YOU DON'T CONTROL ME ANYMORE: An Open Letter to Fear and Shame

I wake up, the alarm blaring in my ear. The clock reads 3:30am. I have a run scheduled and a full day ahead. I close my eyes, stretch and, just before I toss back the covers, I see you. You’re sitting in the chair in the corner, by the door. You’re smug for how early it is, but then I remember: you never sleep. You’re always awake, always on watch.

I can hear you thinking, your mind racing, your thoughts reaching across the darkness as loud as the screaming alarm clock, flashing brighter than the light that reads 3:30.  You’re telling me to go back to sleep. I can afford a day off.  I can take a break and roll over and close my eyes and lull off again into dreamland. I don’t have to be so rigid, keeping to my schedule, making my fitness a priority. I can slack off a little and still be human.  

Your voice is so soothing. It’s so soft and gentle, just a hum really, as I close my eyes and listen to your words. I will hit snooze once more, twice at most. I’ll get up soon and maybe I’ll run five miles instead of seven. I’ll skip the cool-down if I have to. Sleep is necessary, after all. Your words tuck me back in, pulling the covers up to my chin, and I am almost asleep again before my own inner voice shrieks: NO! GET UP! Do not hit snooze. Do not go down this road. You’ve had your sleep. Now it’s time to get to work.

My eyes flash open. I reach over and flip off the alarm. I have no time for snooze. I throw back the sheets, swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. I see you sitting there, your arms crossed, leaning back and sulking. I turn my head, walk to the bathroom and begin my day. You do not control me anymore.

I arrive at the coffee shop, hungry and tired from my morning run. I am glowing with satisfaction. I’ve been up and out before the sun is up, taking care of myself and moving my body so that I feel energized for the day. I stand in my running pants, tank top and new shoes, pressing my heel back for one last stretch as I consider what to order. There will be coffee, of course, but there could also be a croissant or muffin or oatmeal or smoothie.  The options are endless, but I know that my body doesn’t need sugar and empty calories. I know my body needs fuel and hydration, and as I press the other heel gently back behind me, I decide on coffee and a yogurt rather than the croissant. I feel a swell of pride creep through my chest that comes from knowing I’ve been working hard and making healthy choices.  I’m doing it. I’m letting go of the woman who thoughtlessly ordered sugary drinks and donuts, sending me into a spiral of shame and regret a few hours later. I hold my head high as I make better choices and commit to a healthier self.

I am almost to the register. I hear the espresso machine steaming milk and spitting out hot shots of dark liquid. The barista is taking orders like a drill sergeant. I’m rolling my head from side to side, stretching my neck, when I see you.

You’re in the corner, waiting. You sit quietly enough, not yet making a scene, but I can tell you want me to come over and join you. I hesitate. I always do. I can feel you pulling me to you with that familiar smile. I know you’re watching me, every inch of me, from the quiver of my chin to the flick of my wrist as I pull out my wallet and try to avoid your gaze. I feel you watching me even as I turn away, your eyes piercing the skin between my shoulders. I raise my chin and close my eyes and try to block you but it’s no use. You’re too close.

You get up, walking slowly so that I can hear you coming, one footstep at a time softly padding across the floor. You’re always so quiet when you come, like a lion stalking your prey. How many times have you crept up on me before I’ve noticed, before I’ve had a chance to turn and walk away?

I am hot now, my pulse throbbing in my neck. I won’t turn around. I won’t make eye contact or smile or listen to what you have to say. I don’t want to hear it.

You’re close now, inches from me. I can feel the heat of you beside me, like a second skin. I can feel your breath just beneath my hairline, at the base of my neck. My hands are sweaty and shaking. I am frozen in place. My legs are jelly again, and my feet are numb.

The line is moving. The barista waits. The guy behind me clears his throat. My heart thumps against the bones of my chest, beating like a flailing fish. I can hear you whispering to me, and even if I can’t make out exactly what you say, I know what you mean. I have your message memorized, tattooed on my brain.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and, my hands still shaking, step forward. The barista tilts her head to one side, smiles and says, “What can I get you?”

