My Friend, Food – Silvia July 18, 2008

Did you ever have one of those days? Well I had one of those weeks. It’s not been a picnic and my answer to stress and anxiety is to call on Food.

Food has always been there for me. Friends come and go, but not Food. He’s always ready, waiting and willing to fulfill my heart’s desire. I celebrate with Food, cry with Food, get angry with Food, complain with Food. Food is always there to calm me down and make me feel happy. The problem with Food is that he has a trusty sidekick Blubber. The Lone Ranger had Tonto, Batman had Robin, and Gumby had Pokey. Whenever Food aids me through a crisis, adds to the joy of celebration or relieves me of my boredom, Blubber has to be there. He’s so annoying, Blubber. Food is long gone. But Blubber keeps hanging around. I mean Food is great; he comes; he goes. It was fun while he was around. Blubber never goes away. He’s like a guest that overstays his welcome; he’s so hard to get rid of – a free loader.

So, I have to come to terms with my relationship with Food. I can keep him as my best friend or just use him for survival. You know, eat when I’m hungry not when I’m needy. There’s a novel thought, eh? And just eat good Food. Not be influenced by bad Food. Why is it that women always go after the bad boys?

My run today was hard. The 3 miles went on and on. I watched the mileage numbers tick by, 2.34, 2.35, 2.36…It was like watching the clock on the last day of school before summer vacation. Pure torture. The Ipod didn’t help. Knowing that I am carrying 4 ten pound bowling balls didn’t help. Having the urge to go at mile 2.44 didn’t help. I realized that this will be a slow and difficult process. There will be good days and bad days. It is such a mental sport, this running business. I want it to be over already, but it’s just the beginning.

Under Armor – Silvia July 13, 2008

Yesterday I went sports bra shopping. This is a necessary evil if you are bouncing your girls on a regular basis. I am endowed with size D breasts. Before you become envious of my hooters, keep in mind that these are not the perky Barbie Doll breasts, like the ones that had guys drooling when they watched the Baywatch lifeguards run along the beach. Mine are more like the National Geographic kind. You know what I am talking about. The kind that hang to your knees. Yup, my boobs hang low and they wobble to and fro and I can tie them in knot and I can tie them in bow and when I run I wish I could throw them over my shoulder. Oh, not so jealous now are we?

So, I am in the running section at Dick’s Sporting Goods and I look at the colorful cute tank tops made from fabric that wisks away mositure to keep you dry and fresh. Some, even have built in support. OK – false advertising there, there’s barely enough “support” to support my nipples. I move away and gander over to the colorful sports bras. The kind you see women runners wear during races and on the streets nowadays. These are the closest things that women have to going shirtless. They are so cute – colorful patterns, sporty colors, racer backs. I remember when Brandi Chastain took her shirt off after the win in soccer to reveal her sports bra and the controversy it caused. We’ve come a long way baby. Now, Women wear them everywhere in athletic events. I tried one of those kind once. I looked like I stuck an extra large Chipotle Burrito on my chest. I move away reluctantly to the ugly bra section.

Bras for women like me are not pretty. They come in white, black, or pink. No sporty colors or designs that make you feel like an athlete. They look like maternity bras. They have huge wide straps and built in wires and seams everywhere. The bonus is that that seams are covered with extra padding to prevent chaffing. Oh joy, oh bliss. I pick out my size and buy it. A young guy is at the checkout counter and I see him struggle as he lifts the huge bra and puts it into the bag. When I get home I try it on (I know you should do that at the store, but I don’t). I strap myself into the armor and feel like I am ready for a jousting battle not a nimble foot race. Nonetheless, my girls feel supported. I put on my baggy cotton T-shirt ( I can’t wear the thin breathable shirts because all the wires and seams of my bra show through) and no one is the wiser. Don’t worry world, I won’t be pulling a Brandi after a race.