You’ve been warned by the title, mmk? I don’t write about myself all that much, I don’t think, so if you aren’t into that sort of thing, come back next time.
In my whole life, I’ve just never been that hung up on what other people think. [OK, no need to shout, "Obviously!" from the peanut gallery.] I try not to take myself too seriously and I don’t take you all that seriously, either. I’m more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt than almost anything else. Every once in a while, I think to put on some makeup. At 37, I have a rapidly growing amount of gray hair and it’s not occurred to me to color it. You get the point.
So about 5 years ago, I started developing rosacea. Well, that’s not really true. I think I’ve been developing it since about when I was born. I’m very fair and freckled and I’ve always blushed easily. I blush when I’m NOT embarrassed or drinking, a fact I find quite annoying, never mind when I am. So, given what I was just saying earlier, you’d think the fact that my face gets red…and can sometimes stay red much of the day…wouldn’t be a big deal for me, emotionally.
But it’s here that I met my limits. I have given up trying to evaluate the roots of this vanity: Is it that I’ve always been complimented on my skin, so that I developed some pride in it, as if I had anything to do with what kind of skin I have? Or is it that it’s changed the way I see myself? Well, regardless.
Here’s the kicker: I was so worried about what would happen to my skin while I was pregnant, since I wouldn’t be using the topical medicine that really seemed to have helped [though not eliminated] the rosacea. Yet my skin just got better and better. And then I realized: Pregnant. Practically no alcohol for 8 months. [Baby arrived early.]
Alcohol is a known trigger for rosacea, but so are lots of other things. I’d never been able to conclusively identify anything beyond alcohol that really set mine off, and now I’m thinking, maybe that IS the only significant trigger I have.
Back to the vanity part: I’m seriously considering not drinking anymore, just so my skin will stay like this. I’m not a big drinker anyway–unless there’s a big party or family event, I’m unlikely to have more than a couple of glasses with dinner, a couple of nights a week. But apparently that was enough to really screw up my skin.
Vanity number 2: I’ve never been really, terribly overweight, but I haven’t been skinny in years. Until I was about 30, I was definitely skinny. My metabolism downshifted dramatically around 25, before I ever got pregnant the first time, but I exercised enough and ate just well enough that I still wore a size 4 or 6, back before they super-sized all the women’s clothes sizes. [Seriously? That was marketing genius.]
For my 30th birthday present from the universe, I developed rheumatoid arthritis. Put an immediate and final halt to my running career. I’m incredibly fortunate; my RA has been in remission for 3 or 4 years now, with just mild lasting damage to my knees, which frankly, could have as much to do with the gymnastics, cheerleading and running I did for years.
But let me clue you in about what happens when you suddenly stop exercising at the age of 30: You won’t be wearing a size 4 anymore. Once my RA was under control and in remission, I tried any number of times to get back in my exercise routine. I ran into issue after issue: Child care. [I was a single mom to 1 and then 2 kids for about 7 years total.] Regular work schedule. Volunteer commitments.
I think the real issue is that I’ve never found anything I loved as much as running, though. I was never a distance girl, but the runner’s high is a real thing and it will drive you out the door when it’s too cold, too wet and too hot to even think about sitting on the porch, never mind pounding the pavement. Can you tell I crave it to this day?
Still, I wasn’t horribly overweight. My cholesterol was fine. I was in reasonable shape for someone who exercised just sporadically. And I was fine with myself. For several years.
And then I got pregnant. And from the split-second I started to show [at about 6 weeks, to my mind], I was ready to be skinny again. I have no idea why being pregnant triggered that in me. I didn’t just want to not be pregnant and back to my old self; I wanted to be back to my old old self, skinny.
A month after the baby arrived, I’m almost back at my old, pre-baby self. And I haven’t really worked at it yet. But the weight loss and changes to my body have slowed down a lot, and it’s obvious that getting back to my old old self will take some work. I am about to embark on a quest to find something I can like to do, if not love as much as running.