Tennyson said that in spring, a young man’s fancy turns to love, and this may be true for men, but for most women I know, in spring, our thoughts turn to exercise.
After the pale, sluggish winter retreats, our pale, sluggish thighs emerge, and something must be done about them before beach season arrives in force. Since nobody really wants to eat less, all that’s left to do is exercise, so we can lose 35 pounds and keep it off, like Carla did.
But when you look like Carla, it’s much easier to go outside and run around scantily clad. It’s tougher for those of us who look more like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.
I applaud and embrace Carla’s motto — Unapologetically Myself – but some days it takes a Woman of Steel to go forth and exercise in public when there’s no visible steel in you, just Upper Arms of Jelly.
“How long does it take before the embarrassment of running goes away?” someone recently asked me. I think she was hoping I would say “one week, four hours” or “the minute you get past your mailbox.”
I wish I could have.
But the truth is, I’ve been running for more than 25 years, am pretty damned good at it, and yet there still are days that I’m embarrassed. Usually, these are days in which I make the enormous, soul-slaying mistake of LOOKING IN A MIRROR.
This is pretty much always a bad idea. Because most American women, no matter what size they are, think they are fat.
I wrote a book about being a fat runner, and every time I give a talk on the subject, some beautiful lissome creature will come up to me afterwards, and whisper to me, “I’m a size 4, but I feel so fat.”
Fat is a state of mind, not a number on scale.
When I first started running, I weighed around 180 pounds, and felt thick and slow and walrusy. But I stuck with it, and after a while, I lost about 30 pounds and felt thin.
Then I got pregnant, not once but four times, and in my last pregnancy, I topped 220 pounds. Losing 40 pounds was arduous with three kids and a newborn, but when I got to 180, let me tell you, I felt THIN.
See?
The deception can work both ways. Personally, I think reality is highly overrated, particularly when it keeps me from experiencing the joy of endorphins.
Knowing that regardless what the reality is – that I can have a “walrus day” even if I lose 50 pounds and am solidly gazelle — I’ve come up with a strategy for combating my walrus days. Mine involves sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a pair of fingerless bicycling gloves.
The sunglasses and the baseball cap, of course, are classic disguises. So what if you look fat? Nobody will know who you are!
The bicycle gloves? Hell if I know. But they make me feel powerful and tough.
Everyone has something that makes them feel powerful and tough. Or at least they should. A tattoo, a wicked-bad pedicure, a toe ring, a nose ring … whatever… just something that screams Unapologetically Myself, in those times that, for whatever reason, you yourself can’t.
Put that thing on, and out the door you go.
Am I really a tough, warrior athlete when I’m strutting down the street with my pale, slow thighs rubbing together like a couple of lovesick Honeybaked hams? Nah, it’s just marshmallowy ol’ me, baffling passers-by with my bicycle gloves, and quite possibly looking rather silly. But sometimes the feeling matters more than reality, and in the end, I win.
DiZclosure: The Street Strider was sent to me for review. The fact I ADORE it and have harnessed its magical powers to make friends in my new ‘hood are both my own.
I used to walk to school pick up—- now I Stride to the school to procure the child:
I enjoy the creative cardio and she LOVES I come STRIDE to get her that way.
(Shouts of OK YOU GOTTA SEE MY MOM DO THE HILLS. GO MAMA GO!!!! may or may not ensue. daily. to the the delight of her classmates and their big people)
This has been my view the majority of the past few months—and I adore it.
Strider Smitten.
That said, since my response of IT. BE. AWESOME. when asked how I like the Street Strider has *always* been met with more questions (shocking. I know.) I decided to break it down into specifics.
The bullet-pointed reasons I think the Strider ROCKS.
