Skip to main content

36-24-36? Haha, maybe if I were 5'3"

Oh my god I am SO pathetic. I think I might be in worse shape than I was when I was heavy. Four minutes into my first attempt at what is admittedly a tough workout video (but not this tough) my arms felt like they were going to fall off. Another ten minutes and we were into squats. Well, they were. I was “marching it out” because my thighs were having seizures as a result of the few squats I managed. Luckily they recovered for plie time, but still! I have no idea how this happened. Probably the car my parents gave me for my 22nd bday, mixed with moving to the flat land of London. Yeah, I’m thinking that’s the combo. When I’m here I walk all the time, but it’s flat. When I’m home in SF it’s hilly and I try to walk a good bit but it’s nothing compared to when I used to have to take the bus/ walk everywhere. Gah! Anyway, day one is over, and although I dread the pain of tomorrow I’m also looking forward to feeling buff again. Stupid maintenance-requiring muscles.
In case I haven’t mentioned it before, I’m back in London. And flabby. My time at home was wonderful, filled with friends and family and sunshine. And cookies. And Easter candy. And oh so good and buttery foodstuffs. Not that I gained any weight (because my body doesn’t work in such normal ways), but I did get, shall we say, softer. Only I don’t mean my wit or my sense of humor or human decency. I mean the paunch.
Oh, and of course, last night I got home from two wonderful nights in Paris. The boyfriend took me to celebrate our 2 year anniversary (gah!), and the trip was filled with joy and cuddles and walking and coffee and people-watching goodness. And bread. And 85% fat butter (oh god orgasmic). And chocolat chaud. And froid. Oh, and did I mention all the skinny women? Do I even need to mention them? Stupid skinny women. Like I didn’t feel fat enough.
So there you have it. My first entry into the hell-log. I'll try to only keep you posted when I have something remotely interesting to say.
Right now my head is swimming from 30 minutes of cardio. Seriously. Pathetic.
PS I noted three things while doing the lying-down portion of my workout:
1. we might need a legit vacuum to supplement our less than perfectly effective swivel sweeper. I’ll be looking into dustbusters as soon as I’ve regained lung function.
2. hardwood sticks to imperfectly (read: not) toned backs. I need a mat.
3. my arm muscles seem to have atrophied. It seems having a boyfriend to carry things for you has a downside…
PPS could I BE more pear-shaped? I am so NOT going to post my measurements here but let it be known that my hips are almost 10 inches bigger than my chest! Oh, the agony.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I'm telling.

It’s weird. My scars haven’t even faded yet, except in miraculously transparent patches, and I’m already forgetting they exist. Now, when I raise my arms to tie up my hair (something I would never have done in public just a year ago) and the man at the next table looks at me a little too long, I feel an urge to make sure I’ve shaved my armpits. It’s only when I not-so-slyly slide my fingers into my shirt that I feel the abnormally smooth stripe of skin and realize what the man was staring at. And I’m so much less strict about hiding them. Last week at work I wore a sleeveless dress and one of the nurses asked about my scars, and I realized I hadn’t told anyone there about my weight loss and all my surgeries. Even the other receptionist, to whom I feel fairly close. And so I told the nurse, because I’ve always maintained that if I hide my history with surgery then I don’t deserve the benefits of the procedures. I promised myself that I wouldn’t be ashamed of my plastic surgery, a...
Post a Comment
Read more

Nothing tastes as good as thin feels?

That old Upper East Side adage has been running through my mind all week. Ever since I got my visa to go back to London and started counting down the days I had left of fresh, delicious California cuisine. I recently got to within a couple pounds of my goal (well, not my goal weight, but my goal of getting below a certain hated number), and now I’m struggling with a very difficult decision: to eat or not to eat? I have an opportunity here. I could be below the dreaded number by the time I leave for London, if I’m willing to give up all badness and only eat healthy, low-calorie foods like vegetables sans olive oil and salads with no cheese or nuts. But then I would be sacrificing my last week of yumtastic treats like Trader Joes Mini Peanut Butter Cups and delicious grilled asparagus with olive oil and steak, glorious steak! Maybe the choice would be easier if I had a point of reference, but I’ve never been thin, so I have no idea how it feels. What I do know is that a lot of thing...
4 comments
Read more

This book stuff is harder than it seems...

So as I think I may have mentioned, I have to write a book for my MA in Creative Nonfiction, and I decided to write a memoir about this whole GB experience, including childhood stuff and family dynamics in addition to the process of surgery and the mental and physical results of the change.  I thought it would be so easy.  I mean, I spend 90% of my time thinking about my body anyway, how hard could it be to put those thoughts down in the form of an interesting, structured narrative? NOT, that's how easy.  I haven't written one single word of the book, and I'm having a really hard time starting.  And the longer I put it off, the more afraid I am of failing at my goal to write a funny, frank narrative; I'm terrified it'll end up as a 'poor me' memoir, and I'll have proven my dad right in saying that this project is self-indulgent and useless.  And that's not the only surprise stumbling block... When I tell people what I'm writing about, they al...
4 comments
Read more