An Open Letter to My Skinny Jeans

Dear Skinny Jeans,

Please stop taunting me. I tried to put you on, and it’s not working out. I’ve had a long, stressful summer and though my triathlon training has kept me in good shape and I was able to hang out with you on a somewhat regular basis, I’ve really enjoyed my time off after the marathon in September and I haven’t missed you that much.

I’ve been spending my evenings at home, eating Cheetos and drinking wine while watching re-runs of The Office and dabbling in the occasional bag of M&Ms. I’ve been giving in to any old whim – from peanut butter milkshakes for breakfast to night-caps of Port wine and Grand Marnier (yes, even after several glasses of chardonnay). And what’s it to you? Most of my year is devoted to being in shape and training for races where I spend a great deal of time in some combination of form-fitting neoprene, unforgiving bike shorts, and sports bras. As much as I love to reward myself by donning you with cute tank tops and high heels, I need a break from all of that when the training season ends.

And really, you should be happy about this. You’re such a prima donna. I don’t know why you insist on trying to hang around with me in the fall when I’m trying to decide the best course of action for removing my black toenails. You always complain when I pair you with the same boring pair of black heels, or worse, sneakers. But you can’t have it all, Skinny Jeans. If you want to stay in my life, we’ve got to keep the 20-mile runs and 7-hour bike rides coming – and that means my toenails will be taking one for the team, so you’ll have to get used to me adjusting my footwear accordingly.

And don’t start with me about the alcohol consumption. Yes, I know that drinking less wine would help keep the weight down in the off-season, but are you kidding me? Don’t you recall how many happy hours we had to skip or parties we had to cut short over the summer because we had to get home and hydrate and then go to sleep in order to get important workouts completed the next day? Seriously, you’re such a slave driver asking me to meet all these demands just so YOU can get out once in a while. It’s not all about you, you know.

I know you’ve seen me hanging around new, bigger jeans. It’s not like you hide your feelings. Do you really think you’re being subtle when I put them on and hear you mooing in the background? Get over yourself. The last time we tried to hang out together, you left me battered and bruised with imprints of seams seared into my flesh as if you had branded them there. And any attempt to sit down made me feel as if someone was performing the Heimlich maneuver on me.

At first I thought that maybe you were being difficult because you’d just come out of the dryer. You always fight me a little after laundry day, but then you come around and realize that I only wash you because I love you. We go back to our usual routine of looking fabulous and strutting around like divas. But these days you don’t even give me the range of motion to strut. It’s almost like you’re punishing me for taking some time off from training. And lately you’re just being downright rude – THAT is why you were sorted out from my other clothes and placed in the “tentative donation” pile. You keep this crappy attitude up, and the next place you’re headed is the black garbage bag of doom. Or better yet, maybe you’d like to cozy up to a used toaster oven as you wait for a neighborhood garage sale to seal your fate.

So here’s what I want to say to you, Skinny Jeans. We’ve come a long way. We rocked college together and then you made it through three years in New York City with me, and you’ve been holding your own now for significant periods of time in the past five years since I’ve moved back to Syracuse and gotten into the multi-sport lifestyle. I know that I’ve gained more weight than usual in the past two years, but I was going through a lot with a broken engagement, moving into a new apartment, starting a new job and cutting way back on training after my first-ever Ironman race. You need to relax and let me enjoy this time off before I start my training again in March.

No more complaining about my frozen pizza dinners. No more passive aggressive comments about watching a week’s worth of General Hospital on my DVR in one sitting. And absolutely no more trash-talking my fat jeans. They’ve been good to me, you know. Unlike you, they’re kind and gentle and embrace my sneakers and the present circumference of my hips. They’re even friends with my sweatpants (have some tact here, and just continue reading without taking any low blows).

Take care of yourself, Skinny Jeans, because we will cross paths again. I hope you can consider my feelings and try to take the high road the next time I’m in the off-season. I’ll remember who my real friends are when I’m back on top of my game.