Now listen. You really have to have a sense of humor about this, pretty pretty please. Please don't worry that I have body dismorphic disorder. Or think that I'm judging any one else's hind-quarters. Because I really only care about mine. But I had a horrifying experience the other day, jogging my jog (read: not really jogging at all. It could actually even be considered a hearty walk with a few skips thrown in now and then. An amble, if you will). I had on my Land's End Skorts. Have we talked about these? They are fantastical and comfy and wonderful and forgiving, all in one lycra-infused package of short-dom. They are, howevs, a bit small. Well can you blame me? The next size up were really way too big. So, do I go with a bit tighter or falling off me? Anyway.
I'm doing the jogging thing and I jog (humor me) past a teenage 'help our cheerleading squad!' car wash on the main drag of my town, so naturally I up my pace and pretend as if I do this ALL the time and I'm just prepping for my next 10K run. I start to slow my pace down when I get out of eyesight, and it just happens to be when I'm going by a dealership of some sort. With all windows. That I can see myself in.
No here's some key information before you jump all over me. I was the type of girl who, 30 pounds heavier, didn't really have a problem with cellulite. I was heavy, yes. But I exercised (what the hell, right? unfair, unfair, I call unfair) and was told by a few women that I looked better in a bathing suit than in clothing. I'm not sure what kind of compliment that is (if it's even a compliment) but I was not used to any sort of rippling or puckerage.
The baby-boom came and went and other than my SFAP (stomach from another planet, full zip code and demographical information available at your request) which was created not only from said beautiful baby but my friends, cheese and peanut butter.
Anyway, so I'm running past the window. And I see it. It's horrifying.
It's CIA.
Cellulite In Action.
I was actually tempted to stop running and start rubbing it like crazy, trying to see if that was really what I was looking at. But it was. And although it made me keep up my pace even when the car-washers had packed up and gone, it didn't stop me from a bowl of ice cream later that night.
And some cheese.
And some peanut butter.
5 comments:
would like to make a comment about the skort. Now is this a skort that just has the skirt flap in the front or is it more like a tennis skirt? I ask because I see many women running in the park with this skirty skort thing. At first I chuckled, but now I wonder if I am missing out on something grand?
I had to delete that first post because it wasn't awesome.
I would like that full zip code and demographical information please.
Ha! You have me cracking up and pinching my puckering flab at the same time. At least you jog. I walk . . . because I'm retired and how good does any one expect a retired woman to look? Does anyone even see a retired woman?
Hey, Jen? I do want to come visit on your "days off" which I'm aware are harder that the days you work. And I'll walk real fast and you can jog beside me, and we can have a good old chat.
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