A Minute to Myself (145)
A Minute to Myself (146)

Butt Echo

On Sunday afternoon I decided to start my exercise regimen. A friend made me realize that I shouldn’t fear running (do people jog anymore?), and so I figured this would be the perfect day to start my life as a runner. In the past, and I mean distant past as in when Nike was still using waffle irons to make the sole of its running shoes, I had tried jogging, but I was never comfortable with the activity. I thought the problem was the shin splints that I inevitably got, especially on my right leg. My friend convinced me that if I just get better running shoes and run past the pain, all would be well.

So there I was, on an astonishingly spring-like February Sunday, in the exercise pants I bought in the summer of 2004 for my day trip to the hospital to get my left ovary removed and the Champion cross-training shoes that I bought at Payless a few years ago when I still believed that going to the gym would transform my body, ready to make my pony tail sway from side to side as I swooshed above the pavement. (You can tell that I’m still on a bit of a high after my shoveling with no pain day.)

One step, two steps, three steps, STOP! Oh my god. It came back to me, the hidden reason for not running or jogging or whatever it is that you do when your body is going one way and your butt is going another. Yes, I had a butt echo. Seriously, I could feel my butt moving as if was separate from the rest of my body; I was down and it was up, and when I was up, it was down.

To those who are not in the know, I can best describe a butt echo as being the hideous feeling that all the junk food you ever ate is in a ball that is attached to the back of a belt, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing against you as you run.

I stopped, and resumed walking as if I hadn’t just had an epiphany.  And so my running career ended three steps into it. I’m thinking that running is not a sport for those whose body types tend toward balancing the weight in the front with the weight in the back, with the emphasis on picking up the rear.

So, if you see me running you can be sure that it’s because someone with a knife is after me or else someone’s dog with fangs is chasing me, because there are no other foreseeable reasons for me to submit myself to another butt echo.

Walking is such a lovely activity, how could I ever think something could be better?

Note: This is the first appearance of the term "butt echo," which I came up with to describe this bodily phenomenon. It might become more popular than some other terms I created, such as: leg sideburns (which are those pesky hairs that grow on some people's inner thighs) and splunch (which is an afternoon brunch). 

Butt Echo, copyright 2009 Laura G.


Laura of Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

Midlife Slices, glad that you, too, find humor in our bodies.

JC, Do you butt echo?

Stepping Thru, I'm thinking that maybe that's why the new and improved suck-it-in panties (formerly known as girdles) are still here, some people like to ignore the sounds their bodies are making.

Laura of Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

Mine was the Jewish, growing up in an apartment in New York City version of the Cleavers. But I yearned for Bohemian parents and less staid standards.


Butt Echo! Hilarious. I have "saddle bags" or maybe suitcases would be a better word... All the running in world won't make them go away. So I guess I gotta love em.

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