Boots, Bikes and Stretchy Pants
E. Boyer
What in the high heavens is with the outfit? It seems like there is a special outfit for every activity. We take an interest in something and immediately assume the identity. Yesterday, we were just good ‘ole regular people. Today, we’re hikers. It’s obvious we’re now professional hikers by the $3,000 we spent at REI on hiking boots, clip on water bottle, Gortex fanny pack, Camelback in case water bottle comes un-hooked, Swiss Army knife…Ultra model with ice pick, bear repellant, telescope, GPS and international cell phone. Yes, indeedy, we’re all set to hike. Of course, after about 45 minutes of a steady incline and a blister the size of a walnut from our new boots, we realize that never again in life will we do this satan-inspired activity and we retire our gear to the garage. Next up, Yoga! Couple of things: 1) No matter how many classes you attend, you will NEVER be able to bend and twist like your 25 year old instructor. Not gonna happen. 2) Men, do not think that just because you’ve mastered your downward dog that the 25 year old instructor will EVER date you or find you attractive. She/he will not. Still, we run out to LuLu Lemon and Sports Authority or log onto TitleNine.com and blow yet another small fortune on stretchy pants and tops, squishy mats and foam bricks only to discover that you can actually rip the hell out of your groin trying an advanced pose, resulting in an embarrassing moment on a stretcher. Now, rather than using them for yoga ever again, your stretchy pants become your fat pants that you wear while watching "House" and eating pizza. Namaste. Fast forward 5 months, the groin muscles has healed and you’ve watched enough of the Tour de France on late night CNN coverage to motivate you to drag the old Schwinn out of storage. Well, we all know where this is going because we’ve all done it. That’s right….the Schwinn is determined to be a worthless pile of junk and there goes $2,800 on the Ultra-light Road Racer Supreme. This new-found activity is probably the most identifiable. Men with an extra 30 pounds, parade around in horrifically colored spandex at the local coffee shops with their little metal-soled biking shoes clicking on the sidewalk. Guys, the clicking is annoying and the big, spandex covered belly has made more than one young woman run away in horror and nausea. And, helloooo! If you spent a little less time eating muffins and downing Peet’s coffee and a little more time actually riding the ULRRS, you might get that belly situation under control. Who am I to judge? I’m not judging at all! Wouldn’t you agree that sometimes our little tendencies are peculiar and interesting, to say the least? And, if we can’t laugh at ourselves…at whom can we laugh?? Judging? Don’t be ridiculous….I’m writing this from the comfort of my retired yoga pants and using the little foam brick to elevate my laptop…Namaste!
