203lbs. What the hell?
I've lost four pounds in the last three days. I've had caffeine, chocolate cake, coffee, and ate what I damn well pleased. I blew off Wed/Thurs workout, and a chance at full moon yoga Friday night. I've been an utter sloth. What the bloody hell?
I hope I didn't lose muscle mass. That would suck. I flexed a lot to earn those muscles. December was a total wash as far as building myself physically. Going home was great, all the extra business was great, but it did cut into my self care. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make, and I feel like I recovered quickly.
The last few workouts I have noticed a huge difference in my body movements. They are more steady the first few reps. After about 3 sets my form turns to shit, of course. I end up flailing at finishing as opposed to flexing my buttocks, wrapping my serratus anteriors and obliques around my core, and working with a straight body. (booty down and parallel to the ground, baby! It's all about form.)
We were doing tuck ups Monday, and I was amazed! I started this month's workouts doing half tuck ups; tuck-ups are reverse sit ups, instead of bringing your upper body to your knees, you are in plank position bending your knees to bring them to your upper body. Yes, it's fucking crazy talk! My legs would swing to the side, or I jerk backwards too hard, and end up face down with my tits in the sand. Just a hot mess. By the end of the month, I actually could do 5-6 in a row perfectly. I still felt like a clumsy fool, but at least I knew what to shoot for.
I went to Jenn's birthday lunch Thursday. Jenn is a big girl, but has never mentioned the idea of a bypass to me. She makes her own clothes (think Alice in Wonderland/steam punk) and seems perfectly happy with herself. I met another girl, Sara, who had a gastric bypass last year. Her experience has been so different from mine. First off, she has had five surgeries, lap band, corrective, and gastric. She got down to a size 12, and now was really sad about being a size 16. She didn't want to talk weight numbers, but would talk clothing sizes. I think she said she got down to 135 pounds. Shit, I never saw the south side of 180 pounds.
She apologized to Jenn when we started talking weight. Jenn introduced me as someone who had gastric bypass. That one of the weird things about a bypass. It's kind of a public surgery. I know people who have had it and they hide the fact like it's an illegitimate child. I'm not so squeamish, but openly acknowledging it opens me up to whole host of weirdly personal questions asked while in mixed company, such as: When you eat the wrong things do you shit yourself?
Seriously, I've been asked this in front of people at a party. Like I said, people seem to feel open to asking ANYTHING.
Sara's eyes lit up, and she went into a litany of physical complaints that have cropped up during her surgery. Resentments she had toward her body for gaining weight. She talked about food like it was a lover. She hated on herself for a few moments then listened to my response for 2.5 seconds then went on with her monologue of OMG.
I listened and nodded. But inside I was screaming "HOLY SHIT!"
Jenn steered the conversation away from Sara's experience, and commented on my workout lunacy and the Tough Mudder. I went into my little 'I almost died on that mountain' routine. We all had a good chuckle, but I did notice what I ordered to eat, and how much I ate was different from what Sara had. She tried my sugar free pancake syrup. She shook her head and laughed, then told her forkful pancakes that Mrs. Butterworth was the only one for her. She was funny, she was cute, but she was still a slave to her appetite. I could tell. So many of the emotional issues I had been shadowboxing the past five years seemed writ large all over her face. She hated being size 16, it was a failure to her. I told her I never got under a size 16. Her clothing was all a size smaller than mine.
I had moments of distinct awkwardness sitting there listening to her bemoan her size which was my size as being a failure. When she heard this she peeped and said she felt tons better because I looked so good at this size. I thanked her, but I thought to myself 'I look better because I'm dressing for my shape.' She was layered in what I call flop wear: jeans with two layers of sweatshirt/long underwear, all of them too tight. She looked like a blue sausage.
There are certain styles of clothing I no longer allow myself because I know what it means to me mentally if I dress in them(flop wear). I don't have sweats, I have workout clothes that are tight and shiny. I don't own housedresses. Every dress I wear has the appropriate underthings to go with it. My bra does not come off until bedtime. All my underwear matches in some way with the bra I wear with it. Trashed underthings get exactly that: trashed. I dress myself like I care about myself, because I do.
Please don't get me wrong. I thought Sara was a doll. She was a bit conservative and Mormonish(cheerfully polite in a cultish kind of way) but seemed like a fun gal. I just saw her through the lens of body dysmorphia that we both suffer from. Her experience with weight loss was still at a surface level of numbers, she hadn't made the switch over to seeing healthy behaviors and healthy thought patterns being a part of her recovery. She still referred to Mrs Butterworth as friend, as opposed to 'that doo rag wearing bitch that is trying to give me a heart attack and diabetes!' like she should be thinking of her.
