I am not a sweatpants kind of girl. In high school gym class, when I wasn’t skipping to smoke behind the tennis courts, I wore jeans until the teacher yelled at me and threatened to flunk me, and then I wore shorts. Sweatpants in days of yore were so lame, with their drawstrings and tight, elastic ankles. Gross. Who wants to wear fuzzy jodhoppers? Not me. Also, the word “sweat” is in their name. And we all know that sweating is disgusting. Who wants to sweat in their pants? Not me, that’s for damn sure.
Then I grew up, and discovered that through the magic of yoga I could get some exercise and not get all gross. However, yoga in jeans is not that awesome and I live in Maine so yoga in shorts isn’t preferable either. I was going to have to get some yoga specific work
out gear. So, in the early 2000s, yoga pants and I met for the first time.
I should have known the dangers when a pregnant friend told me she saved money on maternity clothes by wearing her yoga pants all the time. She was well into her 3rd trimester.
It was love at first wear. Stretchy, but not so stretchy I felt like I was one of those leggings wearing ladies. Thick enough to not show my underwear lines or my cellulite, and with a flattering flared leg, yoga pants were a level of comfort previously only known to the sweat pants people. I started wearing yoga pants all the time. Not just when I was doing yoga. I would wear them to bed, and then just wear them all day. So, yes, I was wearing my pajamas all day. Sometimes I would do yoga in them. Usually not though. Usually I sat around and dicked around on Myspace and googled things and wrote articles about how hard it is to be a writer. Yeah, pretty much what I do all day now, except now I dick around on Facebook and Twitter.
In 2005, I had Kid, and crossed a self-imposed line with my yoga pants. I wore them out into the world, grocery shopping and stuff. I also usually wore (and still wear, that’s another post all together) a very long winter coat that hides what’s underneath. The out into the world line was one of those self-imposed restrictions that addicts often make up. You know like, “I don’t have a problem if I don’t drink before noon”. I had crossed that line. But I had an excuse! I had a small child! I didn’t have time for things like changing pants!
I started noticing things about myself, namely, that my regular pants didn’t really fit anymore. But, my yoga pants are the same size! Oh, the miracle of lycra. Since I first bought my yoga pants, you know, to work out in – I have gained about 30 lbs. And no, it’s not from the Kid. I lost all my baby weight pretty fast. This is new, fat ass lazy weight. See, when you wear yoga pants all the time, you lose all perception of how fat your ass is.
I finally realized I had a problem the other day when I was putting away my laundry. I am down to 3 ill-fitting pair of jeans, and about 7 pair of yoga pants. It’s like a disease. They keep multiplying, and so do my belly rolls. I have since resolved to put my pants on every day. My real pants. Pants with no lycra and proper buttons and zippers and what not.
Yoga pants turned me into a much jigglier version of my former self. Do I blame my sedentary lifestyle, love of beer, and butter? Hell no. I blame the pants.