Living on the Dr. Seuss Farm

Cankles.

Muffin Top.

Bunions.

Crow's Feet.

Spider Veins.

It sounds like a I live on a Dr. Seuss farm.

Lately I feel like I've been inundated with stories about how to cure the above ailments.

The other day, as I daydreamed about a Baked & Wired cupcake and stared angrily at my boring lunch (Campbell's soup - again), the Today Show had a segment about "cankle lipo!"

On the plane last week, Self magazine informed me about how to rev up my metabolism. Turns out, you have nothing to worry about in your 20s, but once you hit 30 you better be hitting the gym. Hard. And counting calories. Often.

Good thing that Self magazine also had an article on the best way to pose in a picture to hide those pesky flaws. I studied that story and the accompanying image for about five minutes.

Because if I can't flaunt it, I better know how to fake it for the camera.

The Scariest Part of the Gym

It's not the boot camp class. Or the camel toe I get if I pull my spandex shorts up to high. It's not the sweat stains, or the germs on top of germs on top of the mat that I use to do my pushups and situps. Lately, the scariest part of the gym is when I have to input my age.

It used to take many finger punches to get to my age. Now it's about 3 or 5. I'm at 28 before my finger even gets warmed up! Sometimes I think about lying and putting in 21. But then I feel guilty. As if the treadmill is going to know and, in retailiation, speed up and cause me to trip and fly off the moving object.

So I never lie. It's too risk. And I now slowly punch the button to get to my actual age before I begin trying to jump start my ever-slowing metabolism.

Lessons from the Kickball Field

When I first told a colleague I was joining a kickball team in DC she was like, "You are on the edge, Kim... 28 is toeing the line of being too old to play." I was outraged. Until I realized WHY she said it.

The kickball scene in DC is crazy, it's wild, it's truly out of control. But here's the thing, there is very little kicking actually going on. DC Kickball should be called DC Sexball. People are playing the field, not playing ON the field (sorry, I had to!) They join this sport to drink and makeout and play endless games of flip cup. The Kickball league leader even sends out a weekly newsletter describing (in detail) all the hookups that happened the week before.

But, despite the lack of actual ball kicking that takes place on the National Mall, I have learned some valuable lessons:

• Once an athlete, always an athlete... and if you were NEVER great at sports, you probably never will be. Kickball may be a game you play in fifth grade gym class, but if you weren't able to whack that red ball far back then, you won't be able to do so now (trust me, I know first hand).


• Competitive, obnoxious bullies still exist... and can be found bunting balls (grrr!), disputing the referee, and planning strategic ways to slaughter the opposing team. It's kickball people - calm it down.


• Frat guys and Sorostitutes might have once been hot... but definitely lose their shiny, beer goggles appeal a few years out of college. 20 and 30 somethings slamming beer cans agains their heads, grinding up against sticky walls in the basement of a bar, and drinking until they are blacked out are NOT attractive.

Are you ever too old to play kickball? No way! I'll be missing balls and not getting on the base until I'm 80 years old. (I also don't think you can ever be too old to rush down a slip n' slide but that's another story).

But I do believe there is an expiration date on some of the extracurricular activities associated with DC Kickball.

And now... I will go hide under my bed as every DC Kickball person throws balls at my head.

The Weighting Game

They say that 2 pounds on a dog is equal to something like 45 human pounds. I'm a small human being, so I think this comparison works for my body type. Therefore, although I don't LOOK like I've gained weight, I have. And my pants can attest to this fact.

I've been blaming my weight gain on:

• Getting older
• Birth control
• My pinched nerve
• Longer work hours

But finally, I had to take a step back and re-evaluate. Yes, my metabolism has slowed down. Yes, I have been abstaining from runnning due to my sciatica. Yes, my birth control SUCKS. But... my addiction to Starbucks caramel macchiatos, my drunk binge eating on Saturday nights, my lack of self control when it comes to all things ice cream MIGHT have something to do with this sudden increase in waist size.

Sigh.

I remember when all of the above and drinking five nights a week wouldn't even make a dent in my toned abs. At my roof deck pool I stare angrily (and forlornly) at the young 20 somethings that have washboard abs. I don't even know where my abs have gone! It's slightly depressing. Especially since this is the first time in my life I feel uncomfortable wearing a bathing suit.

So I have vowed to work out more (even if that means I have to wake up at 5:45am to get to spin class). Eat less. Munch on healthier snacks. And hope that, despite a diminishing metabolism, a pinched nerve, terrible birth control, and decreased self control, I can get back to a semi-bikini body before the summer ends.