It’s a split-second, not longer than the blink of an eye, and in that sliver of time, I must decide. Do I listen to you, or do I listen to me?

I choose me. “I’ll have a regular coffee and a yogurt, please.”

Just like that, in less than sixty-seconds, in less time than it takes me to tie my shoes, you’re gone. I don’t hear you leave. I don’t see you go, walking out of the coffee shop. I don’t turn my head to see if you pause at the door, waiting for me to look over my shoulder one last time. You do not control me anymore.

Forgetting about you is surprisingly easy. I go on with my day. I hustle kids to school, get on with my work and meet friends for lunch. As we eat salads and drink iced teas, we talk about our upcoming summer plans and vacations. There will be beach visits, overseas flights and long-planned journeys. I feel my excitement build as the waitress takes my salad plate and slips a dessert menu in front of me. My friends begin debating the options: crème brulee, lemon chiffon cake, chocolate death-by-something and gelato. There are a lot of votes for death-by-something. I am listening and debating when I feel you behind me. You’re one table over, alone, by the window. You sit with your cup of espresso, smirking. You look at me and then nod toward the dessert menu and raise a brow.

You’re changing tactics now. You’re telling me that I don’t deserve a treat. You’re telling me these other women are naturally thin and don’t have to work at being healthy. You’re telling me they should eat the dessert and I'm not worth it, not even a bite. You’re telling me to slink back into my chair and wave off, to smile awkwardly and say I’m not hungry and can’t eat another bite even if it’s death-by-chocolate.  

But I turn back to the table, back to my friends, and I remember that I went from morbidly obese to healthy not from extremes but from mindful eating and moderation, even a few bites of chocolate now and then.

I remind myself that I can have a bit of dessert after a lunch without binging on it, locking myself in the bathroom and polishing off a sleeve of Oreos without anyone being the wiser. I set the menu down, order another iced tea and suggest sharing this chocolate heaven between the group of us. We agree and when the plate arrives, I dig in with gusto, not even bothering to check in on whether or not you’ve finished your espresso. You do not control me anymore.  

After lunch, I hit the mall to shop for our upcoming summer adventures. I pile clothes on my arm and continue sweeping through the racks. I’ve been working hard and feeling great, and what used to be a chore (shopping) is now actually pleasant. Gone are the days of trying to hide in the biggest mu-mu possible, afraid anyone will see exactly how much weight I’ve gained over the winter. I no longer walk with my head hung low or, when I can’t even bring myself to do that, order XXL t-shirts online.

I sift through the swimsuits and choose a few to try on, excited for days spent at the beach with my kids and husband actually playing in the water instead of sitting on a towel, hot and sticky in too many clothes, finishing off the bag of Cheez-Its I promised I was only bringing "for the kids."

This is going to be fun.

When the saleswoman asks if I need a dressing room, I quickly agree and hand her my pile of options. My arm is sore from carrying it all, and I’m glad she’s offering to take the clothes and leave me to find a few more items. The store is quiet in the early afternoon, and I am feeling satisfied with my day. I’ve gotten in a run, worked hard on a few projects and spent an hour with friends over lunch. As I grab two more bathing suits and a sundress, I float toward the dressing rooms and smile as the saleswoman points me towards my room.

Inside the dressing room, I sort the clothes and start to undress.  It’s only when I’m nearly naked, even my bra hanging on a hook beside me, that I see you sitting on that tiny bench in the corner, and my heart jumps into my throat as I follow your gaze.

You sit quietly, silent actually, but your eyes say it all. You take me in, one inch at a time, from the tip of my head where my hair is still pulled into a post-run bun, to my feet, my pedicure just starting to chip.

Damn. Why can’t I get to the salon on time? Why didn’t I bother to fix my hair before meeting friends for lunch?

