Yesterday, as I sat outside in the bright sunlight reading a book (yet another of my favorite sedentary hobbies) I crossed my legs to be confronted by a horrifying realization. The cellulite, that had once been confined to my butt-cheeks and upper thighs had spread faster than a Herpes outbreak at the Playboy Mansion and was now looking back at me from atop my ankles (cankles).
Don't get me wrong - I am no stranger to cellulite. Even at my Nicole Richie fighting weight of 97 lbs, I still had cellulite on my ass. But, considering that I was never going to be a Victoria's Secret model or a stripper at Scores, I let it slide. After all, only a select few see my ass and they just were going to have to accept a little bumpage in my trunkage. But having cellulite on the lower legs is a whole new set of issues (not to mention the cauliflower-like crinkly upper backs of my arms that have been sprouting of late). I have come to the realization that 1) I am not in my 20's anymore and 2) It's time to get off my ass and exercise now and then (like every day for 3 hours).
Gone are the days of my youth where I could subside on 2 Pepsi's a day and the occasional candy bar, then go out 3 nights a week and drink Seabreezes until dawn. After I got married, between working full-time and popping out two kids in 3 years, I was just too busy to eat and managed to stay slim. Somewhere after the age of say, 33 my body began to beg for an actual meal now and then and I actually listened to it. Today I am paying the consequences.
Getting old sucks, but I'm determined to fight it tooth and nail. If Madonna (who will be 50 in August) can have a body that looks like she could take on the High School wrestling team, than certainly I can conquer a little bit (lot) of thick bubble-fat in my thighs and calves. Sadly, this might mean giving up my Courtney-Love-like addiction to Pepsi and substituting lettuce for Lays and carrots for Cabernet. A trip to the gym more than twice a month might be in order as well. I don't strive to be Giselle Bundchen or Heidi Klum (although that would be nice) but I'll be damned if a year from now I'm mistaken for Kirstie Alley while I sunbathe at the beach. The fight is on! Right after I take a nap.