My Earlobes Still Feel Fat

I've been thinking a lot about the gym lately, and not just because my body is falling apart and I know that lethargy is helping it along – the gym has been on my mind in part because of this article , in which Lindy West claims that to be a fat person at the gym takes courage.  Not only do fat gym-goers have to fight their own (possible) sluggishness, they also have to be prepared to defy the judgment of other gym-goers, who (West claims) look at their fat colleagues as motivational at best and disgusting at worst. I have to admit, I feel this way at certain gyms – usually disgusting rather than motivation, though – and it's one of the reasons I don't belong to a gym here in London (the other reason being that I straight-up can't afford it).  It's hard to find gyms where normal people make up the majority; almost every gym near me (Virgin, LA Fitness, etc) is very expensive and caters to a clientele that's image-obsessed, as a rule.  I'm hard-pressed to f...

I stopped using the calorie counter when we left for our vacation in Italy (Bologna, Umbria , Arezzo , and Cinque Terre ), figuring I didn't want to ruin the delicious food I was planning on stuffing my face with, and relying on the fact that I always lose weight on vacation (my theory is that I'm too busy walking around to snack). And we were really active on vacay , especially when scrambling up and down mountains to nude beaches in Cinque Terre , so I really wasn't too worried about all the gelato and pasta I was consuming (YUM). But I was planning on getting back into the counting when I came back to London... That was the plan , anyway. But then we only had 2 days before we moved into the new flat, after which life was (still is) a blur of unpacking, buying secondhand furniture, and entertaining the friends who so wonderfully came to visit me but whom I so unwittingly told the first week of September would be fine ( gah ). So long story short, I'm still not c...

Happy July everybody! I can’t believe the time has gone by so fast. I feel like I just got back from London, when in reality we’re coming up on a year since I left. Yeesh. And if all goes well I should be heading back that way in just under three weeks; fingers crossed that the British government gives me a visa… But you don’t read this blog to learn about my personal and locational life! That’s what this blog is for. This blog is for all my many ugly and my few pleasant thoughts about my body, so here goes. As you may know, July 1st marks the 12th week of my ‘new’ calorie-counting, gym-going regimen. As you also may know, this regimen, although it follows all logical and mathematical guidelines (I have a resting metabolic rate of around 2700 calories a day, so I eat about 1700 calories a day and work out at least 3 times a week), did me no good at first. In fact, I gained three pounds the first week and spent the next 6 trying desperately to get back to breaking even. And now...

Because their album, Twelve Stops and Home, got me through a really tough workout, finishing just as my iPod lost power on the way to the car. Serendipitous . Also, I just adore that album. It's great for driving and singing along to, especially 'Rosè,' an ode to the wine. PS On another note, there were so many skinny girls in the gym today, and I felt irrationally offended. I feel like kicking them out. If you're naturally thin (which these firm-skinned, slender types clearly are), then why would you torture yourself at the gym? The only reason I can think of is that they want to be even thinner/hotter, and I guess that offends me. I know it's selfish but if this is the BEST I can do, and I'm still three times their size, why do they have to go and make me feel even worse by showing off how easy it is for them to go from svelte to svelter?

So I went to the gym today, like a good little chubster, and while I was sweating it out on the bike I tried not to stare at the perky, everslender asses bouncing up and down in front of me on the elliptical. But I couldn’t help it, and here’s why: I have a problem with staring at other people’s bodies, especially tits and ass. I think maybe I’m part frat boy. Or I grew up with a bisexual older sister and a vocal older brother, and was trained from an early age to check out other women (although sadly I get no tingles down below from kissing them or touching their boobs, which is as far as I went with my only girl-fling). But this is not a post about my inappropriate staring. This is a post about thongs. Ok, ok. I get it. I no longer rail for hours against the thong; I no longer state outright that I’ll never wear one, or that it’s better to just go without. Windy days in SF have taught me that they are better than nothing, and I even own about ten, a few of which are favorites...