Wasted on Thighs

How much of your life is wasted complaining or wishing you could change something completely insignificant about yourself?



I'll be honest, about 2 hours was wasted yesterday complaining to my sweet husband, who was about to tape my mouth shut so he didn't have to listen to one more word, about how ridiculously big my thighs are.

Thighs.  Seriously?

In case you didn't know the Northwest is in complete disarray.  Snow + days and days and days of rain = houses flooding, roads are rivers and my dog refuses to go outside.  Yet, I complain about thighs.

I know it is ridiculous and when I actually hear {or see} every word that escapes my tongue {or fingertips} I want to immediately pull it back and accept that there are bigger things to worry about, better places to direct my energy.

Yet, it sits there in the back of my mind.  Those thighs.

Kelley, Amber, Shannon in Australia.  We are thinking about starting a synchronized swimming team.

See here is the thing.  I try to be healthy.  Try.  We all know I am a sucker for sugar and all things peanut butter.  I could talk about eating a jar of straight peanut butter all day.  But talk is cheap and the actual gorging of these foods is rare.  I take my vitamins, double up my water, drink way less soda than ever before and serve healthy cooking in our house.

I was given these thighs.  They come from a long line of strong legged people on my mom's side.  Maybe they were log rollers {I don'y even know if that's a thing} or the people to carried all the food and children through villages. Maybe.  I have always known they weren't tiny.  I mean by no stretch of the mind have I EVER been chicken legged. They come fairly toned.  My mom, bless her heart, doesn't exercise and can still flex her her quads and calves with the best of them. She loves it.

Now let me tell you a little secret.  I am an all or nothing kind of gal.  I don't want to start my laundry if I can't get everything piled in the laundry room done. I can't stand decorating one room knowing there is a whole house that needs the same treatment.  I won't start a book unless I know there is time for reading and I hate working out unless there is serious sweat dripping from my face and my muscles are burning.  It's a blessing curse blessing...me.

How does this all relate back to my giant thighs, you ask?  Let's talk more about working out.
Pretend that thighs were measured on a scale from 1 - 10.
You see when I do nothing, my thighs shrink from 9 to 6.
But when I am working out they jump from 6 - 10 in a matter of DAYS!  Days I tell you.  In the last week, I have GAINED a half inch on each thigh.

Catch 22, right?  Work out, keep the flab down and the heart healthy and my pants get tighter around my legs.  One half inch in a pair of skinny jeans is basically ripping the seam, my friends! Or, don't work out, feel lazy and fit into pants.... lose-lose.

So now I said it and I leave it here.  I have wasted another 30 mins of  life and I am done.
Thank you genetics for giving me strong legs.  Thank you legs for carrying me mile after mile and allowing me to jump and squat and jump and lunge and growing stronger so you can sustain more. You're really only protecting us and we are a force to be reckon with when squatting heavy weight.  Plus, maybe one day we will carry many children through villages. Or at least up and down stairs.

Now I love myself again and I need new pants.