Before I can answer, I see your eyes stop and hover at my belly. I instinctively cover my mid-section with one arm, shrinking into myself. I am a well-fed mother of four. What was I thinking with all these bathing suits? There’s no way these boobs will fit into a normal sized piece of cloth.

It doesn’t matter that I’ve lost over one hundred pounds and been killing it with weights. I’m still bigger than most women and certainly bigger than the flimsy pieces of material still dangling from the hangers. I am not bathing suit material and never will be.

I don’t have to see your gaze anymore to know the rest. I can look at my own body and see the flaws. I can see the sagging skin and cellulite that no amount of exercise seems to get rid of. I can see the stretch marks still clawing across my belly and thighs.

Before long, I can see those lost pounds creep right back on to my 5’4 frame. I am no longer the Melissa who lost one hundred pounds, runs half-marathons and suffers through one-hour oblique workouts. Nope. I’m the Melissa who is so overweight I can barely make it up a flight of stairs without stopping for a Mountain Dew swig, grasping the stair rail and telling myself I’ll probably die young of a heart attack or stroke.  

My hips begin swell in the mirror. My arms start to dangle with extra fat. My belly grows so big I can’t believe I thought I could shop at a store for regular-sized women. What was I thinking? Who did I think I was?

Then, just as I’m about to slip back into my bra, I see the bathing suit I snagged when I first walked in.  It’s black, a little slinky, with a built-in bra. It’s cut in a way that makes it sexy without being too obvious. It’s perfect.

I can hear you finishing my sentence: the bathing suit is perfect for a woman with a perfect body.

But before you finish, I put my hand up to silence you, close my eyes, and tune you out.

I grab the suit before I can talk myself out of it. I slip it on. It’s not even a struggle. I’m not hunched over trying to get it past my hips. I don’t have to tug at it in all the wrong places. I don’t even have to adjust the bra.

It fits.

I feel my breath catch in my throat as I look at myself in the mirror, expecting to be horrified and instead feeling satisfied at what I see.

Damn.  Seriously. I can do this. I can wear this! I don’t look like a swimsuit model, hair blowing in the wind, but I look good. I look healthy. I look fit.

I don't look like a woman who is struggling to make it up the stairs, clutching her Mountain Dew tumbler.

I feel you sitting there still, and I think you’ve taken up enough space already. I don’t have space in this tiny room for you. I grab my purse and toss it on the bench, and you scurry off, head down and shoulders slumped, petulant like a child. You do not control me anymore..

As I crawl into bed that night, I lie flat against the pillow and instinctively put my hand over my stomach. How many years did I refuse to do this, to even feel my body beneath the weight of my own hand? How many years did I pull the covers higher and try to block you out, even if only to get some sleep. Sleep was the only time I didn’t hear you, didn’t see you sitting in some corner, waiting, watching, silently mocking me.  

I’ve lived with you my whole life. I’ve listened to you tell me I wasn’t thin enough, smart enough, motivated enough, or good enough. I’ve let you creep into every decision I’ve made, from what I ate for dinner to which job I’d apply for to what kind of mother I thought I could be.

Sometimes I was able to talk over you, to remind myself I had value, to see my own worth. But more often than not, I listened to you when you said I didn’t deserve better, couldn’t work harder and wouldn’t ever make lasting changes.

I’ve let you control so many of my choices. I let you move into my house, help me parent my children, go on vacation with my family and even sleep beside me at night, taking up more space in my life than I had to offer.

But now, every time I choose to listen to myself and my own voice, I silence you once more and remind you that you have no place in my life. I have no doubt I’ll see you again. You like to lurk, as most cowards do. But now I see you for what you are: a façade. I see your name tattooed on your forehead, and the lettering is clear: FEAR. SHAME.

I see now, as I step back, that you’re not a friend, a loving confidant who will help me be my best self. You’re an illusion. 