She told me that it was much harder to get a bypass these days because more and more people were committing suicide when the ability to enjoy their favorite addiction(food) was taken from them. I was horrified. At least when I got my surgery all I had to worry about was trading addictions and ending up divorced. The top addictions to trade up to were shopping, gambling or sex. I remember praying 'Please let it be cleaning, and exercise. Please!!'
I was worried about getting a divorce. When I got my surgery there was a fad amongst the 'thinners' to divorce their mates once the opportunity of getting laid by a wider spectrum of people appeared. They would tell their partners that 'They had never really got to date when they were younger(and fatter), so now that they had a new body they deserved a new life, sans the only loser they could land while they were orca fat.' Not very complimentary to either person I feel.
I had a therapist before and after surgery just monitor my crazy level during all the severe changes I was undergoing. I told her my fears of turning into a self absorbed bitch who was going to dump her husband and move on to having meaningless sex with thoughtless men. My therapist laughed at me. Seriously. She asked when in my life did me being fat stop me from boinking a guy. I thought about that for a good five minutes, and had to admit. Well, never actually. In a sexual pinch, men have been known to punch holes in watermelons and fuck them. They aren't that picky, so they are pretty easy to nail. The only guys I wanted to bone and didn't were gay. And they usually were very complimentary about the refusal.
My friends who have known me before and after the surgery said I've stayed the same in most ways. I'm calmer now, I obsess over food less, and I trust myself more. That's about it. I can tell you it's been a relief to know I'm not going to squirrel off the tracks into crazy bitch town. But I worry about this new trend of suicides. I have been getting what I call universal anvils. That is were the universe keeps sending you heavy handed hints to your next path. Mine has been that I want to train as a Kundalini Yoga teacher, I also want to train as a PCRM nutritional counselor(the people who do the 21 day vegan challenge). My trainer Kim has been suggesting a class for people who are seriously changing their physical state. I can relate to them about all the things you go through when you change from being couch mold to a physically fit womanimal. I can sympathize with the fear, the embarassment, the painful early PE memories of earlier attempts of physicality, all of it. These people need a sherpa, and I think I can do it.
I hope I didn't lose muscle mass. That would suck. I flexed a lot to earn those muscles. December was a total wash as far as building myself physically. Going home was great, all the extra business was great, but it did cut into my self care. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make, and I feel like I recovered quickly.
The last few workouts I have noticed a huge difference in my body movements. They are more steady the first few reps. After about 3 sets my form turns to shit, of course. I end up flailing at finishing as opposed to flexing my buttocks, wrapping my serratus anteriors and obliques around my core, and working with a straight body. (booty down and parallel to the ground, baby! It's all about form.)
We were doing tuck ups Monday, and I was amazed! I started this month's workouts doing half tuck ups; tuck-ups are reverse sit ups, instead of bringing your upper body to your knees, you are in plank position bending your knees to bring them to your upper body. Yes, it's fucking crazy talk! My legs would swing to the side, or I jerk backwards too hard, and end up face down with my tits in the sand. Just a hot mess. By the end of the month, I actually could do 5-6 in a row perfectly. I still felt like a clumsy fool, but at least I knew what to shoot for.
I went to Jenn's birthday lunch Thursday. Jenn is a big girl, but has never mentioned the idea of a bypass to me. She makes her own clothes (think Alice in Wonderland/steam punk) and seems perfectly happy with herself. I met another girl, Sara, who had a gastric bypass last year. Her experience has been so different from mine. First off, she has had five surgeries, lap band, corrective, and gastric. She got down to a size 12, and now was really sad about being a size 16. She didn't want to talk weight numbers, but would talk clothing sizes. I think she said she got down to 135 pounds. Shit, I never saw the south side of 180 pounds.
She apologized to Jenn when we started talking weight. Jenn introduced me as someone who had gastric bypass. That one of the weird things about a bypass. It's kind of a public surgery. I know people who have had it and they hide the fact like it's an illegitimate child. I'm not so squeamish, but openly acknowledging it opens me up to whole host of weirdly personal questions asked while in mixed company, such as: When you eat the wrong things do you shit yourself?
Seriously, I've been asked this in front of people at a party. Like I said, people seem to feel open to asking ANYTHING.
