Tag Archives: Health

{Soft in Unexpected Places…}

 

With how busy life has been of late, I usually do not give myself a minutes thought but today, as I was running through the Charlotte, NC airport, to catch my next flight, I thought back to earlier this morning and the emotions I was feeling.  I felt completely unsettled.

 In the midst of my morning beauty routine, I stopped and stared at myself in the mirror in a way that I have not done in ages.  As ridiculous as this may sound, it shocked me at how much my body has changed. Not necessarily in a bad way but in a way that tells me that I am getting older. Why didn’t I take notice of this before?  Now mind you, I’m nowhere near the age where I need to start worrying about my own mortality but lately I can’t seem to reconcile the age that I feel I am emotionally with the  age that I know I am biologically.   

As I continued to stare at my reflection, I couldn’t deny that I am softer, yes, and a bit more fragile than I remember.  My skin seems more translucent, less forgiving.  Although I believe I take good care of this temple I call my body, I must say it wouldn’t hurt to treat it with more care.  Pamper it a bit more.  Mistreat it a lot less.  This body is my home and if I plan to live in it for a long while, it’s best that I start thinking of putting this body on a serious maintenance plan.

Be well my darlings!

xoxo

 

 

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Glamming Up For the Gyno

Can we talk?  It’s that time again for my annual PAP exam (which every woman should have done) and with that comes my usual angst of that dreaded visit.  Not to say that my Gynecologist isn’t an absolute doll but the poking and prodding is no picnic. I’m not even getting dinner and a movie beforehand for Heaven’s sake.  But here is the truly ridiculous part… I prepare for my Gyno visit as though I were going on a date.  I totally glam IT up!  (And let’s be clear here, the only dates I go on are with The Husband.)  🙂

Yes, you are reading this correctly.  Listen, if I am going to have someone checking out my Hoo Ha, the least I can do is pretty it up, trim it down and make sure it’s fresh.  Yes! You may laugh it up now but I know many a woman who feels the way I do. They just don’t say it.  Let’s face it, the last thing you want is your Gyno, talking smack about you during a break, saying things like, “You should have seen that thing” and “I don’t want to even speak of the smell”.  Oh noooo!  I don’t plan to be THAT gal.  I know they are required to be professional when they are down under, on a scavenger hunt, but who knows what they are really thinking when it’s literally in their faces every day, all day.  Sorry for being so uncouth and graphic but let’s be real here.  Legs must be shaved, the toes must be properly manicured and in tip top smelling order and the female bits must be powder fresh. Forget about going natural. I’ll leave that to the birds and the bees, thank you very much.

At the end of the day, I don’t want to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back for my Doctor.  I don’t want MY Hoo Ha, in particular, to be the reason that my doctor resigns.  Do you?  A bit over-the-top and fussy of me, I’m sure, but it doesn’t make it any less true.  The female bits must be presentable during these visits.  Enough said.

 Have you made your annual PAP appointment yet? 😉

Downward Dog

Yoga can be truly amazing if you could just relax enough to submit to the process and let go of those things that keep you mentally confined.  That said, someone forgot to send me the memo that I’m no longer as flexible as I thought I was. 

In my super supple teen years and early twenties, I fondly remember being able to comfortably sit with my legs crossed and twisted at the ankles or sitting on my bed cross-legged for hours of fun-filled, titillating gossip sessions while on the phone or having the ability to pull my legs behind my head just for kicks and giggles.  To even dream of trying some of those death-defying moves now would be sheer madness and you may need to call 911, STAT, because I’m not getting back up without medical attention. Yoga can be wonderful for the mind, body and soul but lately my body cares nothing for the experience. 

For instance, I was really excited recently about my first Yoga class. For those of you who know me, it is of no surprise that I was completely accessorized for the occasion.  New Yoga pants, diva top, pink Yoga mat and a great scrunchy to complete the outfit.  I had the fab look and I was ready to stretch it out with the pros.  Well, not so fast little Yogi. Back up the limo because no sooner did I get into the Downward Dog position when I got a downward cramp.  I let out the most horrifying ear-piercing yelp you’ve ever heard. The pain quickly ran down one butt cheek and ambushed my thigh.  It was so excruciating that I couldn’t move without the humiliating assistance of some of the more spritely (READ: annoying) 20-somethings in the group. Heaven, I just wanted to disappear.  Where was there a black hole when you needed one?  Needless to say, after that fiasco, this chica has been very careful about what she twists or bends. This aging thing really sucks!!

As for returning to the class…Hmmm…I wonder what else I can use this Yoga mat for?

When Life Becomes too Loud

When work gets out of hand, traveling becomes too much, the phone never stops ringing and the problems never stop, I run to the beach.  When one is never enough, the negative talk never ceases, the pressure from a few selfish friends’ mount, and good is never good enough, I run to the beach.  

