I have cellulite. I’m not quite sure when this happened because I’ve always liked my legs. At least I’ve liked my legs as much as a dancer who’s spent two decades scrutinizing her appearance in floor-to-ceiling studio mirrors is actually allowed to like her legs (which to say, not very much: my calves are too chunky, my inner thighs actually touch, my knees are absolutely hideous and I still have that scar from sliding head first into home plate during my short lived career as the first baseman on my junior high softball team). All things considered, however, I take pride in my legs.
At least I used to. Now they have betrayed me.
I was sitting on my bed a few nights ago, clad in the usual mismatched undergarments that count for pajamas in my book, when I noticed a bit of cottage cheese out of the corner of my eye. Note: I was not eating cottage cheese. I was eating chocolate covered almonds (dark chocolate, mind you, which is rich in antioxidants, and almonds, which are rich in protein, so they’re practically a health food). I had just come from the gym—the freaking Planet Fitness Gym on Oregon Ave. for crying out loud—and there upon my right thigh was an entire colony of cottage cheesy cellulite.
I recoiled in horror, but you can only get so far away from your own right leg, and my left side wasn’t looking so great either.
The good thing about cellulite is that when you shift positions it miraculously disappears (so really it’s only the thigh squashing seated positions I have to worry about). The bad thing about cellulite is that it never really goes away. At any moment, when you least expect it, the cottage cheese could come back.
Say you’re at the beach, frolicking around in your bikini and having a perfectly lovely time. You work up a bit of an appetite so you prance over to your beach towel (chest bouncing a la Baywatch if you’re one of the lucky ones; maybe someday I’ll know what this feels like). You are just about to reach for a handful of low sodium, low fat, baked-not-fried Sunchips (biodegradable bag and the whole nine yards) when suddenly: BAAM! It’s back. You’ve got dimples on your thighs big enough to store your cell phone.
It’s not fair. I go to the gym. I always walk (rather than drive) to the library. I watch what I eat (it’s true, you’ll never see me popping chocolate covered pomegranates with my eyes closed) so when did this happen?
I suspect that it’s because I’m almost 25. I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s all downhill after 25. And so, with my birthday looming in the not so distant future, I’m going to attempt to preserve what youthful radiance and elasticity I can before it’s too late.
Stay tuned. I’ve amassed but never used a frightening array of sample products over the years; I think its high time to dig them out of the medicine chest, dust them off and get started (a project which I can assure you has “disaster” written all over it.)