I Hope You Remember Me For More Than My Fat Ass

 

      I love a good story. I always have. I'm a person who cherishes the written word---a person who relishes the complexities of a well crafted yarn woven by a skillful wordsmith.  That's why I was particularly saddened to learn that Colleen McCullough, the author of my all time favorite book, The Thorn Birds, died earlier this week. But, what saddened me even more was to see how Australia's most heralded author was memorialized in her obituary. Here's a excerpt:

"Plain of feature, and certainly overweight, she was, nevertheless a woman of wit and warmth.  In one interview, she said: 'I've never been into clothes or figure and the interesting thing is I never had any trouble attracting men.'"

     Seriously,  Rupert Merdock, was the mention of this woman's weight problem and "plain" face really necessary?  Is her most glowing accomplishment really the fact that she could snag some bootie despite the fact she had a fat ass?
     Beyond the fact that McCullough sold multiple millions of copies of her novels, beyond the fact that her most famous work was adapted into one of the most watched mini series of all time,  beyond the fact that football fans would have never heard the name D'Brickashaw Ferguson if not for Ms. McCullough (okay, his mama probably just watched the TV version because she didn't' bother to spell check that)---this woman was amazingly brilliant.  She studied neuroscience in her native Australia, worked at Great Ormond Street Hospital in London, and spent ten years as a member of the faculty at Yale University.  Folks, that's nothing to sneeze at!
     The truth is, this is how our society views women like Colleen McCullough--- women-- like me.  And that friends, makes me sad.  It is hard being an anonymous woman of size in the real world.  It must be even harder for women of size who live under the glaring scope of celebrity.  Think about it.  When I mention Kirsti Alley--what comes to mind?  Her tenure of Cheers, or pictures of her fat ass splayed across glossy newsprint in the checkout line?    What about Oprah?  The woman's a bizillionaire, a philanthropist, and had enough grit to pull herself up from the grips of poverty to become one of the most successful media icons of our time.  Yet, in spite of her phenomenal success, people still want to focus on her battle with her waistline.
      Women are so much more than rolls of fat and numbers on a scale.  We are powerful, unique, complex individuals--each with our own story to tell.  When I die--and here's hoping that's a long way off-- I want people to remember my inner beauty, not my outward appearance.
        ….I'm a teacher who loves her students.
        ….I'm an animal rescuer who is a sucker for sad puppy dog eyes.
        ….I'm a writer, a reader,  and a ponderer of deep thoughts.
This is who I am.  This is what makes me, me.
     Colleen--you deserved so much better.  You deserved dignity and respect alongside recognition for your contributions to the world.  You made it a better place.   I just hope when it comes time for someone to pen my obituary,  I'm remembered for the person and really am, and not just the extra junk I carry around in my trunk.

Thoughts on Oliver Twist and Mama June

     When people used to think of "the poor," images of emaciated waifs straight out of a Dicken's novel generally came to mind--Poor unfortunate souls begging for a bit more gruel to hopefully stick to their feeble bones.  A century ago, this was the reality.  I won't be so blind as to say that all American's now have plenty to eat.  I know for a fact that children still go hungry.  However, one does have to wonder why so many of the poor these days look a whole lot more like...


This:

 










And a whole lots less like…

This:

Please Sir, may I have some more?

    















     Now don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying I'd prefer poor folks (or anybody for that matter) to look more like Oliver Twist than Mama June.  But I am saying that the correlation between poverty and obesity is every bit as much a problem as as the kind of hunger that prevailed in the poorhouses of yesteryear.  So, why is it that so many underprivileged Americans are overweight?  I'll tell you why.  Eating healthy is EXPENSIVE!  
     If you walk through the local Kroger, you will find sale after sale on all things bad for you.  Soda, potato chips, frozen burritos--those are the items that often are the most deeply discounted.  How many times have you seen fresh spinach or kale greens on the ten-for-ten sale?  Didn't think so. 
     Specialty grocery stores like Whole Foods are even worse.  I'm not downing these places, because they have wonderful selections of high quality items.  But what I am telling you is that $19 a pound fresh Alaskan Salmon, $10 a bag chia seeds,  and $7 cherimoyas are out of reach for people on a limited income.  That's a real stretch for me, and I'm gainfully employed and have a master's degree.
     Healthy choices at restaurants will also often cause you to dig deeper in your pocket.  For instance, Applebee's has recently introduced its Pub Diet.  None of the items on this menu are over 600 calories.  That's fantastic!  However, the items in this promotion are also some of the most expensive on the menu.  Even fast food establishments follow this trend.  Take Wendy's dollar menu.  Lots of fried goodness, but only a small side salad as any kind of healthy offering.  The regular salads will cost you upwards of five times as much.
     The price burden for getting healthy is tough on me.  Its even tougher on folks who are just barely scraping by.  I'm lucky enough to be financially able to make healthy choices--even if it does stretch the pocketbook sometimes.  I've got the means to choose healthy alternatives at the grocery, pony up a gym membership fee every month, and splurge on an exorbitantly priced exotic fruit just for kicks every once in a while.  I just wish everyone had that opportunity.  Is there a way to fix it?  I'm not sure.  I'm neither an economist nor an agronomist.  But something's got to give.  Everyone ought to be able to afford to make choices that promote their own health and wellness--regardless of what tax bracket they happen to occupy.  
   

