It seems that as I've aged, my metabolism has slowed down, or perhaps it rests entirely on the fact that I've been a lazy bum these past two years. I guess I could have jogged in a light mist, where it would've been foolish to skate.
My mother told me that one of my older male cousins, too, has put on a little weight. He, too, had been slim without exercise most of his life, not counting sweating in marching band uniforms in high school and college.
It was a given in my family that the women were heavy and the men beanpoles. There's an article online in the health section of the NY Times, In Mauritania, Seeking to End an Overfed Ideal, that talks about an African city where female obesity was an ideal, and now, they're trying to correct and reverse their thinking.Female or male obesity isn't an ideal. I wouldn't want to live in a society that valued girth over healthy living as a sign of wealth or fertility.
I felt my weight gain as I maneuvered the potholes on my blades yesterday. I'd never had extra weight on back as I twisted, turned, and danced to the music in the outdoor roller rink summers past. I'm not Jabba the Hut, but I'm not happy right now. So much has changed since I last worked in an office with a corporate discount at NYHRC. It's not a stretch that I was more active working five days a week on a helpdesk, attending to the needs of secretaries and V.P.'s
Central Park will have to substitute as my gym of choice from this point forward. I'll miss the whirlpool, sauna, and fresh towels. I won't throw away my carton of Epsom Salt and wintergreen alcohol in the days ahead when I'm achy and stiff from my double-click fitness plan of jogging and skating.