Camo Aint Coverin' This!

So, I told you all about that challenge my lady-women-female type friends were doing, right? And how I slick didn’t participate but blogged in my attendance a few times? Yea, that. So, one of the challenges was:

Day #13, Wear something you never would: This is going to sound a little crazy, but the hardest thing for me to get used to when I move to San Francisco from NYC was that no one wears heels here! I mean, my feet are grateful, but I now feel a little self conscious walking into a restaurant in pumps. But today I am challenging you, and myself to wear something you normally avoid. For me it's heels. What it is for you? Snap a pic and post it for us.

Here's why what you wear matters. When you put on sweat pants, ill fitting jeans or a worn-one-too-many-times sweater, you feel sluggish, low energy or flat and very often we'll reach for a sugarly pick me up to get out of our sweat pants induced slump. When you wear something fun, edgy, even exhilarating, you feel ah-mazing, and you no longer need food to give you your jolt of fabulous. Your shoes did that for you. Sure, clothes aren't the whole story, which is why I spend so much time talking about the inner work in Live More Weigh Less, but it seriously helps a lot.

And much like one of my friend-women-ladies doing the challenge, I thought, what wouldn’t I wear? Or at least give a try? I love trying new outfits! Accessories? Bring it! Shoes? Right…exactly. I am all about changing my style, doing something different, and reinventing my wardrobe. Of all the challenges. I knew this was the one that would not challenge me. At all.

Then I got ready to run. Challenge on.

I don’t wear running shorts for long distances because, aside from the fact my thighs are cottage cheesy and taking away from the awesomness that is my calf muscles...there is the rub. And friction with 0.1 miles left is hell. Trust me. I rarely do the exposed arms thing because I want to run, not take off. And you don’t frequent flyer miles for the speed at which I run…so arms stay covered.

I always see people in the cutest running gear! It’s colorful. Tight fitting. Prints. Stylish. Chic. Headbands, that match the tank tops, that coordinate with the pants, that bring out the sparkling reflectors of the shoes.

Then there’s me. A long sleeved black top, black Spaulding running cropped pants, and Ascis Gel Kayano’s a half size larger because, well, feet need space.

I envy them because their bodies are beautiful, and mine is tragic. Like really, it’s a mess under here. Yea, I don’t let the numbers on the scale affect me too much, but the mirror? Ugh. I mean, it’s mine, and I’m stuck with it, and I’ll do my best to do right by it, but I also think it’s important to be kind to strangers, so I pretty it up.

It just so happens while Sarah Jenks was busy figuring out how to challenge us, I began challenging myself. As I was perusing the neutral activewear options, I came across a pair of camouflage printed pants. We know my love of camo, so of course I bought them. And I was happy about it.

Until, of course, I got home and walked by the mirror. And realized I had a donkey on my back and I was going to have to figure out how to stuff it all in those pants. Um…about that… *folds pants up, places them in bottom drawer, acts like it never happened, folds receipt up*

And I have really been chilling like those pants aren’t my bottom drawer taking up space that is not infinite. Until this text conversation with my Rikki, who’s running Rock N Roll Las Vegas with me! See she thinks it would be a cool idea to run-rock-drink-repeat in a tutu. And, she’s super willing to do ALL THE WORK. All I have to do is get ALL OF THIS DONKEY on my back in it.

Ma’am.

So, I thought I could outsmart her right? I love camouflage…surely they haven’t gone through the trouble of making tutu material out of that camouflage stuff. I’ve never seen a ballerina go to war. I respond *cleverly* that if she finds one in camo, that it would be the only way I would do it. Because it’s not 2014. And we haven’t put a man on the moon. And nope, we don’t carry around next to lightweight devices that control our every single minute. Nope…none of that.

I hate everything about every internet ever made. Ever. I’m like Scarface in Half Baked. F-U Pinterest, F-U Etsy, F-U Lightening speed data network, You cool, and F-U Google Search! I’m out!

What am I supposed to do now? Sarah challenged me. My women-female-lady friends challenged me. Rikki is challenging peer pressuring me. And the finite amount of space in the bottom drawer is mocking me. #MakeItStopMama

I mean I suppose it was bound to happen. I have been stretching people to their limits all year. Telling Forcing Demanding Asking them lovingly to do things they never intended their minds, bodies or pocketbooks would do. And they did them. And got some new found greatness at the end of it #MedalMonday. Became different and better for it. Realized things only that experience could have done for them.

And here I am in this room ready to cry real tears because my booty is too big and when I walk it’s like it has a mind (and social calendar) of its own and moves like it has somewhere else in a different direction to go. I literally almost had a breakdown when I accidentally looked back at my butt attempting to speak to a staff member. I stood, in my footsteps, attempting to figure out, how to walk back to my office, with my booty concealed. Dee talked me off the ledge and up the stairs via group text.

…and now a tutu.

Dammit. #OffToStretchTheStretchinessOutOfTheseCamoPants