I close my eyes and think of the summer ahead. I think of the time I’ll spend with my family, at the beach and everywhere else. Instead of thinking about the size of my thighs or the belly I worry will hang slightly from slack, I think of something better.  

I think of the workout I have planned for tomorrow morning, the coffee date I’ve got penciled into my calendar with a friend and the endless possibilities of the life before me. You do not control me anymore..

"O.P.P." - Other People's "Poop" - How to Deal...

How to Deal with Other People’s Shit


Heifers! So, here’s something funny (#notfunny) about weight loss and exercise and getting healthier:  some people will give you serious shit for doing it. Wait, what? 

Yep. You heard me. Some people will be supportive and encouraging and great when you order the chicken salad or skip dressing or sit through a movie without popcorn, soda and candy.

And some people won’t.

I wasn’t really prepared for some of the negativity I faced as I began to lose weight and live a healthier lifestyle. And even more than that, I wasn’t prepared for the fact that people would just offer their opinions so freely... because when I was fat, people kept quiet about it.  

For the most part, I could order and eat what I wanted when I was heavy and people might think something about my Mountain Dew habit, but they’d never be rude enough to say it out loud.

Then, I began changing my habits, and all of the sudden it seemed perfectly acceptable for people to offer opinions, make comments and even be openly rude to me regarding my fitness, food choices and health in general.

It was crazy.  Sometimes it’s still crazy. I can’t believe some of the things people feel free saying to me as a healthy person, especially because they would never say this stuff to me as a fat person.

Some of my favorite comments include:

"You’re actually going to eat that?" (as if a chicken salad without dressing is a plate full of bugs)

"You can’t take one day off?  It won’t kill you to not run today." (obviously not understanding a training schedule or the power of habits and sticking to a schedule)

"You have to live." (because if it’s not covered in frosting, it’s not living)

"You’re becoming obsessed." (I sometimes wished I had that kind of commitment)

"You’re getting too skinny." as if (bahahahahaha)

The comments just kept coming, and to be honest, they still come.

People feel just fine expressing opinions to someone who isn’t obese, and somehow this isn’t considered rude.  But, it is rude.  It’s very rude, and not only that, it’s unhelpful and just plain noise.  At the end of the day, my desire to live a healthier life is mine. So, how do I quiet that noise and shut down the constant flow of opinions?

Here are 5 Tips I use to deal with other people’s opinions about my health, fitness and weight loss.  


  1. Remember Why I Started ... I didn’t start living healthier to please anyone else. Seriously. I wasn’t trying to fit into a bikini and hit the beaches in hopes of catching someone’s eye. I wasn’t dieting to fit into a dress for a special event. I didn’t get healthier because I was afraid my husband didn’t love me. I started living healthier because I was afraid I was going to die earlier than necessary, and that meant I was going to miss out on life and being with my people. MY HERD. I didn’t want that. I wanted to be with my people and to be healthy enough to enjoy it.  So now, when people offer opinions or have a comment or criticism, I remind myself why I started:  to be healthy and happy enough to be with my people! That’s it. When I remember this, it’s easier to let go of other people’s opinions, expectations and negativity.

  2. Keep Myself in Check ... One of the biggest things that helps when a comment comes my way is to keep myself in check and refuse to react.  The calmer I remain, and the less I offer in terms of feedback, the faster the whole situation is diffused. I also have to keep myself in check in my head.  It’s easy to consider someone else’s opinion. It’s easy to think: yeah….why don’t I get the popcorn? But if I keep myself in check, remember my own personal standards and goals, I’m not so easily swayed by anyone else.

  3. Don’t Respond ... Yeah, so…have you ever just not responded to someone? You’re sitting at a restaurant and you order the grilled chicken salad, dressing on the side.  Your friend says, “Oh, come on. Live a little.” You have choices here. You can shrug and get embarrassed and respond.  Or you can seriously just look that friend in the eye and stare. Is it uncomfortable? Yeah. Sometimes it is. That’s kind of the point. That friend made me uncomfortable by making a comment or asking a question that is none of her business. It’s not up to me, or anyone, to then make sure that person is comfortable. I often employ the death stare, and I can tell you it shuts that shit down real quick.  Nobody likes a death stare.  And you know what else?  Nobody can argue with it.  Plus, I'm a mom of 4 teenagers. I HAVE THE DEATH STARE DOWN, HEIFERS!

