Kelly is a recovering overachiever and serial entrepreneur who can be found writing at Wine Down Lounge. This post was originally featured there. If you can relate – consider stopping by to see what else she’s been up to.
It’s that time of year when we reluctantly shed the comfort of layers on our middle age bodies and face sleeveless shirts, shorts and (gulp) bathing suits. Today I chose the lessor of those evils and threw on a pair of white shorts. They blend into my incredibly pale legs; except for the age spots that I swear are taking on the shape of a wine bottle. All I need is a sharpie and I’ve got the tattoo I always wanted.
I was hoping for another month before it was too warm to get away with wearing my trusted yoga pants. Yoga pants are the best and worst thing to happen for women in the last twenty years. They saved us from bulky sweat pants with elastic waist and ankles, a less than desirable look for short plump women like myself. Yoga pants led the way to active-wear and a whole new way of dressing casual/cute. And they do exactly what they were designed to do – comfortably stretch over my stomach, thighs and bottom while my body expands. Too bad it’s not from any Downward Facing Dog or Warrior poses, but just spending the better part of my free time in them. So much time that I forgot about self-control and moderation (when it comes to food – wine doesn’t apply in this case or any for that matter). Fucking yoga pants! It’s their fault I can’t fit into my clothes.
So I headed out for a walk with my dog feeling a little down and self-conscious but it doesn’t take me long to forget the silliness of cursing my yoga pants. As we walk along the trail I begin to feel the energy of happy people on a gorgeous day. There are smiles, nods and chitchat about how cute my dog is and what a beautiful day we are having. I realize people have a lot more things to do with their day than notice my chalky legs and wiggling upper arms. I imagine when the time comes to move on from this world; the topic of my saggy body won’t come up at the funeral. My friends could probably find a witty way to work it into the eulogy though.
As I breathe in the spring air I decide to buck the usual self-recrimination for a kinder, gentler mindset. One of the few things I like about getting older is the humble experience of perspective. Maybe remembering to be kinder towards my flaws – real or imagined – is one way to actually achieve moderation and self-control. Not to mention the favor I did my waistline with a really long walk. It’s certainly better for me than blaming my yoga pants.