…or what the ham fat did that scale read?
Hello Dear Readers! Yes, you have read correctly; I am again writing (and still not doing much about ) my weight. I know the PC thing is to be pleased with myself for being the woman I am. My size does not take away that I am intelligent and on the ball. I do get that I am indeed not my weight*. And as a rational woman I would normally accept this as truth and keep it moving. However, today the ugly truth smacked me figuratively in the face as I indulged in a little thing called closet lotto (normal folk call it getting dressed). While doing the dance of the can’t find anything to wear, the same tee that was merely fitted a few months ago fit me, not in a va–va–va–voom type of way, but more of a “He’s not the daddy, I’m on Maury/Jerry Springer” type of way.
I was further visually assaulted as I caught a glimpse of my ham hocks in the mirror at work. The mirror itself is not kind but today the ugly truth was revealed. My arms looked like they have melted. The bit of definition that I once possessed in my biceps and triceps have atrophied into that pudge that I often see on a before picture.
Sadly, the magic pills and potions that I have been waiting on have not materialized. With the onslaught of sun and warm weather I can no longer hide under bulky sweaters and wear (what I think but really know isn’t) camouflaging long sleeved tees.
My complaining has not been in vain; I did do something tonight: some arm work with my five pound weights. Some is the operative word mind you. We are doing a fitness class for teens tomorrow. I don’t think anyone is going to show (that is a rant for another post, coming soon!) but I am sure going to utilize the services my own self. I would like to get to the track but the rain is not conducive to me running in it.
The diet is next but for now I am going to take baby steps.
taking in One Day at a Time,
*A take on India.Arie’s I am Not My Hair