I've got some funky tan lines on my legs right now.
Which is noteworthy for two reasons.
1) My legs don't usually tan, and I suppose I have Louis Pasteur to thank (yet again) for the light dusting of brown on my gams because the low dose antibiotic that I take for my adult hormonal acne makes me photosensitive. So in addition to clearing up my skin, this miracle drug is saving me money because now I won't have to go to the tanning bed (I know, oh so bad for me, but I'm not going this year, don't worry).
2) The tan lines are from my socks and my shorts because I'm running outside. Do you know how bizarre this is for me? Until last year I didn't do much of anything outside. I don't mow the grass, I don't pull weeds, and I'll plant flowers with my daughter maybe once a year (if she pesters me enough). I always hated to sweat and hated the Indiana humidity and didn't like my hair to wilt in the heat. I love air conditioning--always have. So this running business has had me outside more than I've ever been in my adult life.
And now I have tan lines to prove it.
The ones on my thighs are no big deal, because I'm not into micro-mini's (Stacey and Clinton would have a fit if I were). The sock lines, however, are becoming an issue because it's skirt and short weather now. It looks like I'm wearing light-tan footless tights.
So I've got a dilemma on my hands. Do I (a) embrace the tan lines and wear them proudly as proof of my fine athletic self getting my run on in the great outdoors, or (b) self-tan the heck out of my ankles and feet and try for a match? EDIT: Or (c) Put sunscreen on my legs before I run so I avoid The Tan altogether. Duh.
I have to say, this is a problem I never dreamed I'd have. And with issues like these, who needs therapy?
Notice there's no weight listed today? Um, yeah, that's because it was Mother's Day Weekend and of course that meant dinner out Saturday at our favorite Japanese hibachi restaurant (then dessert at Cold Stone, which I swear I will not visit again until next Mother's Day), bagels for breakfast Sunday, and brunch at Bob Evans (cinnamon pancakes, oh my goodness) after church. I had a salad for dinner Sunday but then pretty much face-dived multiple times into carby crap, for no other reason than my body wanted it because that's what I'd fed it all weekend.
Sooo, today it's back to clean livin', and tomorrow (or the next, depending on whether I think I've surrendered the bloat) I'll weigh in. Thankfully there are no more holidays on the horizon where I'll have carte blanche to overeat.