We have this friend named, Steve, that is very interested in what he looks like. Not in a vain way, in an aging way. He's really quite funny. His mother and grandfather are obsessed with weird body diseases like elephantitis and moles with hair and teeth that could possibly be a twin. You know the normal stuff. So because of the overly active imaginations of his mother and grandfather Steve is also obsessed with bodily functions and dying and what he calls "honeycombing". His theory is that as you age your body starts to fall apart from the inside out and looks like a honeycomb. The honeycombing just gets worse and worse and soon it starts to look like it on the outside wherein you become a shell. Depressing, isn't it.
Steve is a hoot.
So the other night I had gone running and was sitting around in my running clothes stinkin it up all evening long while I watched TV and did a whole lot of nothing. I've been a runner on and off for several years but have decided to make a goal out of it so I started training for some races starting in January. I run three days a week and have become really good at it. I'm not fast by any standard but I can run 3-5 miles, have several routes and have come to quite enjoy it. My dog Pepper goes with me.
Anyway, I had gone on my run earlier in the afternoon and was sitting around watching TV when I decided it was time to get ready for bed. I needed to take a shower because I really sweat and stink when I run. Also, I thought because I was going to strip down anyway I might as well take a look at myself in the mirror. You know, because I've been running now for 4 months and, although I haven't lost any weight, I would most likely see some change in my body. But....
I was not prepared for what I saw. Granted it was evening, I was looking at myself in a full length mirror after eating dinner and drinking water all day long. And the lighting was BAD. One fluorescent bedside light shining it's evil upon my naked body. The sagging, the lumpiness, the horror that was there in that mirror. I tweeted my discovery, "Bad news, folks. I've really started to sag. I stripped down and took a look. I don't think there's much hope left. Waaahhh!"
Of, course I mainly got sympathy from--men. I had to correct them all really quickly to let them know I wasn't talking about my boobs. I have no boobs. The pregnancies and the breastfeeding have destroyed them to two small sacks that barely protrude from my chest. At least they used to be perky, little things that protruded from my chest.
No, I was talking about my belly and my thighs to some extent. I have this belly that looks like I'm 4 months pregnant but with chub. And I don't like it. Not. One. Bit.
I shouldn't really complain. I've always been really thin. I didn't start to put on weight until about 4 years ago. I could eat whatever I wanted, never had to exercise, wore a size 2. Then I hit 38-39. I put on 10 pounds that summer, then the next summer I put on another 10 pounds and within the last year another 8. It all goes to my tummy. I wear a girdle. For reals. Vanity has caught me by the tail and won't let go.
I won't look in the mirror again. At least not late in the evening after a day of eating and drinking, standing in bad light. Honeycombing just may be true and not a theory after all.