  4. Walk a Mile In Their Shoes ... This is kind of like considering the source but with some humanity and empathy. (which I struggle with sometimes, to be honest). Sometimes, friends make comments that really have nothing to do with us and everything to do with them.  Maybe they’re struggling to eat well. Maybe they skipped a workout. Maybe they have weight issues that need to be addressed.  Maybe their parents didn’t teach them manners. Whatever the case, everyone has a story and a struggle of their own. I try to remember this when I get a comment or suggestion about my workout schedule or preference for extra veggies instead of grilled pita bread. I try to forget the fact that I’m tired of dealing with these comments or explaining myself or listening to someone’s opinion, and I remember that all of that comes from something inside that person that I probably don’t fully understand. Having some sympathy or trying to understand a little isn’t easy, especially in the moment. But when I do it, I feel better about everyone:  the friend with the opinion and myself and my own choices. Empathy is like a bomb-diffuser, which I’ve needed and used more than I care to admit.  

  5. Smile ... There are times when I just can’t give a death-stare. I can't lie - I usually go with the death-stare when possible.  I do love that death stare.  But, if I'm at a social function for my husband’s work or some other sensitive function, I default to a more socially acceptable version of the death-stare, which is the smile.  I just simply keep quiet, tilt my head maybe to one side, and smile. Heifers, it works. And it doesn’t mean you can hear crickets chirping like the death-stare. I kind of like crickets after a comment, but you know, you have to have a full bag of tricks. So, if you get a comment or question, just remember:  you don’t have to respond with more than a smile. I’ve never had someone push past it, and it sends a message without being the blunt-force-trauma of the glare.   But oh how I do love the glare. 

There are tons of other options for responding to other people’s responses. Here are 5 things I don’t do when I receive a comment, good or bad, about my dinner order or the fact that I wake up at the crack of dawn to fit in a run:

  1. Get snarky ... Listen, I have a snarky gene inside me that comes out when people behave badly. It’s part of my DNA. It’s also not the best response. If someone says something rude or asks an uncomfortable question or makes a stupid suggestion, I could (and have) given them a nugget or two from my bank of snark.  Sometimes, they deserve it. But it really never ends well. It’s like lowering my own standards, and that feels like crap no matter what. Also, snarky comebacks are kind of defensive and weak. There isn’t a lot of power in responding to rudeness with more rudeness. There are ways to shut down an uncomfortable situation without either being rude or cowering in the corner. Getting snarky only feels good for the split second it takes for the comment to travel from my mind to my mouth. Then, it’s like the bad aftertaste from sugar-free cheesecake.  And nobody needs that.  

  2. Change ... I actually don’t do this, but I’ve seen friends do it, and it always seems like the worst choice possible. Here’s how it goes. You’re out to eat with friends and you order the grilled chicken salad, dressing on the side. Your friends say you need to live a little and enjoy yourself and get the burger (or whatever). You feel uncomfortable, and then you start to question if you really need to be eating grilled chicken and veggies without globs of dressing. You start to do some really shaky mental math about exercising more later or skipping dinner (or whatever). Before you know it, you’re flagging down the waiter and changing your order. Yeah. Don’t do that. Eat what you want to eat. If you want to be healthier and that means a chicken salad, you eat your salad. Stand by your choices and don’t let other people sway you. Do you. You’re the one who has to deal with the consequences, good or bad. So stick to your decisions, remember why you made the choice to live healthier to begin with and give the friend a smile. But whatever you do, don’t base your decisions on someone else!

