Why am I Working Out…if Currently No One is Seeing My Birthday Suit?

Let me be frank.  I exercise.  I sweat.  I eat right.  My body fat percentage falls around 20%.  But since I’m single, no one is “currently” seeing me naked on a regular basis.  (My nosy dog and curious cat don’t count.)

At this point, my dad is probably falling out of his rocker (he really does have a rocker) as he reads these words.  But the reality is – my situation is completely relatable to single women (and perhaps men) in their 30s.  Many of us are in “amazing, athletic, physical shape.”  We’re “financially secure.”  Heck, our families refer to us as “successful.”  But sadly, our birthday suits ONLY come out at rare occasions.  It’s part of the world known as “Singledom.”  Personally, I could wear my birthday suit much, much more often…but I’m picky.  And I know this.  Only a select few make it that far into my wardrobe.  (My dad just slipped out of his rocker again.)

My routine goes like this — Three times a week, I snap into auto-pilot and cart my exhausted self to “dance step-aerobics” class…otherwise known as Jazzercise.  (Yes, you idiots, Jazzercise still exists.  We don’t wear Olivia Newton neon headbands…or Jane Fonda fuzzy legwarmers either.  Jazzercise consists of aerobics, dance, Pilates, and kickboxing…minus the “jazz hands.”  It thankfully kicks my ass every time.)

After arriving, I’m locked in a room with 20 other women (and maybe a few gay dudes) – where we begin a love/hate relationship with a rectangular step placed in front of us.  For the next hour, a “mean but peppy” cheerleader-type instructor barks orders at us while we huff and exuberantly puff.  For some reason, she has the ability to happily “yak” about her dating life, family dramas, and recent trip to Maui – while the rest of us just pray to keep breathing and/or standing.  Uttering a sentence is not an option.

I admit, there are days when I want to just give up – and play hooky with a bag of Salt and Vinegar potato chips chased with peanut butter straight out of the jar.  After all, when you’re single, no one really notices if you gain a few pounds.  And no one cares if you wear mismatched pajamas at night.  So, why even step foot into the gym?  Right?

WRONG!

Fifteen minutes into the workout, I feel empowered. The step has somehow transformed into my friend.   I’m kicking the aging process in the face with each knee lift and squat! Along with the release of sweat, comes the mini explosion of endorphins.  Suddenly, anxious thoughts about work, bad dates, endless errands, and loneliness disappear.  I’m elated as I keep up with the 25 year old in front of me.  I also realize I’m doing this workout for MYSELF – not for the next guy who gets a sneak peek at my birthday suit.

I do believe – that one day I’ll meet Mr. Right — and ironically the timing will be “right” for both of us simultaneously.  No more of the typical jargon…”I just got divorced two months ago…”  OR “I’m getting over a bad break-up with my psycho ex…” OR “The lust of my life just moved back to town…”

In the meantime…my gym bag is packed…loaded in the car.

And my birthday suit – it’s spending some quality time at the dry cleaners.

Some Things THANKFULLY Never Change

Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know the drill…the ole familiar mantra.  Life is about change, right?  Change is inevitable.  Change forces you to grow.  Blah blah blah.  (Damn those motivational speakers!)

Don’t get me wrong.  I do relish some change…in certain situations.  I enjoy changing my hairstyle, my toenail polish, my sheets (oo-lah-lah), underwear, and of course my address (when I moved to Denver).   On the flip side, I HATE changing my own flat tire.

But some things…I just want to stay “the same.”  For comfort reasons.

On top of my “no-changes-allowed” list…tried and true friendships.   You know….the ones you can count on one perfectly manicured hand.

Thankfully, the bond I have with certain girlfriends has never changed (sounds cliche but true).  I don’t have “blood” sisters, so my girlfriends are my “true” sisters.   Yes, our lives have transformed over the years…but our emotional connections haven’t.  True BFFs survive a typhoon of marriages, divorces, hangovers, cross country moves, breakups, breakdowns, newborns, new jobs, bad jobs, no jobs, 50 cases of PMS, and about 1.2 million bad and good dates.  And I haven’t even mentioned the mini-makeovers, pounds lost, pounds gained, and all those damn exercise hours in between.

This comforting reality hit me last week when one of my BFFs (aka Brendy) visited moi from Kansas City.  (I used to live there a few years back.)  As any good hostess, I showed her all the beautiful “mile-high” city highlights.   We sauntered down Larimer Square, rubbed elbows with the cougars at Elway’s, burned some laps at Wash Park, and even conquered Rocky Mountain National Park.

More importantly, though, we just cut to the chase and fell into our old BFF routine….the one that never changed. Same friendship…just a different location.  Our fears…plus our dreams….all rolled into one conversation.   Minutes in, Brendy and I were “in the zone”…best described as a combination of hot gossip, emotional details, genuine reactions….coupled with spurts of laughter, “oh-my-gods,” bedroom details, and various bitch sessions.