Don't Poo Poo On My Parade

     I've been feeling very proud of myself as of late.  I've stuck to my diet plan, cut myself down to one Coke a week, and  torched ten pounds.  But probably most importantly, I've gotten my sorry butt off the couch and started exercising.  I think those are things to celebrate!  And I have been!  But doesn't always seem that in the midst of any celebration that there are always one or two people that want to poo poo on your parade.  You tell them you're getting married--they quote you divorce statistics.  You tell them you're expecting--they tell you how expensive it is to raise a child these days.  You know the ones--never a positive word no matter how wonderful the news.  My path crossed with one of these folks today--but I'm determined not to let it get me down.
     I am a member of a Facebook "free-cycle" group.  Basically, member of the groups post items they wish to give away, or post in search of items they need.  This site has been a Godsend to me, because besides my vices of overeating and lounging on the couch, I'm also the world's worst packrat.  Now not to say I belong on "Hoarders" or anything, but I do tend to hang on to stuff longer than I should (maybe that's the problem with my weight--I'm hoarding the fat).  I've mainly utilized this site as a way to rid myself of unwanted and unneeded junk collecting dust in my closets and basement.  I rarely post in search of anything, but last night I made a simple request.  I posted in search of magazines to read while working out at the gym.
     It is no secret I hate to exercise.  I hate to sweat.  I hate to feel the burn in my calves as I walk on the treadmill.  But most of all, I hate watching the clock.  If I'm not distracted I get very discouraged.  My iPod and the televisions at the gym help, but I've found the most useful thing for me to do is to read a magazine while I'm working out.  It helps me zone out and the time goes by SO MUCH MORE QUICKLY.
      After posting I quickly received a reply from a friend that she had several magazines that she would like to part with, and offered them to me.  I was excited!  One woman's trash would certainly become this woman's treasure.  We made arrangements for me to pick up.  We were both happy, and that should have been the end of things.

BUT NO.

     Apparently some know-it-all came across my post and decided it was her job to offer her two cents. "If you read (or watch TV) while on a machine, your workout is less effective.  Research says so…I am an exercise professional.  Just sayin' "  Really lady?  Did I ask you for your advice?  Nope.  I asked for magazines.  Because you know what?  I'm doing the absolute best I can.  I am dragging my ass to the gym six days a week even when I'd much rather it be firmly planted on the couch.  I'm foregoing Coca Cola and a big bowl of popcorn in favor of bottled water and green smoothies.  Your advice didn't empower me.  It didn't make me want to put in an extra workout or push myself to amp up the speed or incline on the treadmill.  What it did do is make me feel small.  It made me feel weak.  It made me feel like the significant lifestyle changes I've made over the past few weeks were worthless.
    But here's the thing.  I'm not going to let someone else's snide remarks get me down.  I'm pushing forward.  I've got a great support system, and lots of other folks cheering me on (and my friend's comment back to her almost made it worth it--priceless).  One Debbie Downer won't stop this show.  Maybe when I'm down to my goal weight, I'll send this chick a picture--me with my rockin' new bod--on the treadmill, reading Us Weekly.

Own It!

