Yoga: A Story Of Jealousy

This used to be way too true in my life. I bought yoga pants with zest and wore them when I felt spunky, lazy, and for every school drop off from September through May. I never wore them to a yoga class. When I worked out at home, I traded yoga pants for shorty shorts that I had banned myself from wearing in public until I figured out how to treat the condition that had caused pubic hair to grow down my thigh. Yoga pants were always a part of my go-to ensemble. I would pair them with a loose fitting tank, some cheap flip flops, a beer stained hoodie or my Jesus tee shirt. I could take on the world. Or hide on my couch with a book and my 17th cup of coffee. The options were endless. Then I stopped running. I also stopped working out at home. Every pair of yoga pants I owned suddenly became two sizes too small and I was forced to consider buying sweatpants. The kind with the elastic ankle and a tie cord waistband. It was a low point, I'll admit. I had so many wonderful pairs of yoga pants, many that I had paid way too much for (I'm looking at you Athleta), and I wasn't going into sweats without a fight.

I went to a yoga class with my sister one month ago, and similar to the way you would stuff sausage into a casing, I stuffed my midsection/midlife crisis into my Athleta yoga pants and held my head high. The class was beyond my wildest dreams. The man who taught it looked to weigh as much as a third grader and the way he was able to fold forward, from a standing position, and lick his spine was really quite inspiring. I also enjoyed the moments when the extra skin from my belly gave itself over to gravity, my tank top inching it's way up and I spotted my mommy bagel. My prayer was that everyone else attending the class enjoyed those free carbs as well. I woke up the next day feeling as though I had been living in the stone age when people were pulled apart by their appendages and yes, it was awesome as it sounds. My yoga pants were going back, with or without me.

The next class was called Ashtung and after a Google search regarding the relaxing quality of this type of yoga, I was informed that it was great for athletes, marathon runners and Type A personalities with rock hard abs. I had almost made the list. When I crept in the door, I found the instructor to be the spitten image of what I had hoped I would look like when I grew up. She was very tall and very beautiful with long dark hair and bright red lips. She could lick her toes in a back bend and float into a perfectly straight head stand at a moments notice. Which is why I wanted to hate her. Then I realized, to my horror, that she was friendly and clearly not aware of how she could easily use her great looks to threaten and intimidate others. She must of missed that meeting. It was the best class I have ever taken and to top it off, this perfect human has a double first name. I wouldn't expect anything less from from you, Sarah Jane.

Bagels and Your Body

Wondering what that is? My kids call it "Mommy's bagel belly" and then mommy drinks a bottle of wine and cries in the corner. This is what I have left after birthing two adorable children and gaining/losing over a hundred pounds. While I adore the new Dove campaign, even they don't capture all the realities of what a woman's body looks like after babies, huge weight fluctuations and the millions of genetic combinations that can make or break your build. I want people to understand that even though I may buy a smaller size, I have a bagel to tuck into my jeans. A bagel!

I started running a couple of years ago and was pleasantly surprised by how quickly I was able to burn calories and get fit. Running had always been my arch nemesis, but after pushing myself through a couple weeks of pain, I could see results that I hadn't gotten from swimming, walking or weights. What I still couldn't get rid of was my belly. I incorporated Pilates, heavier weights and even more running only to lose more weight and have more sagging skin in my mid-section. What is it they call my shape? Apple. I can only assume that I should feel good about that because apples are healthy. In reality,  it only makes me question whether or not I should wear a swimming suit in public. Ever. Are apples cute in two-piece swim suits?

I hear this a lot... "You are so tiny, you could wear anything". Wrong. Fitted tanks give me a spare tire, fitted jeans hurt my gut, low cut pants release the bagel from captivity and add an extra element of gross to any top I pair them with. "You could work that off". Could I? Because I've done more sit-ups and planks than I care to remember and while my muscles get stronger my bagel gets saggier. Had I gotten my mother's genetic build I could wear a two piece well into my 80's. My mom birthed three children and she looks better in a swimsuit than I do. And she's a grandma!!! Think about that for a minute.

I love my body. I also love detesting certain things about my body and I love sharing it. We all have body issues, even 'tiny' people. My sister is tall and thin, what society would describe as 'perfect' and guess what? She was tortured in middle school because of it. There is no such thing as perfect. We all have a love/hate relationship with our bodies at some point, so embrace it, laugh at it, take a picture and put it on the internet for every fucking person in the world to see. Who cares. It's true that you can't judge a book by it's cover, some covers have a delicious bagel underneath.