You might or may not recall, I have these pants. They are my only pants because… well, mostly because I’m hard-headed. You can go read the other story if you want the long version but the short version is that I put on extra weight and refused to buy more pants at this size. Then, the zipper broke on my other pair of pants and now I have just these.
I realized that if these are going to be my only pants until the rest of my pants will fit, I’m going to have to get serious about letting go of this weight. I mean, come on… how long can a pair of even the finest blue jeans last when you’re wearing them every single day? I work in them. I watch soccer games in them. I hike in them. Thank goodness, I don’t do yoga in them but I will need to get my butt in the flower beds this week to pull some weeds and guess what I will be wearing? Yes, my pants.
Recently, my pants and I went roller skating. The offspring were out of school and things get sort of hairy around here when any of my family members don’t have school (my wife is a student, too). It’s when I try to be all of the regular things (life coach, business owner, writer, mother, wife, self, etc.) and fun, too. This time, it meant roller skating.
Oh, how I loved skating when I was a girl. It felt like dancing, which I not-so-secretly still long to do. It was ridiculously social, which I’d completely forgotten until I noticed my children “hanging out” more than skating during this recent outing. And even then, it was exercise. A quality that I took for granted then and I realize that now.
It was also just a pleasure to be out of the house and on that count, not much has changed.
When I was first upright (on wheels), I couldn’t help but scroll through the possible outcomes… clearly, the worst of which is going down. This possibility has somehow become and even more haunting possibility because my children have reached that age where my brush with death at the skating rink, would primarily be about how uncool my fall made them look.