Rock the Silver

The Cellulite Wars

About 20 years ago ago, we lived in Alabama. My sister-in-law came down from Maine to visit us. She had never been anywhere exciting, so we hopped in the car and drove to New Orleans for a weekend. We stayed in a room with two double beds. Cozy.

I didn't know her very well at the time, and we were getting acquainted fast. She had a peculiar diet that consisted mostly of french fries. Glad we picked New Orleans. Not famous for food or anything. I also discovered she had no filter -- she says whatever she thinks. Really.

It had been a long day, and we were chilling, getting ready to go out for dinner. My husband was in the bathtub. He often used to hang out in the tub and read. We called him Marat, after Jean-Paul, a notable of the French Revolution who had a skin disease and frequently soaked in medicinal baths. He was ultimately murdered in his bathtub. This fact will become relevant as this story unfolds.

The door to the bathroom was propped slightly open to let out some of the steam. My sister-in-law and I were trying to get dressed before Marat got out of the tub so as to avoid the awkward scene with his sister and his wife partially clothed. 

I was at the naked point, looking for underwear, when my sister-in-law popped her head up and said, "You know, Donna. I am amazed that with all the walking and exercise you do, you still have so much cellulite on your butt."

At this point, Dale's ears perked up, and he realized that no good could come of this. He's not a big guy. The tub was conveniently right next to the bathroom door, and he was facing the door, faucet down by his feet. He s-l-o-w-l-y put the book down on the bathmat outside the tub. He s-l-o-w-l-y slunk down as low into the water as he could, and then s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d his left leg until he touched doorknob.

I heard a tap, a rap and then a slam! Mission accomplished. Dale had successfully barricaded himself from whatever was about to take place in the bedroom. This could get ugly.

Here's the thing. I was hurt and shocked, and even though I remember it vividly 20 years later, sometimes my reactions in real time are almost stunted. I tell this story from time to time and everyone wants to know … what did you say?  What did you say when she said you were packing a lot of cottage cheese for a so-called athlete? 

I said, "I know. Go figure."

And The Cellulite Wars were over. Dale was not murdered in the tub, but interestingly, he doesn't take baths anymore. My sister-in-law and I went on to become good friends. She has developed more sophisticated eating habits. She travels well, but we don't share a room. She is a delightful person but still has no filter. I still walk and exercise, and I still have cellulite.

Cellulite. OK, I'm like, fine, whatever. But a part of me will never surrender. The way I see it, I've got forever to keep chipping away at it. Not trying to look good in a bikini by next summer. Just trying to see what long-term dedicated exercise can do for a body. I've been exercising religiously since the 70s. Personally, I see an improvement, and it has only been 30 years! Think how awesome I will look when I'm 80.

It's not about the car

I apologize for the public drool about my car, of all things. Not normally a car person. Not typically, oh, look what I have. Not totally the showy little hedonist I might seem. It's a hybrid not a Hummer or a BMW. Still. In retrospect, it was a bit much.

But just so you know, it's not about the car. It's about making purposeful choices that validate and celebrate who you are.  Your car, your clothes, your hair, where you live, how you spend your time, what you read, the music you listen to, what you say, what you think. I made a lot of compromises getting to 50, and I don't want to go through the other half of my life masquerading as Brand X.

I'm smart enough to know that "stuff" doesn't give you self-esteem. A wise friend in a dark moment once told me I seemed to have a big bucket with a hole in it. I kept looking for stuff to put in it, and she said I would never be happy until I plugged up the bottom. It took miracles, hard work and happenstance, but I managed to plug the hole.

Liking who I am these days, and I like expressing who I am in everything I do. It's empowering. That is why I rock the silver. It's more than plugging a hole, it's building a frigging dam. And that is why I am a stronger person than I was when I was 20, 30 or 40. It's a lot easier being me, and it's way more fun.

So, sail on, silver girls. The party's not over.

Crazy about my hybrid

I like old country-western music and listen to The Roadhouse on Sirius radio. Love the old stuff like Hank Williams and Kitty Wells, and the show has broadened my horizons. I just heard Jerry Lee Lewis do Middle Age Crazy, a 70s song about midlife crisis. He sings about giving up his Oldsmobile for a new Porsche car.

I've gone a little middle age crazy myself, and after 10 years of driving a Honda Accord, I bought a silver 2010 Ford Fusion Hybrid (FFH). Simple me, with simple needs, just doing my part for the environment. Yes, I do feel good about burning less fuel, but let's be honest, I'm not really much of an altruist. I like saving money on gas. Besides, it's a music machine and a very cool ride.

That's how I discovered The Roadhouse. Sirius came with the car. Plus, I can play CDs or access all the music on my iPod on voice command.

"USB. Play artist Leonard Cohen."

"USB. Play track Everybody Knows."

The car's bells and whistles are great, but my number one objective in life these days is to increase my fuel economy. Driving this car is like playing a game. I have become obsessed, and this should come as no surprise to those who formerly knew me as "the FreeCell Queen." 

 One display tells you when you are in electric mode, another gauge give instantaneous miles per gallon and yet another keeps adding leaves to a vine as you become more efficient. At the end of each trip, you get average miles per gallon.

This is exciting, because a single trip can yield 50 or 60 miles per gallon. Sometimes even more. It depends on how you drive, the traffic, if you're using the AC, if there's a lot of downhill, etc. I am disappointed when I get less than 40 mpg on a single trip -- and that happens fairly frequently on my drive home from work (traffic) and when I go shopping (lots of starts and stops). 

But the holy grail for me is long-term fuel economy. This is it. What am I really getting out of this car factoring in highway driving, in-town junkets and everything in between? In the beginning, I was disappointed, because the car is rated at 41 mpg for city and 36 for highway, and I was only in the 34 range.

But there are tricks to driving a hybrid. A little thing called "pulse and glide." You get the engine going and then you back off a little so that you maintain speed in electric mode. The FFH can cruise on electric up to 47 miles per hour, so if you're careful, you can squeeze out free miles.

Hypermiling techniques also help. This is about anticipating red lights and easing off the gas, coasting to stops, accelerating slowly and generally not trying to beat everyone to their destination. I am shocked by the number of people who are in the biggest hurry ever. I get passed and honked at by people racing to stop lights. I just don't get that. You're the big speedster, yes, but you already drive a fuel-burning behemoth, and you're just throwing money away.

Since I learned a few of these tricks, my long-term fuel economy goes up about 1/10 of a mile every 4-5 days. I'm up to 38.4, and I'm confident I can get it to 40. Hybrids are the new cool way to go middle age crazy. Another mid-lifer who works down the hall from me just got one, and it's like a fight to see who gets to 40 first. Beats the hell out of a new Porsche car.