I Love My Sweats (aka: My Fat Pants)

By: Susan Farago

Fat pants - old and new.

Like many SweatyShes, I have spent a lot of money over the years on workout clothes. Fabrics that promise to be high tech, anti-chafing, super warm, fashionable, moisture wicking, slightly compressing, color coordinated, etc. etc. But at the end of a hard workout or just a long day, I always reach for my good old fashioned, soft, reliable, somewhat threadbare, sweat pants. I also refer to them as my "fat pants" because a) I don't have to suck anything in and b) they are nice and baggy. I didn't think much about the fashion statement (or lack thereof) that my choice in apparel was emitting at home until I had this conversation with my husband Leary:

 

Me: I'm going to hop in the shower and then put on my comfy fat pants.

Leary: (without even hesitating) Oh you mean your pink sweats?

Me: How did you know that's what I was talking about.

Leary: (Sensing a trap comparable to, "Does this make my butt look big?, he paused.) Um...I was just guessing.

Me: That was close. You almost got into trouble.

Leary: (huge internal sigh of relief)

 

Truth be told I'm OK with my sweats being known as my fat pants. After all, they aren't exactly slimming. I only wear them around the house, with the exception of one time involving a late night Christmas cookie exchange in a Walgreen's parking lot with my friend Kelly H. And while I'm sure my husband would prefer me to lounge around like a Victoria's Secret model,  it's just not going to happen. The last time I visited a VS store I got into an argument with the sales lady because I asked her to show me a bra that I could wear while playing volleyball AND have my boobs actually remain in the bra. I am all about function and compression when it comes to bras, and my logic was that if a VS bra could do that, then it could withstand the rigors of my day. The argument arose because clearly this woman has never played volleyball, or her version of volleyball is to stand perfectly still, arms down, and not move...ever.

 

I recently realized that my pink fat pants were looking a bit old and tired and might need to be replaced. A couple of weeks ago while we were on vacation in New Mexico, right there in CB Fox's department store, I found a whole rack of Russell Athletic sweat tops and bottoms. SCORE! I told my husband I was going to get some new bottoms and he said, "Please don't." I said, "Oh come on. You can even pick out the color!" and I proceeded to hold up luxuriously thick, fuzzy pants in beautiful shades of heather gray, hunter green, navy, and basic black. He shook his head and walked to the other side of the men's department. "Fine!" I yelled across several racks, "You had your chance!" I opted for the heather gray, thinking the color would match many other things I wear around the house, like Leary's v-neck white Hanes t-shirts for instance.

 

I walked up to the register to pay for my sweats and Leary said, "Don't you want to look in the women's department for sweats?" "Women don't wear sweats", I responded. It's moments like this when I wonder if he questions his choice in marital life partner.

 

Later that day we went for a long trail run in the Jemez Mountains. That evening as I stepped out of the shower, I reached for my new sweats. They felt HEAVENLY! I walked into the kitchen and modeled them for Leary. My #2 fat pants. Leary just smiled and handed me a glass of wine and I said, "Just like home."
 

 

Lance Used Spin Classes

By: Susan Farago

Lance a-la spin class style!

I recently purchased the World Cycling 1999-2006 Tour de France DVD Collection. Over 30 hours of awesome cycling complete with all that Lance brought to the tours during his 7 year reign. Love him or hate him, you have to admit he added a certain level of excitement to the tour.

I just finished watching the 2001 Alpe d'Huez stage where Lance "opened up his suitcase of courage" and "stomped his authority all over this race" (gotta love Paul Sherwen and Phil Liggett - the ONLY commentators who have the right to cover this race). And while I watched Lance pull away from his closest competitors on the epic mountain stages, I had an epiphany. Doping aside, I realized what must have been the key to his success. Spin classes.

Out of the saddle!

