When you’re married to a really thin person.
You ever seen those couples who get up at 6 a.m., put on matching hoodies and go jogging together? They usually “fuel” with some kind of green juice before lacing up, then do some stretches on the edge of a track and run laps side-by-side before exchanging high-fives at the finish line.
Vinny and I are not that couple. I’d like for us to be that couple, to a certain extent. Maybe not necessarily jogging (because I hate it), but it’d be great if we ate well and participated in some type of exercise either separately or together, and routinely. As we get older, I think more and more about how important it is for us to lead a long life together and it feels like if we form some good habits now it will ensure we have energy and good health later. I really like this guy, so I’m hoping to ride this thing out as long as we can.
If you’ve not yet noticed, I am married to a very slim person. A naturally slim person. The kind of person who can throw back an entire crumb cake without feeling a tug on his waistband, who’s never had to ask himself if a moment on the lips is worth a lifetime on the hips. In the nearly 14 years that I have known him, Vinny has gained weight exactly twice. One time was during a two-month road trip when he spent 8 hours a day in a car seat, stopping only to buy drive-through hamburgers, and the second time was when he broke his ankle in two places and was bed-bound for three months. Both times he gained weight in the exact area that needed filling out, and stayed perfectly trim and hard as a rock everywhere else. This is all to say that Vinny has never worried about weight gain a day in his life. Oh! And in other news that falls under the category of life isn’t fair, his eyelashes are really long and dark too.
Whereas my husband’s svelte figure comes naturally, my relative thinness is the result of a faithful combination of bargaining, restriction and prayer. I don’t have a fast metabolism, so bad habits catch up to me quickly. I’m not tall, so two new pounds looks like seven. If I was bed-bound for three months, my entire body would turn into spongy mush and my face would be round as pie. I wouldn’t say that I’m fixated on my shape and size, but I’m definitely aware of what it takes to maintain a reasonable weight and healthy body and I really want to do so. As someone in her mid-30s, it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that I should probably be spending my Saturday mornings in a spin class, not the doughnut shop.
That said, last Saturday morning a miracle occurred. I convinced Vinny to lap the entire track of Central Park with me. We walked, of course. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.
And it was great!! The sun was shining, people were happy, frisbees were flying. Dogs were running, babies were laughing, joggers were panting. Seriously, as some of the only walkers on the jogging track, it was hard not to notice how much more effort and energy the joggers were putting into the endeavor. We actually felt bad for them. It didn’t sound fun what they were doing. We spent the first half of our walk amazed by how many joggers there were, and how awful it looked.
Then we got lapped by a guy in his mid-70s and felt extremely lazy.
Up around the northern part of the park, I started feeling stabby hunger pains. I have always lamented the fact that the only food you can find in the park are hot dogs, pretzels and ice cream bars, but this realization actually inspired my business side.
“Why aren’t there any food trucks in the park?” I asked. “Do you know how much money a smoothie cart or a taco truck would make parked right here? They’d make a fortune!” PS: If someone would be willing to back me financially, let’s work on this project. We spent the next part of our walk talking about food, and trying to figure out what we’d grab for lunch. After a few other options were thrown out (Oh! But the famous Levain cookies are soooo close!!), we kept our Saturday virtuous and decided we’d head to the salad bar at Whole Foods after our jaunt.
He looked at me and said, “Sounds good. We’ll do the salad bar.” I began to think we were turning into one of those matching hoodie couples. “But you know I’m getting tiramisu after, right?”
“Of course you are dear,” I said. I told him he was a great workout buddy, and gave him an enthusiastic high five right there on the track.