“The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a shepherd.” ~Friedrich Nietzsche
Excuse me while I remove (Read: lick) some sugar cookie frosting from my digits. And while I’m licking, a word to the wise: Always under bake your sugar cookies. It makes them that much better. But ample amounts of frosting will always do the trick. Think about it.
Ah, now that that is over, it has come to my attention – via a checkup and blood work yesterday – that I am on the wrong side of BMI. The ‘obese’ side, she announces as she picks sprinkles off the remainder of the cookie. I found it delightfully entertaining when the person who took my height and weight repeated the ‘But you don’t look it’ catch phrase. For the record being told such doesn’t make me feel better, it makes me want to judo chop a scale and question how one’s looks are relevant. Also, I don’t look like you could fashion me into the base of a parade float but height and weight have dictated otherwise.
There’s a nurse practitioner still scratching her head about this one.
Then I went home and ran and did the
30 Day Shred and felt my heart ‘garggling’ in my throat. Then I cried again and realized that part of the extreme weight gain is probably because I spent three solid months not at home and during my long term tour of the 48 contiguous states, I was also severely depressed. So to recap: I was sad and got fat and then my anti-sad medication kept me on a trajectory to being forced to buy two seats for myself on a plane.
OK it’s nothing that extreme as the flight attendant pointed out to me when I was able to swiftly maneuver myself away from spilling hot coffee by doing a hop/step/jump between an airplane seat, the tray table and the obnoxious bitch in front of me who wouldn’t raise her seat back so I could at least sit down. Yet there I was able to get my ass moved into the tiniest space possible without a hitch or ripping a stitch. So you know, yay me!
Since this development I’ve been alternately crying and canceling shopping trips because I don’t want to shop. I don’t care that it’s not like I have an issue finding clothing anywhere, because I truly don’t. But it’s a me thing – a thing that causes this cantaloupe sized lump in my throat because I’m fat. No one wants to be the fat girl. The one thing I should be able to control I have never once been able to. It’s like holding a wriggling lizard in my hand: The second I think I have a good grasp on it, it slips out again. Flopping around and trying to get away while I huff and puff and chase after it. Everything I cannot control: My career, my writing. Well that shit is going well, thank you for asking.
Let’s just say that it’s making me far more depressed and ornery than usual. Let’s also say that I do not think that the Wii Fit will change my life. But I do think that a month of no flying and being home and half-marathon training will probably help. Speaking of the
Wii Fit, the winner is Neena. Neena doesn’t have a blog but her comment was something along the lines of
‘I look like I am pregnant and I am definitely NOT pregnant’. I picked her using a random number generator but when I saw that comment I wanted to high five her and do a chest bump.
A chest bump with my chest which has grown exponentially in size. Joy! Since hey, hey, hey, I’ve got boobs. Sad! Since boobs are just fat repositories and yet haven’t gone completely pessimistic when I say, at least the fat is going to my boos and not giving me cankles. So, it appears that there is at least a sliver of light peaking through at the end of this long, dark and ultimately depressing tunnel o’ fat.
Single Ladies – Beyonce
Laden with Expletives
“And I never wanted anything from you. Except everything you had. And what was left after that too.” – Florence And The Machine
First of all, I have recently updated my workout mix. Second of all, you should probably cover your kids’ ears when sampling any of those suckers because oh my God. Nothing like a melodic Fuck You and a thumping It’s Me, Bitches to get your heart rate up.
I have semi strict criteria for planning a playlist for running. First of all, I need to have at least a half-hour of extra music for those moments when you really cannot stand to hear someone’s voice and you’re pressing the forward button on your ipod with a fierceness. Sometimes at mile nine you kind of want to punch Florence in her machine. “The dog days are most surely NOT over”, you pant mid-stride.
What I love most is the stark contrast to my writing playlist which makes me look so gentle and makes me feel like busting out a woodwind as opposed to an angry person calling women ‘bitches’ and hoes’ while running past children.
Teach me How To Dougie is on there not because it will cause one to sprint that last half mile but because there’s always that part mid-run when you just need a good beat. Something to smooth it out. Loosen up your legs, run with your arms hanging and maybe sway side to side.