  3. Apologize ... I do not, under any circumstances, apologize for myself unless I’ve done something wrong. I don’t apologize for eating well, exercising, going to bed early or any other choice I make unless it’s hurt someone….and none of those choices hurt other people! Apologizing for being healthy or for changing your lifestyle habits (which may be uncomfortable for other people) is not only unnecessary but totally disempowering.  I apologize if I’m late or forget an important date or treat someone badly. I do not apologize for ordering extra veggies or skipping cheesecake, sugar-free or otherwise.

  4. Explain ... There is a question that people ask that is so wide-open and intrusive it’s hard to avoid, but Heifers, if you fail to answer one question in life, let it be this: WHY?  Have you ever had someone ask why you’re ordering grilled fish? Or why you’re running two days in a row? Or why you’re getting up at 5AM to fit in a workout? I have. And at the end of the day, while I could give a long explanation and list of reasons, here’s the truth: it’s none of anyone’s business! I don’t have to explain myself unless a cop has pulled me over or I’m standing in front of a judge.  And neither do you. When we start explaining our choices, we take the power out of them, and we give the impression we’re open to discussion. The only time I answer the question why is if I’m open to changing the outcome. And most of the time, that’s not the case.  My kids can tell you how fun that is.  

  5. Let it Sink In ... I don’t let other people’s opinions sink in. It’s not easy. People’s words can easily be absorbed, and suddenly we begin questioning our choices or considering alternatives that aren’t good for us. So now, when someone offers an opinion or comment, I try to let it roll of real quick, like Teflon.  If I absorb it, it has the chance to affect me. I don’t want that. There are some people I turn to for opinions or thoughts, and I know who those people are because I ASK THEM for their opinions. Everyone else? Yeah, not so much. So, as fast as possible, I blow it off and move on. The faster this happens, the less it can fester and easier it is to stay true to myself.  

And this, Heifers, is how I deal with other people’s shit (opinions, comments, pointed looks, questions). It’s gotten easier over time, even if it’s not any less annoying.

But I’ve learned two things: this kind of crap isn’t going away, and I can choose how I deal with it.

So the next time a friend suggests you skip a workout or makes a crappy comment about your food choices, use one of the these tips to shut it down and keep it real.

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Product Review: Adidas Ultra Boost X

Howdy to my favorite Heiferhood!  

You guys know, this blog is all about, things related to both, right? I love a good product review from time to time, and so I'm super excited to bring you just that - my very own product review on what I hear are the hottest running shoes this side of the neighborherd.

I was really excited to receive a pair of these Adidas Ultra Boost X shoes to review.

So cool even my kids wanted a pair!

So cool even my kids wanted a pair!

They come in at the higher end of running shoes, around $179, so I wasn't really sure what to expect.  I have to admit that being a runner now for only about 4 1/2 years now, I'm still new to the game. My standard running shoe is Saucony, so I had actually never even tried Adidas before.

Imagine my giddiness when they arrived with an extra pair of shoelaces (I'm easy to please!) These were truly unlike any other running shoe I've seen.  They are kind of like SOCKS on the top, heifers! SOCKS.

You slide your foot into it and it fits very snugly, but comfortable.  It was a weird sensation, I have to tell you, with my socks on - they kind of felt tight at my toes for a bit, but that loosened up in no time.  The first impression when I stood up was that it felt like walking on air.

AIR.  Walkin' on sunshine.  Wait. That's a song. I mean truly - they are VERY lightweight and really do feel like walking on air.  I wanted to walk to Topeka.  They're that comfortable.

I had a 5k run scheduled the next day, so it was perfect timing.  Took these bad boys out on the canal path. It's pressed dirt.

I have very flat feet.  It's sometimes hard for me to find great shoes with "JUST" the right amount of support for running, because having spent most of my life morbidly obese, my body took a beating.  My knees have arthritis, I have hip pain, I am seriously living in a body that's more worn and used than someone who is a 109 year old ultra marathon runner.

