Weight For It

"Don't throw that in the Goodwill pile, honey. Wait and see. You might use it someday." --my mother, Becky Nelson, circa mid 1980s? or at least for as long as I can remember.


I drive a mullet car. And I'm okay with it. It's an unassuming beige 1997 Honda Accord with a spoiler on the back and almost 300,000 miles on the engine. It gets me from point A to B, has moderately comfortable seats, a detachable radio face that plays my books on cd and two cup holders for my water bottle and coffee mug. I keep it relatively clean, as I do spend almost 2 hours a day in it 5 days a week. I have a small garbage can that sometimes gets a little full and occasionally I can't decide which book to start "reading" so there will be loose cds and cases strewn about, but never for very long. I am an interesting mix of my mother and father in that regard. My mother abhorred any sort of clutter or trash or dust in her car and used to pay me to vacuum and clean it as a kid. My dad's car couldn't be a more stark contrast. He has library books, books on tape, lunch sacks (usually empty), receipts, gloves, shoes, etc. The list goes on and actually it's always a little fun to ride in his eggplant-colored FJ Cruiser now, as it's like an archaeological peek into his life. But the trunk of my car is the proverbial closet where you stuff everything when you find out you're having unexpected visitors at your house and you haven't been very tidy lately. Ergo, a mullet car: business and cleanliness in the front, and party and what seems like mayhem at times in the back in the trunk.

This clever (or at least I thought it was) analogy came to me this weekend as I pulled out items from the trunk to give to Goodwill. The give-away pile, library items to return, clothes and/or gifts to take back (there are still some from Christmas to exchange, yikes), and a myriad of strange car-type things like a quart of oil, oil filter and funnel, jug of water, jumper cables, a wrench, and screwdriver all call my trunk home. It's almost horrifying at times. And every time I open it, I vow to return/exchange/purge everything in there.

The last Christmas present my late mother-in-law gave me is in the trunk right now tucked into a Nordstrom bag with the receipt. It is a workout top that I think is made for serious gym-goers and those cool bendy stretchy people that do yoga and pilates and always seem to look fashionable even as they sweat. (I am neither of those things. YET. Working on it - stay tuned). It's purple and lavender and designed to be just thrown over the top of whatever you're wearing to work out in. She watched me closely as I opened it and held it up to check the fit. It is very loose fitting, has huge sleeves and unfortunately is one of those items that usually only looks good on the mannequin that's wearing it in the store display. I don't feel confident that it is made for someone that is built like me. It seems like it would look good on a super skinny person that is naturally thin, can eat whatever she wants with no consequences, and doesn't even know what people do in a gym. It just looks like a tent on me. And not like a cool sleek REI tent. Just like a tent masquerading as a mu mu. But I know she bought it for me because of the quest I embarked on in August 2012 to eat a (mostly) Paleo diet and get myself back to running shape. She would quietly encourage me every time I saw her. She didn't make me feel uncomfortable with her remarks about my weight loss and that she could notice the difference. She was just matter of fact and refused to listen as I thanked her for the compliment and then sheepishly confessed that I felt a journey like this is often a little embarrassing. You want people to notice that you are looking healthier because you want your hard work and new habits to be noticed and to feel validated. But it can also be mortifying to recognize just how much weight there is to lose and you can't believe how long it's been there and then there is the horrifying fear of failure and that it may never comes off. She would just shake her head and say who cares about the number of pounds that need to go away and good for you and keep going and you can do it and of course you'll be successful.

As we packed up and headed out to the car that night, I thanked her again for the gift. She looked me in the eye and said to please return/exchange it if I didn't like it and that she wouldn't be offended and she wanted me to have something that I liked and would use. I looked at her and said I would, all the while knowing I wouldn't. How could I possibly return it when it is the last Christmas gift she bought for me and knowing the thought and care that went into it. There was an interesting exchange then between us that happened without very many words. She unblinking looked at me and her look told me that I should be more practical and not so sentimental. That I shouldn't hold on to something that didn't fit or work for me just because she picked it up off the rack, looked at it, intentionally chose the purple/lavender one (which is one of my favorite colors and scents) and wrapped it for me thinking it was something I could use and that it was the last thing she gave me. Her look told me to keep on keeping on. To keep climbing on the treadmill everyday and keep trading gluten, dairy, wheat, etc for meat, vegetables and fruit since it was making me feel better and get healthier and to keep buying clothes that were just a little too small because soon they would fit. Her look told me to move on and to not let her illness get me down or derail my progress. That her cancer diagnosis was a part of life. And that she was okay with it. And that she loved me and that she was happy to be a part of my life and to help me continue on with my positive lifestyle changes.

I retrieved my library items from the trunk today and ran them over to the slot that is always kinda fun to open and feed books through it and to listen for the loud thud as the books hit the pile. I then paused for a minute as I always do and wondered what other books were down there with the ones I had just returned and if I would like any of them. I snapped out of my reverie as I realized I was parked in the no-parking zone in the front and the engine was still running (yes, I am one of those annoying people I'm ashamed to admit). I dodged some glares from fellow library patrons and hurried over to close the trunk which was looking more empty and organized than it had been in months. I'll have another stack of library items to return soon since my latest vice is "junk food" for my brain: mindless mystery novels - for both reading and listening. And another round of spring cleaning next week will yield an even bigger Goodwill pile. The Nordstrom's bag will stay in the trunk a little longer, though. I can't bear to be practical and part with it just yet. And I'd like to wait (and weight) to see if I have a use for it. I have a feeling it's already being used and I just haven't realized it yet.