Today I dressed in my running clothes, but didn’t actually run until afternoon. Amos (age 5) gave me the once over, “Mom, you’ve been wearing those running pants all day.”
“I know, I went running.”
“Well, they’re not very good pants.”
“They’re good for running.”
“But they don’t look good on you… I mean, they’re real big at the top and skinny at the bottom. Pants are supposed to be kind of big at the top, and then just medium all the way down.”
If you ever want to know if those jeans make your ass look fat, call my son.
I got on the scale this morning (as I do every 90 minutes while awake, despite abundant warnings not to use this product more than once a week, except under medical supervision), and nothing had changed. Nothing. And when I checked out my butt in the mirror, Dale said, “I think it’s going to be a while before you see any change.” Isn’t that always the way? Looking for change on the outside? Today when I was running, I thought, “If I make it to the end of this (which is to say, exercise with no real end), and someone asks me how I did it, I’m going to have to sound like a damned Nike commercial.” I will have had to have made some internal shift, that no one will ever see. I don’t know why I find it a little depressing. Or lonely. Yep, just me, no one else can just do it for me.
If you have always been active, you’re not going to get it. Did I mention that I was in remedial gym? I am a naturally bookish, indoorsy type with just enough interest in bugs and greenery to have become a bookish, outdoorsy type. I’ve reverted to indoorsy in the last few years. I may have lost the bookish during the same period. Now I’m pale and squishy, and I think in Facebook updates. Ew.
Friday starts week 2 of C25K. I’ll have to run for 90 consecutive seconds. I think I’ll be okay.