Gym Who?

   It's January 20. Almost a full month after Christmas, at least three weeks since the last of those holiday goodies were consumed. I hate to admit it, but I am feeling a little chubby. I didn't overeat this past Christmas, I generally don't overeat. I don't eat fast food, or pre-prepared foods. I eat on a lunch sized plate so I don't over indulge. (Although it is illuminating how much food you can pile onto a lunch sized plate. A lot, you can trust me on that.) And, even though I have an ongoing love affair with ice cream, I gave it up a year ago, yes, even on ice cream for breakfast day. That was a sacrifice, but it had to be done.

  To compound my sense of weeble-like proportions, I had to get my driver's license renewed. What the hell are those people at the license branch thinking? You know what I'm talking about. The photos that go on the license. Are they nuts? You only get one take.You can't smile, and better not blink.  I look like a demented lunatic escapee from a home for the criminally insane. A chubby demented lunatic from the home for the criminally insane. We all know I should photograph like Cindy Crawford. What I don't understand is why my pictures come back looking so much like, well...me.

  As you can imagine, I am very annoyed by this chubbiness. To put an even finer point on it, I'm not cute chubby like a chipmunk, or my girl-cat, who resembles a furry basketball on legs. (As opposed to my boy-cat who is long, lean, and leonine.)
 I'm middle-aged chubby. Middle- aged chubby is the worst. When I was twenty five or thirty, I could cut out the fries and run five miles a day and the chubbies would melt away. Now they are stubbornly attached to my hips and butt. They are loyal at least, I guess that's something. No chance of them leaving in a snit or without notice.

  Genetically I feel cheated. Both my grandmothers were tall women, especially for late 19th century women. One stood 5'6" the other 5'7".  My mother wasn't tall; she was diminutive, with small birdlike bones. She weighed 100 pounds soaking wet.  No bird bones for me. I am solid. Short, but solid. It seems I take after the grandfatherly side of things. Neither of those guys was tall. Both were about 5'6" and as they aged, tended to get round, think beach ball round.

  It didn't help that my daughter recently remarked, "Mom!" (She always speaks with exclamation points.) "Mom!  You used to be so tiny!" This after a review of my wedding album. I thought she must need new glasses, I've never felt like a small person. I flipped the album open myself. She was right, I was tiny, even with my solid bones.

  I've been puzzling over this problem for a couple weeks. I'm never going to get my twenty-five year old body back. That's a certainty, there isn't enough lettuce in the world. I'm not exactly sedentary, I walk my dogs thirty minutes a day. And the puppies don't poke along, when they walk, they are full-steam-ahead walkers. Even the old Dobie steps out. We get comments about who is walking who, so there is some cardio benefit to the dog walking. But it is the middle of January, and good walking days are few and far between. I used to do laps in the mall during the bad weather but that created a credit card explosion. It seems I can't pass by those exceptional end of season deals.

  So now I am pondering whether or not to enroll in an exercise class. The problem with exercise class is that you have to exercise. Not my best thing. I tried aerobics a couple of times and I was always "that girl." You know, the one in all the memes that is three steps behind everyone else, doing her own thing.  A stretching class sounds good. Stretching is so relaxing.  Maybe I'd get to bring a mat to lie on while I stretch. When I'm done stretching I can nap. You don't have to take a shower after you nap, or need to wash your sweat socks right away or they'll stand up in the corner by themselves. Napping is quiet and serene. I like to do things I'm good at and I'm really good at napping.