The Pity Party Postulate

I realize that I make a lot of jokes about my weight, about my fitness goals, etc. Mostly I am being sarcastic and there is no sarcastic font.

Or is there?

I am on Facebook and while I was previously a huge FB addict, I use it mostly to share pictures with friends and family as well as the occasional goofy observation about life.

In keeping with the spirit of my recent half marathon, I wanted to share one of my posts from Facebook:

That non-awkward moment walking next to two teachers (both prime number dress sizes in single digits; that means their dress sizes were 1, 2, 3, 5 or 7) who were both talking about how “big” each were while I’m holding a venti mocha and eating a chocolate donut. I’m thinking, “Pffft. I just did a half-marathon, am able to do REAL push-ups, and can dance all night in platforms. Y’all need to CHILL.”

I added later:

“I don’t hate the skinnies! I detest self-loathing, pity parties, and poor body image! Strive for strength and always be ready to par-tay in heels!”

I know everyone is fighting their own battle. It does sting though when woman complaining about her size 2 jeans, a woman who is a fraction of the size of yourself, and yet my own complaint might sting someone else who is in the same boat.

Maybe we should have ground rules.

Nah, ground rules would get too complicated. How about we all just have a glass of moscato instead?





Um, why yes, those are screen shots of my Pinterest account.

Dear Boston


Dear Boston,

I’ve never seen you in person but I know you’re beautiful.

The day after the horrible tragedy I went to the gym. The first time in weeks. The following day I went again.

All this week I’ve been wearing the shirts I’ve gotten from races that I walked or run. No, shirts I have earned.

Last year I set my sights on running my first half marathon, a goal I quickly deemed a mere dream.

Life got in the way. Excuses piled higher than the laundry (albeit clean) in my room. The dream became a fantasy.

But I can’t do that, Boston.

I won’t.

You with your courageous survivors, with your brave residents who ran toward danger. You with three casualties. Three who were there to enjoy the race in your fine city.

You who will not cease this glorious tradition of the Boston Marathon.

Thank you, Boston. Thank you for reminding me that I am a runner. I run for you.