New Kicks

Yes, I think that is a fat roll on my ankles. And yes, that is definitely a faux-wood parquet floor. And yes, you're seeing correctly, the previous owner wasn't big on right angles.

While I wasn't looking, I got fat. I know how it happened; I just don't know when it happened. Recently will suffice as a timeline.

I weighed exactly 118 smokin' hot lbs when I got married 8 years ago. I know because I weighed myself on that morning which will live in infamy. Because it was the single hottest day of the Mississippi summer and I was easily wearing 6 lbs of tulle, I probably only weighed 116 by the end of the day. But I digress.

2 pregnancies, 1 divorce and 3 estranged parents later, I weigh 130 lbs. I know because when I was at a friend's house for our group yard sale, I got on her scale. It seemed a little hesitant to tell me the truth. The red lights chased each other around the digital track until they could run no more. And then, after elbowing each other and hissing secretive obscenities, 1, 3 and 0 were elected to break the news to me.

I wasn't surprised. I was, if possible, somewhat elated. I expected it to be much worse.

Some of you will curse me. Go ahead. In the grand scheme of American female weight troubles, I don't get to complain. I know. I've worn a size 6 since I was in high school. I can still get into my junior year prom dress, but it's not cute. In the words of my mother, "Just because you can zip it, doesn't mean you can wear it." Tru Dat.

Did anyone else see the series of Oprah episodes where she had women from like 27 different countries on to talk about all things womanly in their respective countries? After the series was done, she had a reunion show with ALL of the women on together. She asked them, "What do women around the world think of American Women? They were all in agreement when the (I think) Kuwaiti woman sheepishly said, "They are all fat?" Again, Tru Dat.

I am floored whenever I am forced to cross over the Mississippi state line. It's usually for deaths. I can think of few living reasons to go back there. The point is that prior to my recent (perceived) weight gain, I had counted myself as a wholly mutant Mississippian. Gay and skinny. 1 for 2 just isn't working for me.

So I bought some shoes. As some of you know, I am a loyal Crocs consumer and recycler. In the last 3 years, I have only worn something other than Crocs on 2 days - my sons' Christenings. Crocs, however, doesn't make an athletic shoe, so I was forced to shop. On eBay. (I can't abandon all my values.)

I was reminded, thankfully, of my previous favorite shoe. The Asics Tiger. I'll kick any of you in the shin if you laugh at this next part. Propane, Les and Jude need to be especially careful because I'll have an affordable opportunity here soon. You see, I was a cheerleader. I was the co-captain of the Middle School Cheerleading Squad. The St. Andrew's Saints. The Blue and White. The overly educated and poorly socialized Episcopalians and friends of Episcopalians of Suburbian Jackson, Mississippi.

These shoes may be the most practical thing that I came away from that school with. We'll see. If I didn't have 4 children and 1 sleeping wife I would already be beating the streets in these babies. But alas, I work out my fingers instead. My new ipod shuffle (also from eBay) should be here tomorrow, so I can walk/sprint/walk/sprint/walk while Stephen King or James Patterson or Michael Connelly tells me a bloody tale worth running from.

So come October 1, (yes, Judey Jude, we're coming a day early. I simply cannot miss grocery shopping in a Whole Foods or some comparably Hippie-ish establishment. ) I fully expect to only be tipping the scales to 122. That's my goal. 8 lbs in 85 days. Think I can do it?


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