Monday, September 27, 2010

My Treadmill & Me

About a month ago, my boyfriend R.J. convinced me that we should buy a treadmill. I was hesitant; I've heard too many stories of treadmills becoming clothes hangers (not to mention that there always seems to be a treadmill on any episode/clip of Hoarders).

Nearly three weeks had passed and neither of us had touched it. R.J.'s grandmother put us to serious shame, logging in a total of 15 minutes during her two week stay with us in August. The cold, plastic-y smell of its new material taunted me upon my return home from work each day. Although it stood in the furthest corner of our apartment, I knew it was there: a lonely, unused treadmill.

A couple of weeks later, my guilt was replaced by apathy. I can say that I kind of forgot it was there, but really, I just didn't care that I wasn't using it. Then - I decided to weigh myself.

Baaaaad decision. Weighing myself often makes me feel horrible, as I'm sure it does for many other women (and men - but let's face it, women "have" higher standards to live up to). I know when I'm gaining weight (my clothes feel tighter) and why (I'm neither exercising nor eating healthy). So why do I do it? Why do I step onto the fancy scale R.J. bought, which uses our heights and ages to determine our body fat percentage and all kinds of other stuff? Maybe my subconscious, who isn't quite as apathetic as my conscience, nudged me on.

I won't provide a number, because numbers don't say much. I am probably still within my BMI, but the fact is I feel like crap. And that has to change now! Yes, we can!

So, I am starting a running program. I broke my treadmill in last Thursday and have been on it twice since then. Granted, I am walking for six minutes and running for one (eventually working my way up to a half hour run), but still.

Wish me luck!

Friday, September 17, 2010

These are my... jeggings

I bought a pair of Mavi jeggings yesterday at the Rideau Centre:

And, whether I'd like to admit it or not, they're all I can seem to focus on today. I've suddenly become consumed (no pun intended) by my want for things to go with my jeggings... Manitobah Mukluks, over-the-knee riding boots, long sweaters, long necklaces and long scarves all top my list.

I've had my ups and downs with fashion. It all started after graduating high school when I discovered...

Holt Renfrew. The bags weren't hot pink back then, but the store was just as nice.

My first purchase at Holt Renfrew was a black and white pop-art Burberry purse with a hot pink lining and patent leather strap. It was one of those itty bitty purses, which were 'in' back then. I felt so good as the cashier (who probably had some fancy title like 'Sales Associate') placed it gently into a shoe bag, wrapped it in tissue and, finally, handed me the bag... until I got home and realized I'd spent $400 on a purse. Immediately, an unbearable buyer's remorse began to set in.

I wore it for about two weeks, but every time I felt the weight of it wearing me down. Desperate, I brought it to Hillary's dry cleaners and asked if they could clean the ever-so-slight graying on the white material. "No can do," the woman at the counter responded. "We can't dry clean it because the strap would ruin." The patent leather strap that delighted me days before was suddenly the bane of my existence.

My mom, who would go to any length at even the slightest sign of her children's distress, scrubbed the thing with dish soap and I headed back to the department store with the purse in its shoe bag and my breath in my throat.

The cashier glanced at it quickly, processed the return with a stoic - borderline bored - look and dismissed me within minutes.

Walking out of the store I felt a mix of relief and shame. I wondered, what did the cashier think of me?

Her outfit didn't match this purse. She's not good enough for Burberry.

She probably had to choose between Burberry and food. Food
obviously won out.


I've fluctuated back and forth between focusing on and neglecting my style. As I entered grad school, I didn't care so much about what I wore, if only for the fact that I didn't have time to care. I still bought some new boots and sweaters for fall, but also wore *all* of my Christmas present clothing (my undergrad self would have gasped!). I cared a lot in my undergrad, since something about the University of Ottawa's downtown campus seemed to turn hallways into runways. I had subsequent - more pleasurable - Holt Renfew experiences with Juicy Couture and Marc by Marc Jacobs, Gucci, Prada and even a return to Burberry.

Funny, how one pair of jeggings can bring me right back there.