Tag Archives: fitness

I think I just bought mom jeans and I might be okay with that

What just happened here?

Let’s retrace my steps: Went to Marshalls to look for cheap jeans that cover my rear when I sit and don’t highlight my mini-gut when worn with tight shirts. Drug seven pairs into dressing room. Tried on five (couldn’t get my thighs into two.) Left store with dark-washed jeans complete with  gut-hiding front panel, plenty of hip room, elongated zipper and ample backside coverage in a size 1 up from normal.

Yup, case confirmed. I bought Mom Jeans. How did it come to this?

Look, there is nothing wrong with Mom Jeans, if you have squeezed at least one spawn out of your hoo haw. But I have squeezed nothing out. Have never eaten for two. Have not experienced the hormonal landslide of pregnancy to enhance my butt, widen my hips or unshape my thighs. I assume these things will happen someday and look forward to a Quirky Jr. and a closet full of Mom Jeans as a result, but these things have not happened thanks to the little pill in the purple case that I swallow with a swig of cabernet each evening.

So I have no excuse for the size 6 Calvin Kleins with a “traditional waist” that sit in the passenger seat of my car like some sort of 30-something -with-no-kids-about-to-get-married-it’s-the-time-of-my-life kryptonite.

To be clear: I’m pretty sure I’m being hard on myself. I’m quite sure that these jeans in no way, shape, or form mean that I’m a candidate for the fat lady gig at the circus. But come ON. “Traditional waist?” Really?

And they fit really well.

Oy.

Not only can I bend over and pick something up without a show of my underwear (probably time for a little shopping spree on those fellas too), I can sit down. And everything is covered.

Also. They cover my belly. Most of the fat parts of it? Inside the jeans. Not over the edges muffin top.

To make matters worse, there is plenty of room for my thighs and they are stretchy.

OhmygodImightbuystretchydarkhighwaistedbuttcoveringmomjeans.

After I stopped rocking back in forth in the dressing room, banging my head into the door, I decided to come out for a second look.

Yup, still mom jeans.

But, what can I say? They fit. They feel good. And they are cheap.

I bought them.

And will be wearing them often.

And going to the gym more often. And eating better.

Because, I’d really rather wear my old jeans, please and thank you. But these will work for the time being.

And if, by chance, at age 32, I can’t get back into my size 27 skinny jeans by IT, then so be it.

Maybe Quirky Jr. will just have to make an appearance in a few years to help me justify the jeans.

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Walk, no run away from middle winter weight gain…

Nobody puts gym bag in the corner!

It’s that time of year.

The cold, damp, dark evenings in Kansas City come early. And my spring/summer/fall routine of running with Gertie after work dies a slow death.

There is nothing more appealing on these chilly nights than my couch, a blanket, some pasta (with heavy cream somewhere in the sauce) and a glass of wine.  Preferably after I swing by our work break room and snag a few of the ever abundant treats that magically appear at this time of year for my drive home.

But wait folks. This is not the year for a five-pound winter weight gain. I have a wedding dress to wear in February. And regardless, I’m not getting any younger. The weight doesn’t come off as easily as it once did. I don’t want to be a short lady with a big middle and skinny bird legs. (Because that is exactly what happens when I gain weight.)

Last month I started pushing myself to go to the gym (aka, my old apartment complex where Roomie still lives and I have gym privileges from the management) to run on the treadmill at least three times a week. On top of my regular Saturday or Sunday long run, that seemed pretty good.

I’m not going to lie. It’s a hard turn to make.

The couch, pasta and glass of wine call my name.

But once the rickety old treadmill rumbles its regular start-up regime, I’m always glad I kicked myself to get there.

But then my newest bloggy friend posed an interesting challenge. Then Heather Said: Join the whittlers.

The whatlers?

Apparently it’s a new movement sweeping the blogosphere…or a few of us bloggers who want a fitness challenge.

So I said sure. I’m game.

And Monday evening, I found myself laying on a yoga mat in our office flailing my legs around, trying to hold my body in awkward poses and probably making a real mess of a respectable ab work out.

Gertie thought I was laying there for the sole purpose of getting licked on the face, mouth and nose. Not quite, sweet pea…

On Tuesday it hurt.

Bad.

But I got through 9 minutes of a routine. There were some serious uggggghs as I let down my legs and felt my hamburger meat abs contract.

And tonight there will be round three. (After a treadmill run)

So bring on that wedding dress in February. Maybe, just maybe they’ll have to synch that corset  just a little bit tighter come February.

Don’t worry – I won’t be posting before/during/after photos here. No one wants to see that… But I will keep you updated on my progress.

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