Bottom line…who cares about salutations and fluff…when you can get to the heart of the matter efficiently?  Throw in some red sangria and watch the conversation run rampant.

A few days in to Brendy’s visit…..I realized something.  Spending time with her…made me miss her EVEN more!  Of course I had missed her the last few years….but as her departure loomed ahead…and the clock seemed to speed up….we realized the scope. It was huge…and special.  Something I hope every woman experiences.

Brendy and I boo-hood like teenagers leaving summer horseback riding camp the night before her flight back to Kansas City.  We hugged on the couch and felt pretty darn “Hallmark-card” pathetic.   Heck, I’m surprised we didn’t buy cheesy friendship pins…or carve our initials into some poor tree.

After she left, I was seriously depressed all day…secretly sniffling to myself while editing video at work…trying to write an episode.  Brendy texted me from the plane equally as bummed.  Sigh……our big adventure was officially over.   When I got home…I scarfed down potato chips, crawled under a blanket, and watched a chick “Sundance film festival” movie…attempting to think about something OTHER than my best friend’s absence.

Later that night, “Eye Guy” came over to attempt to cheer me up.   Like any man, he wanted to “fix” the problem…then “make out.  :)  And like most women mourning the departure of someone special, I told him I needed my space (aka “get lost”) and to call me the next day.  My pity party was my own and no one else’s…and would certainly not be ruined by some dude.

When the alarm rang the next morning, I made a conscious effort to find my “big girl panties.”  I pulled my mood out of the gutter.  And suddenly….all was “right” again in the world.   Driving to work,….my acoustic satellite music channel acting as a sappy soundtrack…I pondered my blessings

As women…we need each other. It doesn’t matter what stage of life we’re currently “in”…or moving “into”…or “leaving.”

The lesson here….good friends really don’t change…instead…they help you roll, conquer, and survive all of your own life changes. And distance…well, it’s just a small detour.

If you like this post, send it to one of your BFFs.

Back to the Relationship Drawing Board Again…Where’s My Eraser?

Once again (ironically a week before Valentine’s Day), I find myself – back at the drawing board.

I recently ended something…with a certain someone.  He’s in transition – most likely moving – and we differ on religion.  The Titantic-Tanking Trifecta.  He never did anything wrong.  There’s just…not enough that’s right.  Tough call, but one I had to make.

You’ve been there…let me painfully yet humorously paint the picture.

After investing your lucrative time, wasting youth-filled energy, spending an enormous amount of money, dreaming about future children, cooking Martha Stewart homemade dinners, splurging on weekly manicures, introducing him to best friends, posing for multiple facebook photos, coming up with cheese-o-rama nicknames for each other….you decide to call your “new” relationship QUITS.

In the mere matter of a millisecond, you squander all those COVETED HOURS and literally flush them, shred them, garbage dispose them, then chunk them into oblivion.

Pause.

Then it’s time to RALLY with your “big-girl-but-still-sexy-panties-on” and start this “time sucking cycle” all over again – spending time with a NEW dude. But first, you must FIND that person.  Greeaaat….two uphill battles!  Add to that the “breakup battle” you already fought…now you’re up to THREE whopping uphill battles….all for the name of luv.

No wonder so many of us wave the white flag in defeat.

After riding a similar roller coaster that ended badly, my friend Miranda recently confessed to me in state of panic mixed with hope, “If I could just take Frank’s sweetness, Jon’s job, Brad’s body, and Todd’s sense of humor…I could create the perfect man.  He would be a masterpiece.”

Wait a minute ladies.  Uhhh…This ain’t paint-by numbers!  Men today are made of PERMANENT INK…permanent markers in fact.  Think SHARPIE!  At age 35, men are pretty much what-you-see-is-what-you-get.  Forget about “adding on” or “subtracting.”  Toss aside that “big-ass eraser” from 3rd grade, because you can’t delete his flaws…much less get rid of the deal breakers.  “White Out” won’t work either – because ultimately you can’t conceal the truth.  At this point, grab a highlighter and focus on the good stuff.  OR (do like I did)…move on and go back to the drawing board….knowing your Mr. Picasso is wandering around aimlessly waiting for his artiste to stumble upon him in a bar, on match.com, or in the grocery store (yeah right).

Which is exactly where we started this conversation….

Yes, I would love to “etch a sketch” my perfect man…shake it up….and add more tantalizing characteristics.  But let’s face it, this isn’t elementary school art class…this is LIFE…or rather what I make of it.

So, back to my easel one again.   Pictionary anyone?

courtesy of this talented cartoonist