...I've got a small anecdotal realization today. I've turned into my grandmother. I realized it yesterday at the gym while I was cresting mile 8 on the stationary bicycle.

I happened to look over at the row of treadmills ahead of me and saw this woman on the treadmill. I've seen her there before and didn't really think much of her except when she walked past me completely nude in the locker room. I'm not a prude, but I do think that one should take the few seconds to wrap a towel around themselves when they wander to and from the showers. But I digress.

This woman is a stick. Bones, I tell you. She runs and runs and runs for about 30 minutes on the treadmill, dripping sweat and then pulls out one of the mats and starts contorting herself into various stretches. I have never ever seen her smile - she looks like she'd tear your head off if you spoke to her. I don't think that I've ever seen her use any of the weight machines, but I could be wrong. She could be using free weights, and I never wander into that area. Again, digressing.

When I was watching her run yesterday she jumped her legs out to the stable sides, with the treadmill still going, and started stretching. She reaches down and kicks her bony rear end into the air. That's when it hit me.

All I wanted to do was shake her by the shoulders and find out what she's thinking. I wanted to tell her to eat something to put some meat on her bones because being that thin could not possibly be healthy. She wasn't muscular thin folks - she was anorexic thin. Her hip and collar bones were sticking out. Angelina Jolie on a hunger strike thin. I wanted to yell in her face that if she ate something she might actually smile and be happy.

I almost fell off the stationary bike when I realized that I had turned into my Italian grandmother. Whenever she greeted me she told me that I was too thin and proceeded to place plate after plate of food in front of me. Encouraging me to eat until I was sick or was going to burst or had clearly put on some weight.

Now I don't do that to family or friends. But if you come to my house the chances are pretty good that I'm going to insist on feeding you. Not because I think that you need to put on some weight, but because that's part of hospitality. I can cook, I can cook rather well, and I'd rather spend the time working in my kitchen and talking with you over a glass of wine or can of soda than battling traffic and dealing with noisy restaurants. I don't have company that often anymore, but that urge is still there.

But this was insane yesterday. I really wanted to talk to this woman and make sure that she eats. Something. Anything. Ever. DH mentioned that there's another woman at the gym who is rather muscular and thin. Very well toned - but he wants to make her eat too because he thinks she's *too* thin.

I know that there's a difference between too thin and healthy thin and muscular athletic thin. The too thin is definitely this woman that I want to force feed croissants to. And she would probably be offended if I mentioned this to her - either because she worked hard to get to be that thin (because she's clearly working hard at the gym) or because she would love to put on some weight and can't (not likely). Either way, I think I've turned into my Italian grandmother who wants to feed the people who are too thin. But I'll be good and keep my hands to myself on my bike and my mouth shut...

...except when I'm feeding myself a croissant after my workout.

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Note: I can still run a mile or two, I'm bicycling roughly 10 miles 3x a week at the gym, and doing whatever weights I can. So I am *earning* that croissant that I eat with my tea....