Fit to Print Volume 23 Issue 2: June 2014 | Page 14
M e m b e r Pe r s p e c t i v e
By Christine Jelley
The 55 Year Old Bridesmaid
Caution: May Be Too Sensitive for Certain Readers
emotional reactions, the “wow”
factor or lack of it, etc. The post
game is usually at a diner, a place I'm
already avoiding in order to fit into a
bridesmaid gown.
Logic aside, something shifted in my
brain during shopping trip number
three, and I forgot that I should be
looking for an age-appropriate dress.
Unfortunately, half the bridal party is
age 50+ and the other half is in their
early 30s. Two full generations
separate what is “age-appropriate.”
And younger women always win
Part One
I feel the vein on the side
of my forehead pulsating
with hunger, a repetitive
conga beat that echoed
my depravation.
April 24, 2014
A
s we scratched our way through
this hellish winter, a friend got
engaged. Ah, love. I haven't been
to a wedding in a long time, and a
September wedding date gives me
plenty of time to get back to an “I
mean business” schedule at the gym. I
imagined shopping for a cute cocktail
dress, impractical heels, and smoky eye
makeup. Then I got the call, a request
to be a bridesmaid. I am 55 years old
and have two sons in their 20s, which
squarely puts me in “Mother of the
Groom” territory. “Here we go,” I
thought. “Gowns, arms, alterations,
bachelorette parties...” I haven't been
in a wedding party in 26 years, with
good reason. I'm old. But she needed
me. I responded “yes” without
hesitation.
I soon joined my friend on a series of
gown hunts. When a TV bride says, “Yes
to the Dress,” I am on the couch
nodding, disagreeing or dabbing the
odd tear. One of the reasons I get so
involved in it is that the drama is over
in 30 minutes. Real shopping trips are
significantly longer with pros and cons
lists, detailed analysis of fabric, drape,
14
because a.) Older women are too
tired to argue b.) We don't care
nearly as much.
As the maid of honor and bride
narrowed the choices of gowns, I hit
the spin and yoga rooms with
renewed zest. I love a good deadline.
Tighten up and lose 10-15 pounds in
six months time. Really try to make
Eileen's spin/arms torture sessions on
Wednesday and Friday mornings. My
son added My Fitness Pal to my smart
phone, a handy little app that easily
permits me to calculate the number
of calories I need per day in order to
lose two pounds of weight per week.
It also automatically adds extra
usable calories based on exercise
done that day. My particulars
afforded me 1200 calories. This will
be a cakewalk, I thought. No biggie.
I've done this before.
Ten days later, I can report that 1200
calories/day has me starving. I feel
the vein on the side of my forehead
pulsating with hunger, a repetitive
conga beat that echoed my
Summer 2014 FIT to Print
deprivation. I initially weighed in at the
gym without my reading glasses and
had no idea what the true start weight
was, so I estimated. After these
imprecise maneuvers, there was no real
way to gauge how I was doing. It
appeared that I lost 1.5 pounds in ten
days. Let's put it this way. I lost
virtually nothing, and yet I was not all
that discouraged. <> I vowed to weigh in
wearing glasses from here on and just
stay the course. I also upped my
calories to 1500/day and reduced the
weight loss goal to one pound a week.
So ridiculously reasonable, I didn't even
know myself any more.
Immediately thereafter, I went on a
one week diet/spin break because a
new medication was giving me daily
headaches and heart palpitations and I
thought I might drop dead on the spin
bike and I'd rather drop dead at home
in front of, “Say Yes to the Dress:
Bridesmaids.” The problem has since
resolved, so no need for anyone to dry
clean the black linen dress or run to
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