sidewalk. There’s no denying I’m a hot mess.
I knew Ultra had been quite the jock when she was younger, but I couldn’t help but howl with delight when she told me that she was running in an event this weekend. Two miles with her husband and oldest daughter… But she had a good reason for entering the race… participants got to have free beer afterwards. If that’s not a reason to run, I don’t know what is.
Let’s gossip for a moment about my pal Ultra. She’s cute and way too little to be in her late 30’s. She recently went to Hawaii and her cousin posted a picture of her with her daughters on Facebook. She was wearing a BIKINI. If she wasn’t so fucking funny, I would hate her. Unlike other FB friends that post bikini pictures on Facebook themselves, I couldn't help but smile at this picture. She's in great shape and really should be proud of the way she looks. Hell, if I looked like that, I'd wear a bikini every day.
So today she ran. She ran the whole race and finished in a respectable time. And I’m so very, very proud of her. I am also jealous. She did something I dream of doing. I need a bra. I run funny. I have no endurance. But she inspired me. This woman, who hasn’t run in years, went out and did something she wasn’t overly excited about (free beer aside) and didn’t think she could do.
If she can do it, why can’t I? Let’s forget for a moment that she’s in much better shape. Let’s forget the 50 extra pounds that I cart around. Let’s forget that even as a middle schooler I didn’t have the endurance to finish the stupid one-mile PE test we were forced to do. Let’s forget that I came in dead last every single time.
Nicer weather is coming and I live in a new neighborhood where there aren’t so many hills. I could potentially get up a little bit earlier and have one of the dogs drag me around the ‘hood before the sun has fully risen, under the cover of darkness. I could, rather than buying my semi-annual outlet Coach bag, spend the same money on a high-test, earthquake-resistant bra. I could do these things and I should. I’m mortified by several recent instances of people not recognizing me because of the weight I’ve gained.
I spent my 30’s wearing baggy clothes to hide what I have become. I’m sick of doing that. I made these same pledges a year ago and didn’t stick with it. I really want to live the “40’s are the new 30’s” dream. I want to wear clothes that aren’t made of stretchy cotton and spandex. I want to be happy when I look in the mirror. I want to look Scrawny in the face the next time she “complains” that she’s so skinny her pants fall right off her and say, “I know the feeling.”
I need to get off my ass. I need to feel better about who I am and how I look. And Ultra, if you promise to nag me occasionally about my progress, I promise to pay you in beer. I won’t even make you run for it.Well, unless you run funny and I can laugh at you.