Yeah. It's bad.  I don't complain.  Ok who are we kidding. I whine all the time! Just ask my running BFFs Kellie and Tiffany. I think their speed increased exponentially when we began running together JUST so they could be out of earshot when I start the whining. 

I digress.   I always digress. It's my thing.

During my 3 mile run I experienced discomfort. My incredibly flat feet are very finicky when it comes to support, so for you ladies out there who have normal arches - these might be perfect for you. However, my feet were begging me to be released, a half mile in. 

I was fine when I was walking, but the running part - not so much. (I run/walk all my runs because, it's me).  I'd be lying if I said my legs felt great the rest of the day - they were achy. These shoes have a pretty high arch for someone like me and while they're PERFECT for walking around - they're not the right fit for me in terms of a running shoe.

I decided to ask my personal trainer - he's an accomplished runner and has been in the running industry for yeaaaaaars.  I mean, he's been AROUND, ifyouknowwhati'msayin'.  He's almost as cool as #MBB (read here for that story, trust me you'll be happy you did).

There I go digressing again.

I wore my UltraBoost X to the gym a few days later to ask my trainer what he thought. When I tell you he has something like 350 pairs of running shoes - it's barely an exaggeration. And y'all know I'm prone to hyperbole.

Super-fly shoes in the gym. I'm pretty sure I lifted heavier weights because I felt cool in these shoes.

Super-fly shoes in the gym. I'm pretty sure I lifted heavier weights because I felt cool in these shoes.

But really - his running shoe closet rivals that of Imelda Marcos.  So I figured he would know a little something about these shoes.

Except my trainer is much better looking.  Pinky swear.

Except my trainer is much better looking.  Pinky swear.

WINNER WINNER! He did! He immediately noticed my new kicks.   I'm attaching the photo from their website, below - so you can see all the super cool features these shoes have.  The adaptive arch is what I think gave me the pain in my feet (both feet, to be clear, not just one). It definitely hugged my feet - like some unexpected lovin' and that was a nice surprise for sure!

Pic from Adidas website, thank you ADIDAS!

Pic from Adidas website, thank you ADIDAS!

My trainer kind of giggled, knowing the issues I face with my knees, glutes, hams, quads (ok really I TOLD Y'ALL my body is that of a 109 year old)... and suggested that these kicks would be great for me, in the gym, not out on the road.

I would have to agree.  My Active Release doc also confirmed that these were not the running shoes for MY particular foot.

That being said - they REALLY do feel like walking on air. They are extremely light weight, very comfortable, and I have to admit I got some nice compliments from the muscle-heads at the gym, akin to "Hey Baby, Nice Kicks!' which made me all a'flutter, as I just blankly nodded and lifted heavier.

I think these are my "GYM" shoes now which I'm completely content with.  They are cushioned nicely, and as long as I don't actually run in them, I seem to be fine.

I think picking a running shoe is such a personal choice - and so much of your comfort depends on the shape of your foot, your body type, how you strike, etc. Not every shoe can be for every runner, and I'm sorry to say these won't be my next magic bullet to finally break a 6 minute mile... but I still love them a lot because 1) they are super-comfortable for gym'ming it up, 2) they are very lightweight,  and 3) street cred.  Not every kid on the block can wear UltraBoostX and for this opportunity, I am one grateful heifer.

If you want to try a pair out, you can get them HERE.  

You can follow Adidas Running on social media here:

Twitter: @adidasrunning
Instagram: @adidasrunning

I'm curious as to everyone else's feedback on them - my friend is a personal trainer down in Florida and she SWEARS by hers for gym-workouts as well.  Chime in, below, in the comments, to leave your opinions!

"Disclaimer: I received these shoes to review as part of being a BibRave Pro. Learn more about becoming a BibRave Pro (ambassador), and check out to review find and write race reviews!"

"Disclaimer: I received these shoes to review as part of being a BibRave Pro. Learn more about becoming a BibRave Pro (ambassador), and check out to review find and write race reviews!"

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