"Plump to Pump"
Blog #3 for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp
Two years ago, when I weighed 170 pounds and had just come home from Target with new khaki work pants two sizes bigger, I put a pair on and stared in the mirror. Yep, they fit. Long enough. Plenty wide in the waist so my belly isn't getting squeezed into muffin-topping over the fastener. Great, I have work pants that fit. Yay.
I had never been so underwhelmed with a clothing purchase in my life. I stood like a disgusted statue staring at myself. A bumpy, lumpy newly-38-year-old woman standing there in Target khakis begging for an oversized shirt to cover it all up so I can get on with the day. But I made myself take stock. My fatty booby extra-flesh was screaming for air and squishing out the sides and over the top of my boob-packing sports bra. A sports bra was the only thing I was wearing in an effort to cram my breasts so tight to my chest that they appeared a size smaller. I realized it was a sad sad lie to live. But I loved eating! Eating out was certainly my favorite past time. The more appetizery the better. Give me spinach artichoke dip with crusty bread or give me death.
It had taken me over a year to go buy the larger sizes. I was shoving myself into too snug pants for months because I didn't want to face the music. The tune that was playing: I had gradually packed on the pounds. doo do doo do doo do do doo I wasn't caring about it enough to do anything. la la laa la la laa My pants were creeping up on my ankles because my thighs and butt were filling them up like never before. Ooh ooh ya. It was far passed time to plunk down some hard earned cash to up-size. I refused to spend more than Target costs, however, as I was pissy-pants shopper, shopping under protest.
As I stared in the mirror, I pondered. Ya they fit. But geez o pete what's next? How long will it take before I need to buy new bigger pants? Or is this the final size up? That question was startling. It meant I might be ready to do something about it. Was I?
I felt like shit all the time about my body. I didn't want to go out because clothes didn't fit and I was so self conscious all the time. Not a deciding factor, but I certainly wasn't turning any heads anymore and I had turned my share before gaining weight. I didn't want to get naked, ever, and that's a problem since I shared a bed with my husband. If I got nekkid I made sure to be flat on my back immediately. Big boobies falling way deep into my armpits. What a wicked world of worry I created in my head without a single outward person telling or hinting that I need feel or act this way. I rationalized all the time that "I'm getting older, my body is changing, my metabolism is slowing, it's normal."
What a crock of shit. I wasn't moving. I wasn't active. I was eating gobs of boxed and breaded crap every day and drinking myself silly with cabernet. I loved my wine the most. A couple 2, 4 glasses of wine at night was becoming a habit that was bordering on hmmmm can I stop doing this? Wine tastes so good. It's such a perfect compliment to any and all occasions and wine and I had developed such a close comforting relationship. Watch TV, drink wine. Hang with friends and eat nachos grande, drink wine. Eat french fries, drink wine. Drink wine, drink wine. If I had been living an active life and eating even moderately healthfully, and still gradually gaining weight, that would have been no big dealio.
So, how old do I want to appear? How big do I want to get? It rang loudly in my head: Is this the final size up? IS THIS THE FINAL SIZE UP? Fuck this shit. I'm done. Time to get healthy. That night I stayed up late researching and then registering on a website that taught me how to lose fat healthfully and how to maintain it. I diligently exercised and counted calories and cut a pound per week. Five months later I was at my goal., taking oodles of happy-ever-after-pictures. Every pose imaginable, after pictures. Glory be! I had crafted a body I was proud to call mine. I developed a level of fitness! I was moving. Stagnant no more. I've maintained my fat loss for a year and a half. Now, to build some motherfucking muscles!
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