     Being overweight is tough.  If you have never experience weight problems you truly do not understand what it is like to live in a body that betrays you daily--what it's like to live in a body you hate, and society despises.  Harsh words, but true.  I think one of the worst parts of being heavy is the guilt we feel because ultimately we realize that we are the ones who've put ourselves in this boat--and that is an ugly realization.  No one likes to feel that kind of shame.  So, what do we do?  We make up excuses and point our accusing fingers in a myriad of directions other that where they ultimately belong.  I've heard it all, said it all, and thought it all--anything to make  myself feel better about why the body that stares back at me from the mirror is not the body I want to see.  Here's the problem with that kind of thinking.  It solves nothing.  Blaming others is a prescription for laziness.  The thought process becomes, "if it isn't my fault, why should I bother trying to fix it."   I've got news for you.  With rare exceptions-- it is your fault.  (Ouch--that probably stung--but it is true).  You are responsible for you.  You took every single bite that put every single ounce of fat on your own thighs.  But here's the GOOD NEWS.  Once you own it, you can reframe it.  Stop throwing your own personal pity party--trust me, no one wants to attend.   Come to the realization that if you were responsible for putting the weight on, you can take charge of taking it off. Let me tell you folks--that is empowering.
 Instead of wallowing in self pity and self loathing, make an action plan.
     One of my all time favorite excuses for the extra junk in my trunk has always been to blame it on heredity.   Looking around at family get togethers  I've  always reasoned that some mysterious fat gene is responsible for the fact that my blue jeans come from the plus size section.  It makes sense.  It is totally logical.  But it isn't the whole truth.  Don't get me wrong. I do believe that genetics can predispose one to obesity.   But here's the thing.  How much of those collective extra pounds have to do with  our DNA, and how much has to do with that macaroni and cheese sitting on the stove.  You know, the one with the whole quart of heavy cream and a whole stick of butter.  Hmmm…certainly makes you think.  If you know that weight gain runs in your family you are not doomed!  Be proactive.  Make healthier choices to help combat an unfortunate roll of the genetic dice.
    Another excuse I like to make is that I'm a foodie.  Not gonna lie.  This girl loves to eat.  I've never been picky; I've always enjoyed the experience of trying new things.  I grew up in a family that loves to eat--we just didn't always make it a priority to choose the most healthy options.  Family gathering centered around good eats--and lots of them.  Good old Southern hospitality with a side of cheese grits.   If you are like me, and you enjoy the experience of eating, don't believe the lie that you can't enjoy food on a diet. Reframe it as an opportunity to experiment and experience.  There are so many healthy options out there that will tickle your palate.   Do your research.  Finding new, healthy foods that satisfy my inner foodie has been fun for me.  It can be for you too.
        The bottom line is this.  Stop thinking of reasons to fail.  Think of reason to succeed.  Once you own up to the fact that you are responsible for your eating and exercise habits, you can begin to change. You can say no to that extra piece of chocolate cake and yes to extra minutes on the treadmill.  You are responsible for you.  No one can lose the weight for you.  It is a personal journey.  Own it, reframe it, and change it.  You won't regret it.

Get a Move On

     Dieting is all well and good, but without pairing it with exercise, it is next to impossible to lose weight.  I've said it before, if you can add, subtract, multiply and divide---you can lose weight.  You just have to make the numbers work for you.  Knowing these facts to be true, I decided it was time to get my rear back in gear and rejoin a gym.  I've been a gym member before.  When I first started my weight loss journey about three years ago, I joined a local gym, and it really helped me lose the pounds.    But here's the thing. As I got complacent and comfortable, I stopped going--and eventually decided that  if I wasn't going to go, it wasn't worth the dough.  So, I dropped my membership.  As I've watched my weight ratchet up, I've realized that was a mistake--but not an uncorrectable error.  Thus brings me to a new beginning.

     On Friday afternoon, I visited two gyms, and on Saturday morning a third.  As I was touring the facilities, I kept wondering what must being going on in the heads of those gym rats who where trying to woo me into a contract.  I mean, I'm sure they have a script, and I'm sure they want to thoroughly represent all their particular facility has to offer--but come on, some of their dog and pony shows were a tad over the top--especially at one particular facility I visited. 

     At the second gym I visited, I was greeted at the door by college aged muscle head--all ripped arms, six pack, and pearly whites.  He exuded enthusiasm--or perhaps I misread that for the fact that he could smell my desperation-I'm pretty sure he was going to get compensated if he got me to sign on the dotted line.  It kind of reminded me of shopping in the shoe department at Macy's--you know, when the sales associates nearly try to jump your bones just to get a sale.   I could tell this was going to be fun.  As he showed me around the gym, I had a running commentary in my head, that in retrospect, I really wish I had shared with him--but since I just smiled and nodded my head at the time, I will now share it with you.  Here are my tips for showing a plus size thirty something woman around your gym:

1.  Don't take me directly to the free weights.  I don't care about the free weights.  Not yet at least.  They intimidate me.  The guy with the steroid arms, popping a vein in the corner--he intimidates me.  This is not the main draw for me.  I understand that strength training is important.  But it isn't my number one focus right now.  I'm just not ready to the bench press.  I might never be.