It’s unique. I love the look and feel of the Street Strider. I love not everyone on the streets has one. I love the unique way it works my bod. which leads me to…
I adore the body benefits. The Street Strider is no impact and works my whole body simultaneously. I needed the glute work. I NEEDED the core work. My quads had been kinda lacking. I LOVE how this elliptical on wheels is fun while concurrently increasing my fitness level. Im ANTI-WORKOUT and the Strider is the ultimate PLAYout. Ohhh which leads me next to…
It’s cardio I *want* to do. So much so I never refer to it as cardio. Simply getting on the Strider brightens my mood. The sweet, sweet feeling of freedom striding brings does NOT feel like exercising. It’s fun—-with body benefits. And it’s OUTDOORS. Stride away from the screens, People! Stride away from the screens!!! But just in case you love your screens:
Theres an option for indoor use. Im fortunate to live where there’s no real winter. If youre not it’s as easy as snagging an indoor trainer to Stride inside until warmer weather arrives.
Monthly payment options. Im super cheap—UNTIL IT COMES TO HEALTHY LIVING. Food. Shoes. Cardio stuff. Im good to me. The only item I ever bought I couldnt afford at the time was my last cardio piece. I charged it and paid it off. The Street Strider monthly payment options are so so so worth it. It’s like a gym membership–but less limiting and you OWN SOMETHING at the end!
What I’d change about the Strider if I could:
Initially Id have said quick collapse—but usage changed my mind. I used the Strider. Up hills. Down hills. In traffic. Weaving around parked cars. I was grateful the Strider didnt compress as I couldnt imagine they’d be able to maintain the same solid structure. I feel *safe* on the Strider. Cycling friends repeatedly remark on its QUALITY of manufacturing. I cant help but think collapsible would equal less quality.
You could ALL come to my house & try it. But now you can. Kind of. Street Strider offers everyone a testSTRIDE at stores which carry them (check here for details). The Tornado is begging to test out the kids version. Ive resisted for now as I know there’s no way we’d leave without owning one…
this is how I look 90% of the time!
Heres where I give my TREMENDOUS thank you thank you to Street Strider for helping me put the FUN back in carFUNdio.
The other morning the child and I were hanging out and taking it slow.
I lament her early rising (she’s up by 530a without fail) but the busier she gets the more Im enjoying the fact we *always* have time in the morning to BE.
By way of full disclosure– this was not one of my best mornings.
I was a little tired.A lot distracted (by her stuff. camp stuff. but that made no difference to her.). And a slathering of sad.
As we sat on the floor playing Baltimore’opoly she stopped for a moment, jumped to her feet and grabbed the framed photo above.
Mama I miss this time. We need to take more pictures of you and me smiling. We need more smiling times. We should make smiling times.
It surprised even me my initial reaction was *not* to grow defensive & launch into a longass list of all the fun stuffs we’ve done recently.
I heard what she said.
I took what she said at face value and as merely information. Neither good nor bad.
It didnt matter if every.single.second. of her past seven years had been smothered in smiles—-all that mattered was how she felt in that moment.
Another full disclosure?
Ive probably leaned on that poor child a tad too hard over the past five months. It’s not so much Ive turned to her for support—Ive just been very very transparent and honest.
Ive told her how much I miss Austin and each time she patiently responds:
It’s ok. Lets just pretend we are still in Texas. Just think in your head youre still in Texas and you wont miss it.
Shes my tiny Buddha covered in pink.
And, in celebration of that, Im kidnapping her.
We’re heading off to re-find our smiling-time hopefully in a way which is lasting.
To my delight this trip—unlike the last—she has absolutely no idea we’re leaving town.
Ive packed her carry-on & have her favorite stuffed animal & blankey ready to go.
sock monkey contortionist.
My carry-on is packed.
I kid. I kid.
Ive procured us a BAG FULL of skull beads for on-the-plane necklace making:
bracelet & necklace HEAVEN.
The kitchen is stocked with frozen pizza healthy snacks to satiate the Husband till we return.
ahhhh organic.
Im snagging her from school tomorrow & we are off to the airport.
To a place where appropriate attire is this (except the elder will don a shirt) and which rhymes with SCHMANAHEIM:
She’s been this for years:
Thats right, Sister!
It’s time she finally sees her (finger-quote) homeland (unFQ)!
Have you been to the place which rhymes with Schmanaheim? Any must do/must see tips for our less than 48 hour whirlwind tour?
Im not bringing the laptop but shall be unable to resist instagram’ing Im sure. This trip has been seven years in the making and, while shortshort, I plan to photodocument the whole shebang.
Fri, May 24, 2013
11 Comments