Don't panic; the song isn't about Mr. J and me. Rather, it's about my original running sneakers and me.
I ran an incredibly rainy 5K 10 days ago. So rainy, so wet, so icky that I ended up with moldy sneakers.
No amount of washing seemed to be able to fix them, so out they went. The replacements aren't so hot so I will buy the absolutely correct New Balance number and not vary again, ever, under pain of death.
God help me if they ever retire that number, 758.
But I'm okay for now.
Anyway, I wanted to really write about forgetting your past.
Or, rather, not doing that, if you can.
I think photographs are astoundingly important, particularly the bad, "before" shots.
So many of us have so few of them. We gave up on our appearances. And the people who loved to photograph us gave up on doing just that, too.
Invisible, we came out briefly for major parties and then turned turtle and retreated to our caves. You know the cave. It's the place with the Pringles and anything made by Hostess or Little Debbie.
Caves. Quiet. Dark. Damp. Musty. And the best word of all: dank.
There's nothing nice about dank. It's chilly and moist and smelly and just plain awful.
And we lived there, in those dank surroundings, and we self-medicated with food and inertia and we sat in the dark and wondered why no one ever came over to switch on the lights for us.
Because, you see, we simply could not do so for ourselves.
And then you fast forward, and you hit today, and things are different, and the cave is a distant memory and you meet someone new and you find yourself playing along with their belief that you were always this way. It was ever so.
And if someone crosses your paths who is overweight, and your new friend says, Oh, I could never be like that, you nod involuntarily. No, not you. That could never be you.
Oh, but wait, it was. And that person, that nameless person, looks out to you, and their eyes reflect the cave.
If you are honest with yourself, you bring yourself up short. That cave. You've been there. You know it. You've lived there.
And if you are really honest, you tell your new friend, I can understand, because I have been there.
Last week, I went out to lunch with a friend I had not seen since before I started my journey. We had a lovely time, and after the initial "You look great!"s by her, she told me something I never knew about her before.
She had not always been thin. She had been heavy in High School, and had ended up with an eating disorder. It was a long time ago. She was better now, healthy and happy. And felt even better to be able to tell one more person.
Because bulimia was her own personal cave.
The amazing thing about the caves is, if you bring them out and into the light, they lose their power. They become just another place. They loosen their grips and become just another phase of your existence.
So you need to acknowledge them, to remember them. To tell the world: this was me. I wasn't always like this. And I remember and I acknowledge and I embrace it because without it I am not here today.
It's so easy to say that you'll forget your past.
But you shouldn't.