    Do show me the weight machines.  They intimidate me a hell of a lot less than barbells and dumbbells.  Just be forewarned that you are going to have to demonstrate--I'm not going to intuitively know what to do. 

2.    Don't tell me how great the new fangled fitness crazy is if I don't look like I could ever in a million years pull it off.  Muscle head took me into a room and showed me the "silks."  I'd never seen anything quite like them---a couple of long silk scarves hanging from the ceiling.  There were pictures on the wall of skinny bitches  all wrapped up in those things.  It reminded me of something that belonged in a strip club more than in the gym. (although from what I understand pole dancing is pretty damn good exercise.)  Trust me, no one wants to see me do that, and I certainly don't want to end up in the emergency room.  

     Do show me the treadmill--I can handle that--all you have to do is put one foot in front of the other. Show me the elliptical.  I could most likely handle that too.  Show me how to hook my headphones up to the machines and how to change the channel on the televisions.  I don't enjoy exercise, and I need a distraction.  This is important to me. 

3.  Don't pressure me into signing a long term contract.  I know some might disagree on that one, and I also understand that is the nature of the beast in some places.  But here's the deal.  I'm afraid.  I'm scared I won't make it past next week much less into next year--that I'm on a new year, new me high, and I'll get over myself by February.  And certainly don't tell me that the contract is "for my own good"--that's kind of insulting.  

     Do  understand when I want to check out other facilities.  I'm probably not ready to make a snap decision.  Even if you are offering a deal that expires in an hour--I need time to think it over and consider my options.  

    In the end, I joined the last gym I visited.  It is actually in the same location where I had been a member previously, it is just now under a new name and new ownership.  They offered me a great teacher discount, I didn't have to sign a long term contract, and they had all new cardio equipment.  There aren't many bells and whistles, and there aren't any stripper silks, but it felt comfortable, and that was important.  Now it's just up to me to make myself walk in the door.  I keep telling myself I'm going to do it.  

     

Fashion Forward

     I'm back on the weight loss and fitness track after falling off the wagon for a bit.  I'm proud of myself.  I really am.  I'm taking steps toward reaching my health and wellness goals.  I rejoined a gym today, bought a Fit Bit, and have been drinking green smoothies for the past week.  Those changes ought to make a girl feel good about herself.  But one of those healthy choices unwittingly led to a punch in the gut today…
      Since I rejoined the gym, I figured it might be prudent to see what kind of work out wear I could find to make myself look at least presentable while I'm sweating away at the treadmill.  Now ladies, I'm not stupid.  I knew better.  I really did.  But…I decided I might just want to peruse a certain high end workout wear establishment---you know the one.  I walked in.  I tried to be unobtrusive.  I wanted to see what was out there if I ever do get to my goal weight.  Here were my take aways:
1.  Nothing in that store comes in a size larger than 12.  And, let me tell you, it was a rather small looking 12 at that.  You know, I get it.  I do.  Companies are brand conscious.  They want to portray a certain image. (Remember the uproar Abercrombie and Fitch caused a few years ago?).  I guess my fat ass stuffed in their overpriced pieces of spandex doesn't exactly fit the prescribed mold.
2.  It didn't help my self concept to go in there.  I kind of felt like Julia Roberts in that one scene from Pretty Woman.  There she is all decked out in her finest hooker-haute-couture when those bossy bitches suggest that "they don't have anything for her," and she was obviously, "in the wrong place." Now, I'm not saying that anyone unceremoniously tossed me out on the street, but I felt like the sales associates were judging me.  One came over and asked if she could help me.  I told her I realized I probably wasn't in the right place (meaning I wouldn't be able to fit my big toe into any of their clothing).  She informed me that, "Well, this is a workout store."  Really chick--I couldn't tell--but thanks for the info.
      So why is it so hard for us "fuller figured" gals to find decent work out attire?  Here's the thing. Women like me, women who are my size, want to and need to work out.  I'm doing it not just for my health but also my self esteem.  I know no one wants to see me in a wireless sports bra and short shorts, but come on,  it would be nice to find at least a cute outfit to make me feel better about myself instead of having to scrounge through the selection of plus size sweatpants available at Walmart.  Maybe I'll hang up this teaching gig and open my own workout wear store for plus size women.  I'll call it Go Go Grapefruit--The Same Sass With a Bigger Ass.