I'm not talking about spin classes taught by cyclists. I'm talking about the crazy, jumping in and out of your seat, riding no hands, singing to the music (I'm not kidding), aerobics instructors who teach "aerobics on a bike". Up until now I always poo-pooed these classes. Call me a conventional cyclist, but I don't ride completely vertical out of the saddle, with my fingertips barely touching the bars, while stretching my neck. But after watching Lance zip up these mountain passages, out of the saddle with his super high cadence, I got to thinking there might just be something to all that "out of the saddle" riding.

So I went to a spin class taught by an instructor (let's call him Doug) who absolutely drove me crazy, and I vowed never to return. Keeping an open mind, I sat...or rather stood...through Doug's 50 minutes of ubber enthusiastic instruction and I channeled Lance. I envisioned Marco Pantani or Jan Ullrich behind me in a massive mountain chase as I tried to make the "elastic snap". I stomped on those pedals with a super high cadence and I felt my heart rate soar through the roof and my calves burn. At the end of the class when we finally got to sit down, I felt a different sort of success. While I'm pretty sure I didn't use my quad or glute muscles at all (thanks to the help of my body weight mashing down on the pedals) I did feel one step closer to Lance...minus the doping.

*Photos courtesy Google images search (2013).

Let a Girl Eat!

By: Susan Farago



Bowls of Chili: Mine versus His.
And yes the glass of red wine is mine too.

I have always been a "fan of food" and eating has never been much of an issue other than I like to do it...a lot! As a child I snacked all the time, whether it was Mom's fresh baked brownies after school or something straight from the garden - dirt particles and all. Boys who asked me on dates quickly found out that I was not the typical, "I'll have a salad and a glass of water" type of gal. And when my husband and I were first dating in college, he introduced me to the concept of having dessert after each meal. I knew at that moment we were meant to be! (That plus he knew how to fix cars.)

Thankfully a combination of being exemely active and somewhat decent genes has kept me from weighing a bazillion pounds. At 43 years old, I still weigh less than when I was in college (I'm 5'9" and 140 lbs). However, recently I've had a few food encounters that have reminded me of what a healthy eater I am. But I've held my own against sideways looks, judgement, and comments:

Female Server Person at La Madeline Bakery:
Me: I'd like some scrambled eggs, a bowl of soup, and a baguette.
Her: OK.
My Husband: I'd also like some scrambled eggs but no baguette.
Me (to Her): I'll have his baguette.
Her: You want TWO baguettes? (Voice and eyebrows raised simultaneously to emphasize "two".)
Me: Don't judge me!
Her: Um..I didn't mean to...um...OK. Two baguettes.

Bagel Maker Dude at Einsteins:
Me: I'd like two honey bagels with honey walnut creme cheese.
Him: You want TWO bagels? For just you? (Same tone and eyebrows as La Madeline server.)
Me: Yes. Two bagels. I am hungry. Is there an issue?
Him: (clears throat) No ma'am. No issue.

Waiter at Maudie's TexMex Restaurant:
Him: OK, who ordered the fish taco platter.
Me: I did.
Him: Wow. Are you going to eat all of that yourself?
Me: Um, YEAH (as in, "Uh...DUH!).
Him: That's a lot of food.
Me: What are you saying?
Him: Um, nothing. Enjoy!

Dad and I
Official "Consumers" of Mom's cooking.

My husband has made his fair share of comments that would have likely gotten him killed had he been married to any other female. Comments have ranged from food-specific, "Wow, are you going to eat ALL of that?" to clothing specific, "These spandex shorts were in my drawer and they are tight on me so they must be yours." Yes. He is still alive. But then again, this is the same man who, on our second date, looked longingly into my eyes and while holding my hand said, "You know, you're the biggest girl I've ever dated." I think he meant tallest.

I have a feeling that age and metabolism will tell me when I have to start shifting the volume and content of what I eat. I can already tell that a week of Mom's wonderfully delicious cooking "sticks" a little longer than it used to and requires a few extra workouts to burn off. But as long as I am healthy, my weight is consistent, and my cholesterol is in check, then look out world -- LET A GIRL EAT!