When the weight won’t come off, the mirror will not lie, my favorite Prada shoes break, and there’s nowhere to hide, I run to the beach.  When the roar in my ears will not subside, demands on my time are presumed a given, encouragement and support are at a minimum, and no one around to lift my spirits, I run to the beach. 

When life becomes too loud, the beach is my peacemaker, spirit lifter, fun saver, joy giver.  The ocean gives back to me and takes away that which I do not need.  When life becomes too loud…I run. 

How I Lost My Battle to Those Dreaded, Wicked Chicken Fries

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Let’s just call it what it is – a lack of self-control. It was all I can do to maintain my fabulous size 6 va-va-voom-ness and then I go and throw it all away by going to the greasy, dark side of fast food. Hello size 8.

I am an emotional eater and when things get pitifully ugly, all my reasoning heads south and I indulge in foods that are probably not helping the body beautiful.

Most of my days are filled with your normal activities & angst; Wake up, meditate, exercise, de-ugly, dress me up, obsess in front of the mirror, feed the dog, kiss The Husband, make a mad dash for the car and put the pedal to the metal so that I can make it to work on time but still make the necessary pit stops in between. Make a quick stop at Star-bees (Starbucks), call the assistant, review the day’s schedule, speed-dial the fam & friends for a quick hello/have a great day, pull up to the office, slather on my war paint and smack on a smile before I face the office troops. Whew! And this is all before 8 a.m.

So needless to say, by lunch time, if my VERY last nerve has been jumped on by some woeful, unsuspecting soul, look out. There I am, skulking to my car before anyone sees me (ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies), huge oversized sunglasses on my face, sitting low in my car seat so as not to be seen going through BK’s drive-thru. Next thing you know, I’m sitting in BK’s parking lot, munching on these wicked little fries. Yes, my dirty little secret are those greasy, breaded, fried (read: yummy) chicken fries. I curse the day they created those things. Now I have to hit the tread (mill) twice as hard because of this newly found weakness of mine.

Sigh. Well, I guess there is nothing else I can do for now except to embrace my ample, GROWING, butt. Heh!

The Death of My Junk Food Cravings

There is absolutely nothing that will have me running for the gym faster than an ugly fight to the death with my SPANX. The stupid contraption would not hold me in nicely and the unsightly bulge had me running away from the full length mirror in horror. Mind you, to the average onlooker, I may look like your average size 8 but if there is some wiggle around my middle, that means I have a pooch problem. So, that being said, it’s time to find a gym.

Now, working out is not a pleasurable experience for me, which I’m sure will resonate with many women, but as soon as I felt that dreaded jiggle when I walked….well let’s just say I kissed Ben & Jerry’s good-bye and I now put as much distance between me and the frozen food aisle as possible when at the supermarket.

Sigh. I so will miss the days when I was able to eat whatever my little heart desired and not gain a smidge of weight. Gone are the days that I didn’t have to think about the consequences of eating this or that. Sadly, those lovely days are over. No more Jerry Garcia or Phish food while watching the Lifetime Movie Channel, no more Jelly Belly’s during Dateline, no more late night pepperoni pizza during CSI Miami and definitely no more Ho Hos during The Real Housewives of New York City marathons. It was wonderful while it lasted but then Father Time decided to remind me that I was not going to be a spring chicken forever and to prove his nasty point, I noticed that my skin no longer snaps back as quickly as it used to and the “girls” no longer feel like they need to stand up straight. Yes, the quicker I find an exercise boot camp, the better.

The first gym I visited was for women only. One look around told me everything I wanted to know. As soon as I walked through those doors I noticed that every woman looked as though they had lost the battle against Sara Lee (read: pound cake and yummy goodness) and perhaps their wrinkle cream had been recalled. Seriously, I’m all for aging gracefully but sometimes Mother Nature needs a little assistance. So the Geritol gym was crossed off my list. I had no desire to be constantly reminded of the “senior years” which is looming eerily ahead of me. My grandmother is an elegant and beautiful woman and she would rather fade away than to look like some of these poor, wretched souls. They unfortunately looked as if they had given up the good fight and were only going through the motions. I am so not going down that road.

After a long, exhausting day of searching for a gym, the fourth location I visited was the charm. Great facility and amenities, the staff was eager and ready to push me to my fitness best and Mr. Muscle Guy behind the juice bar looked as though he were ready to whip me up a healthy smoothie quicker than I can say fatty patty.

Now don’t get too excited. I am not saying that I am ready to embrace the health craze movement but perhaps my body will thank me later (and I mean way later) by giving me a backside that I can bounce a quarter off of. Heh!