You can usually find me on the track at McKinley Park several times a week. My running has become more steady and strong, with some noticeably increased speed. The running is wrapped with things like burpees and bear claws and mountain climbers, all of which require a large amount of coordination that I do not possess but am working on. The gains are far surpassing the losses and this is a really good thing.
The winter season can have some inpredictability here, but deals in extremes. This year in particular we have been plagued with atmospheric rivers and the bright sunshine, sometimes in the same day. Those days in particular the ground doesn’t dry out quickly enough and when the cloud cover leaves it tends to get cold, at least cold by this Californians standards.
On a recent particular bright and sunny, yet cold day, I found myself at the park to run in the later afternoon. My usual running partner and I had some scheduling conflicts this particular week so we were off on our workouts, so I went alone. I got to the park, slid my keys into the left pocket of my running pants and my phone into the right after I had turned on my running playlist. I walked the first song to warm up and rounded the corner as Eminem’s 8 Mile blared through my headphones. In a weird twist, this song gets my feet moving. I picked up my pace as I started down the straight away. I hit a stride that seemed faster than my norm and it felt good. My breathing was effective and I felt good about this too. The further I got down the path I began to feel the cold air on my back which was odd because I was fully dressed. Why would the back of my hoodie and my shirt underneath be riding up? Because they weren’t. My pants were falling down.
Yes, you read that right. On the path, along H Street, I was beginning to show all the fancy East Sac people my white bum as I ran along the path. I averted the crisis somewhat immediately as I stopped and hiked up my pants. And in all honesty, I don’t live in this part of town so it’s not like these folks see me everyday, nor do I have anything they haven’t seen on their own selves. But I don’t need a Nextdoor post about ghostly white woman, running around the McKinley park with my butt hanging out.
Once I had secured the pants in their proper place, I started out again. I wasn’t going to let this stop me. Five strides in and the pants started coming down again. Ok, I’ll just walk it. Two laps in a somewhat of a megar speed walking fashion. I got back in the car and began laughing. Nothing more I could really do, but just laugh. And in the midst of my laughter I realized, this is something that nobody talks about. In all the stuff out there about losing weight and how great it is, nobody says that your underwear will one day soon be too big and your risk your pants falling down. And it’s a thing. This is not the first time it has happened to me, the drawstring on the pajama pants is there for a reason, and it has happened to a friend of mine.
I still wear pants that are least one size to big, close to two sizes, and wear a belt. (Thank God for spandex in the skinny jeans, otherwise I’d probably be stepping out of those too.) I had to buy a couple pairs of dress pants, because jeans are not appropriate interview wear. But no one has ever gone over the underwear issue. The “honesty” and “weight loss sisterhood” of the internet has failed me. But I will draw the line and not let it fail anyone else. Well, I just won’t let it fail the seventeen people who will most likely actually read this.
The bottom line is this… if this is the worst thing to happen to me on this journey is that I loose my pants and a gaggle of people get a look at my shockingly white derriere, then so be it. If anything they will get a good laugh and remember the woman who lost her pants because her underwear is too big, all because she finally took a hold of her life and changed her ways. Well, at least some of them.
extraordinary 