Sara's eyes lit up, and she went into a litany of physical complaints that have cropped up during her surgery. Resentments she had toward her body for gaining weight. She talked about food like it was a lover. She hated on herself for a few moments then listened to my response for 2.5 seconds then went on with her monologue of OMG.
I listened and nodded. But inside I was screaming "HOLY SHIT!"
Jenn steered the conversation away from Sara's experience, and commented on my workout lunacy and the Tough Mudder. I went into my little 'I almost died on that mountain' routine. We all had a good chuckle, but I did notice what I ordered to eat, and how much I ate was different from what Sara had. She tried my sugar free pancake syrup. She shook her head and laughed, then told her forkful pancakes that Mrs. Butterworth was the only one for her. She was funny, she was cute, but she was still a slave to her appetite. I could tell. So many of the emotional issues I had been shadowboxing the past five years seemed writ large all over her face. She hated being size 16, it was a failure to her. I told her I never got under a size 16. Her clothing was all a size smaller than mine.
I had moments of distinct awkwardness sitting there listening to her bemoan her size which was my size as being a failure. When she heard this she peeped and said she felt tons better because I looked so good at this size. I thanked her, but I thought to myself 'I look better because I'm dressing for my shape.' She was layered in what I call flop wear: jeans with two layers of sweatshirt/long underwear, all of them too tight. She looked like a blue sausage.
There are certain styles of clothing I no longer allow myself because I know what it means to me mentally if I dress in them(flop wear). I don't have sweats, I have workout clothes that are tight and shiny. I don't own housedresses. Every dress I wear has the appropriate underthings to go with it. My bra does not come off until bedtime. All my underwear matches in some way with the bra I wear with it. Trashed underthings get exactly that: trashed. I dress myself like I care about myself, because I do.
Please don't get me wrong. I thought Sara was a doll. She was a bit conservative and Mormonish(cheerfully polite in a cultish kind of way) but seemed like a fun gal. I just saw her through the lens of body dysmorphia that we both suffer from. Her experience with weight loss was still at a surface level of numbers, she hadn't made the switch over to seeing healthy behaviors and healthy thought patterns being a part of her recovery. She still referred to Mrs Butterworth as friend, as opposed to 'that doo rag wearing bitch that is trying to give me a heart attack and diabetes!' like she should be thinking of her.
She told me that it was much harder to get a bypass these days because more and more people were committing suicide when the ability to enjoy their favorite addiction(food) was taken from them. I was horrified. At least when I got my surgery all I had to worry about was trading addictions and ending up divorced. The top addictions to trade up to were shopping, gambling or sex. I remember praying 'Please let it be cleaning, and exercise. Please!!'
I was worried about getting a divorce. When I got my surgery there was a fad amongst the 'thinners' to divorce their mates once the opportunity of getting laid by a wider spectrum of people appeared. They would tell their partners that 'They had never really got to date when they were younger(and fatter), so now that they had a new body they deserved a new life, sans the only loser they could land while they were orca fat.' Not very complimentary to either person I feel.
I had a therapist before and after surgery just monitor my crazy level during all the severe changes I was undergoing. I told her my fears of turning into a self absorbed bitch who was going to dump her husband and move on to having meaningless sex with thoughtless men. My therapist laughed at me. Seriously. She asked when in my life did me being fat stop me from boinking a guy. I thought about that for a good five minutes, and had to admit. Well, never actually. In a sexual pinch, men have been known to punch holes in watermelons and fuck them. They aren't that picky, so they are pretty easy to nail. The only guys I wanted to bone and didn't were gay. And they usually were very complimentary about the refusal.
My friends who have known me before and after the surgery said I've stayed the same in most ways. I'm calmer now, I obsess over food less, and I trust myself more. That's about it. I can tell you it's been a relief to know I'm not going to squirrel off the tracks into crazy bitch town. But I worry about this new trend of suicides. I have been getting what I call universal anvils. That is were the universe keeps sending you heavy handed hints to your next path. Mine has been that I want to train as a Kundalini Yoga teacher, I also want to train as a PCRM nutritional counselor(the people who do the 21 day vegan challenge). My trainer Kim has been suggesting a class for people who are seriously changing their physical state. I can relate to them about all the things you go through when you change from being couch mold to a physically fit womanimal. I can sympathize with the fear, the embarassment, the painful early PE memories of earlier attempts of physicality, all of it. These people need a sherpa, and I think I can do it.
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