You know what happens when most people run? They get slim, lean bodies with flab-to-fab bellies, chiseled legs and arms.
You know what happens to me when I run? Thighs. Thighs all over. I slimmed a tiny bit (only to toss it all back on by eating my weight in seafood on vacation and then subsequently discovering a co-worker’s chocolate cache). But mostly I have just added epic mass to my thighs. Granted, it’s clear that the big bulge over my knee is many-miles-earned muscle rather than many-muffins-eaten fat. My pants, however, do no know the difference and are staging a coup against me. Everything is now too tight in the thighs. Fitting, and even loose in the middle and over my non-existent tookus (aren’t runners supposed to have great butts? I would settle for just having a butt…), but the fabric of my pants is stretched to the limit over the Thundering Thighs of the Tubby Trotter.
TGISS. (Thank Goodness It’s Skirt Season).