• sisters on a mission.

  • Three sisters. One in Virginia. One in London. One in New York. None of whom wear shorts. Ever.

  • the mission?

    Running.
    Taking delight.
    Learning Italian.
    Getting to Italy.
    Wearing shorts.
    In Italy.
    June 2011.

  • Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 6 other followers

I DID IT!

Graduation days have to be some of the happiest of all days.  A feeling of both accomplishment for what you have achieved and nervous anticipation for what’s up next.  I’ve had a few myself – some with ceremonial cap and gown and lots of fellow graduates and others celebrated quietly on my own.

Today marked my final day of the C25K program.  Although the journey was only nine weeks, I still consider it a graduation.  No way would I have thought that I would be running for 30 minutes.  It has been so long since I did that – 8 years to be exact, and I have tried to get going so many times since then.  I guess I just was missing someone to run with.  Thanks girls.

Another milestone today.  I did my week 9 day 3 run in…..SHORTS!  Yes, shorts.  Navy blue running shorts I bought probably in 1999 – the kind with the built-in underwear of sorts.  Hilarious.  I tried them on and looked at myself in the full length mirror for a while.  Then I took them off at the sight of my legs. Put them on again.  Asked my son how they looked.  He checked me out and said I looked kind of funny (I don’t think he has ever seen me in shorts).  Hmmmm, they do kind of balloon out a bit and the dark blue made my legs look even whiter.  But, it was really hot, and I was looking for something special to mark the day so I left them on and quickly went out the door before I changed my mind (I also knew it was Sunday morning and was pretty sure it would be very quiet on the streets).  Maybe this would motivate me to run fast and get home before anyone woke up in London.

My goal was to cross Hammersmith Bridge.  I’ve run/walked to the bridge a few times, but never over it.  I started out with the usual shuffle feeling like 30 minutes would never come.  Finally I got to the bridge. Shoot. Stairs.  I tried to pretend I was Rocky Balboa running through the streets of Philadelphia (no I wasn’t listening to The Eye of the Tiger) and hustled up them.  Crossed the bridge.  Stopped for a quick look around the Thames and  headed back home because miss lady said I had reached the half way point about 3 minutes ago.  I was just starting to loosen up and enjoy myself….always takes me at least 15 to 20 minutes.  I even did an extra 2 minutes at the end just to prove I could.  Yippeee!  I DID IT!

Here’s my graduation cap I always run in and my old trusty headphones (from my walkman).  I couldn’t find any tassels to wear.  You didn’t really think I would put a picture of myself in the shorts getup.  I guess the only thing left to do now is to shoot for the 10K.

Advertisements

skinny does not equal fit

Heather circa 1981

Full disclosure.  I am skinny.  I’ve always been that way.  I’ve never quite made it onto the ideal height / weight charts.    People assume that means I am firm and healthy.  But they would be wrong.

OK sure back in my 20s and 30s they would have been mostly right.  I could wear shorty shorts without thinking twice about it.   I had a pretty healthy diet, wasn’t really interested in sweets, drank lots of water, worked out.   But then when I hit my 40s I developed all-consuming cravings for chocolate, sugar, and chai tea lattes.   Before I knew it, I was covered in cellulite and couldn’t fit into any of my clothes.

The thing is, I still weigh the same.  It’s just that my fat / muscle ratio is all out of whack and the fat has all settled in my derriere…and thighs…and.   I would rather have gone up a cup size (or at least filled up a cup) but, no, I’m still just as skinny up top.   Sigh.

Anyway, since my legs are always covered in pants, people just see the same skinny me.   And they certainly don’t understand when I comment that I am out of shape and need to cut out the sweets.  So I’ve mostly stopped talking about it.  I get tired of explaining and no one believes me anyway.   Except my sisters.   And my husband.  And now anyone else who is reading this.   Maybe.