My Special-K Challenge

A desperate pudgy chick will resort to almost everything in the pursuit of losing a few pounds. I admit to resorting to THE SPECIAL K CHALLENGE.

It started when I pulled on a pair of the "fat jeans" I bought last fall and couldn't get them to button or zip without EXTREME discomfort. We're talking 10 pounds of potatoes in a 5 pound bag uncomfortable.

It's taken a month, but I finally mustered the courage to pull out those jeans once again. Well, folks, I'm here to tell ya -- the goshdurned Special K diet worked. I got the jeans on, with room to spare. (ok, it was just millimeters, but still, it was a tiny bit of room). The acid test, I sat down in them and didn't immediately feel my legs go numb from having the circulation cut off.

Now, back in my younger, thinner days, 6 pounds would be something you *noticed* if I lost them. 6 pounds was the difference between choosing the size 6 or the size 4. (Yes, and I once had a 24 inch waist, not that you'd ever guess from looking at me). These days, 6 pounds is virtually invisible -- but I know they're gone. My jeans tell me they're gone. My guess is that no one will notice until I shed 16.

And I don't care if it makes me vain or shallow (I never pretended NOT to be either of those things, after all).

And yes, realistically, I know it's not the cereal. It's the reinforcement of healthy eating habits -- you know, all the old saws your mommy taught you -- eat breakfast every day, eat a healthy lunch, and don't stuff yourself at dinner. Walk more. (my poor abused knees are thanking me for making them carry a little less weight.)

I'm not thinking that any miracles are going to happen -- this took a month, after all. Ahh, the perils of being "of a certain age" and having your metabolism slow down to a speed called "Glacial."

It's a start.

And spring bicycling season is just around the corner. So not only will I be increasing the aerobic (fat-burning) activity, I'll finally get back my rock-hard quads. Snap you in half with a squeeze of the thighs.

Although -- since it appears I won't be getting laid anytime soon (despite the mad flirtation with the supertall hottie in the East Village - DAMN! I should have just taken him home when I had the chance, but that's a story for another post) I'll just have to enjoy the impending mad muscle tone for what it is... enhancing my beautiful, strong, sturdy legs that I once hated for their strength and sturdiness. The 29" inseams that once were the bane of my existence now make me sure that I'm just that much closer to the earth. No fragile thoroughbred stems for me, my legs are the legs of a draft horse, a Clydesdale, a peasant farmer, a coal-miner's granddaughter. They are powerful and strong. The other day I was in the shower and I bent over to soap my legs and was struck by their quiet grandeur. They aren't willowy and long. They are redwoods, they are El Capitan, they are Half Dome. I love them.

Finally.