Hi guys…anyone out there? Things are sort of quiet on the blog these days which makes me wonder….are you all still dieting? Remember only a few more months.
Some good news. My husband and I just got a tandem bike. The bad news…cycling apparel. For those of you unfamiliar with cycling shorts they are every girl’s fashion nemesis. The good news, I don’t have to spend anytime in a dressing room trying on cycling shorts like I did last year thanks to TGAAD. I will blaze forward in the same bad, unattractive shorts I wore last year. Which brings up a scary topic. Trying on bike shorts. If you haven’t done it don’t. It’s enough to make a girl give up on the sport. See my post from last Spring when I found myself in the same situation. Unfortuantely I was still shopping…
June 2009 (pre TGAAD)
I have recently and reluctantly re-taken up cycling, I guess you could call it recycling. I say reluctantly not because I don’t enjoy cycling or its benefits—forty miles equals a monster sized burrito and a frothy Hefferweizen. I say reluctantly because the clothes SUCK. I am being kind when I say that no one, not even Mark, my handsome, 2% body fat husband looks good in the stuff.
My re-entry into the sport began last spring when Mark talked me into upgrading my old, Raleigh ten speed to a fancy, schmancy, carbon fiber, eighteen speed something or other, with clip-in pedals. He said the upgrade was for me but I really think the old red Raleigh along side his pimped-out racing bike embarrassed him. My new bike, donned with all the components and the aero dynamic seat that is sure to give me hemorrhoids, is something he can stand by with pride. My outfit? Not so much. Upon completing the expensive bike transaction with the tattooed sales specialist, Mark insisted we stop by the apparel section of the store to check out some cycling pants. He obviously had a vision.
“Wait a minute,” I said, pausing in my tracks for effect. “Cycling pants? Are you !@#$%^ nuts? I told you I’d ride but I didn’t say I’d wear the pants. I would rather wear a pair of high waist, acid washed jeans than a pair of ugly, spandex, sausage legged shorts with a crotch chaffing, Kotex Maxi Pad chamois. It’s not my look.”
“Well then what are you going to wear?” he asked.
“My yoga pants.”
“Your yoga pants, for cycling?”
“Yeah, why not? They look so much better. You know the ones, the bell bottom lulu lemon pants with the hipster contrast border at the waist.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Yes. I am not wearing those weird pants. No way.”
I saw in his eyes his vision for our future of biking together slip away. “You can’t wear yoga pants babe. Not with your fancy new bike. It’s just not done.”
I knew then I was in over my head. This cycling business was so much more than the bike. It was a culture that demanded an aesthetic reset. I was now the proud owner of a fancy bike that required me to scrap my instinctive fashion sensibility and embrace the ugliest, most unattractive trend invented by man (a woman would know better).
And so right there in the bike store I acquiesced. I gathered six to ten pair of black cycling shorts and began the demoralizing task of squeezing my soft body into a variety of girdle like contraptions, one after the other in search of the “most flattering pair.” News flash, for those of you who have an issue with cellulite the issue becomes an all out crisis in bike shorts. I stood face to face with myself in the small, dingy fitting room and mouthed the words “you know better.”
Mark called from outside the dressing room, “hon, come out and show us.” The us included the youngish, sinewy sales woman. “Not yet,” I said, nearly out of breath and laboriously peeling off another pair of tourniquet shorts. The sales girl chimed in, “do you have a jersey?” And with that she hung three loudly colored polyester jerseys over the dressing room door. “Try these on, we just got them in. They’re awesome.” Awesome was not the word that came to mind. Logo-mad print designer on acid was more like it.
I finally settled on a pair of black, below the knee knickers with a stayfree mini-pad sized chamois. They were $90. Who knew that being unattractive could cost so much? My husband and his sales clerk side-kick were disappointed that I passed on the Jerseys. I was certain that I could get away with cycling pants and a Gap t-shirt for a while. At least until I found an inconspicuous jersey that didn’t scream “this is ugly.”
Tonight I was with my friend Portia who has been contemplating going on this diet for 11 months now. I told her that I have decided to extend the diet for one more year, in light of the fact that there have been so many people interested in joining the effort in the past few weeks (here we go again). When I told Portia it wasn’t too late to realize the benefits of clothing deprivation she hooped and hollered “That’s what I need, a closet colonic.” The visual made me gag. She went on to claim, “Deep within my big, fat, bloated walk-in closet there is a skinny one begging to be free.” Portia, warming to the idea, is going to “think about it,” before she commits. Let me be clear…I am not doing this for another year myself but I will moderate, facilitate, contemplate and write about life post diet. 
O.K., I am not proud. I have told nearly every woman I know that I am simply starving on this @#$%^& diet. The good news, my incessant complaints and whines have been rewarded with hand-me-downs from friends and family (maybe they just want me to shut up). Now, these aren’t Oliver Twist castoffs. Remember, birds of a feather flock together. My friends and family have hand-me-downs with tags still on them or barely worn items that they “bought on a whim,” and shouldn’t have (you know the story). I am sorry for their mistakes, but not really. I’m glad to be the one who can take these items off their hands. Most importantly their gifts are going to good use. Just last week I received a beautiful wrap from my mother, a white knit item, just like Meryl Streep wore in the movie It’s Complicated. I am now wearing a pair of pewter Donald Pliner slides and a great pair of lulu lemon tights my yoga friend gave me (she has three of the same pair). So my point? Tell people you will gladly take their shopping mistakes off their hands. They will fell great about it, especially if you wear them again and again. Now go forth and tell the world, “I am hungry, feed me your scraps!”
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