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Saturday, March 19, 2011

I'm Waging War...On My Fat!

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Tonight was Day 1 of my commitment to reclaim my body.

It's been a long time coming and waaaaaaaay overdue.

My weight is and has been an albatross around my neck for...too many years.

It seems like the moment I got engaged to my ex husband the pounds literally jumped on me. I no more than had to LOOK at a cookie and I would gain 10 pounds.

True story.

I noticed tiny things then that made me uncomfortable, but not enough that I actually did something about them.

Like when I would pull up my jeans, a large part of my arse would move up along with them. Suddenly, my hips were a little wider and my thighs rubbed together a little more.

But I still looked good and felt good in my clothes (or thought I did, at least), so it was no big deal.

Fast forward 4 1/2 years and a miserable marriage, I was 50 pounds heavier...and my arse did more than "move up" when I pulled up my jeans. It now had its own zip code. Businesses were offering me money to paper it with their advertisements. I had grown a legitimate, bona fide ba-donka-donk.

It wasn't just my backside that had grown exponentially. No. Lucky me, I now had back fat that poured out around my bra, thighs that could set fire to corduroy or pantyhose, and forget the "muffin top"...I had an entire bunt cake around my waste. My face was puffy, I had creases around my eyes and mouth that didn't used to be there. And we aren't talking laugh lines.

I hated myself. I was lonely. I ate as a way to be happy and enjoy myself. I started hanging out and going to happy hour with friends from work. We all know that alcohol is not a friend to the belly (or the brain cells.)

So...I decided it was time to make a change. I joined a gym and started taking step class. I got a personal trainer.

That all sounds great right?

Well, it was. But something you must understand about me is that I don't really like being told what to do. It's a...thing...I have. So, my trainer (Lisa) would tell me something to do and I would say, "Oh, Lis...do I really have to? I'm just not feelin' it today." And she would let me do something else. God bless Lisa.

While it did a lot to keep me from hating her, it did nothing for shedding weight.

There came a time though when I lost about 170 pounds...it's called a divorce. Miraculously, when that happened, I also lost about 20 pounds from my bod. I may make light of it here, but it really was no laughing matter. It's a subject for a whole other host of blog posts.

Then, I met Joe. C'est L'amour!

Everything happened at lightening speed. You know: first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Mandy with a baby carriage...or 5 baby carriages...in 5 1/2 years... Although our version was in a slightly different order. *ahem*

I gained 25 lbs with R. Lost it the first week after delivering.

Gained another 25 with L. Lost it in the first 2 months after having him.

Gained about 35 with E. Amazingly, I was actually the fittest I had been in years WHILE I was pregnant with her. I have pics to prove it. Then it all went downhill. I'm the only woman I know who blew up AFTER having the baby. I don't know what happened. It looked like I sucked on an air hose after she was born. And it stayed that way until I got pregnant with M.

Gained about 30 with M.

And now.....gained about 25-30 with H and here we are at present day.  I lost all the "baby weight" the first 2 weeks, but the saggy skin, stretch marks, and re-arranging of the fat that's left over is what's depressing me. I'm back to that annoying back fat, thunder thighs, separate time zone buttocks that I experienced way back when. At least this time it's because of something happy, not something sad.

And now we're all caught up at tonight...my inagural workout since having the 5th baby.

I walked into the gym--totally self-conscious that everyone would judge me. I was okay until I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass doors and saw that unbeknownst to myself I was expecting rain--and lots of it--because my pants were flapping around my ankles all flood-y like. After a brief flashback-to-high-school moment, I pulled myself together and strolled in like I belonged there.

I went over to stretch on the mats, but there were too many hot guys working out over there and I was too embarrassed that my size 42 granny panties (that are soooooooo comfortable and my husband hates) would show since the waist band is about 2 inches above the top of my pants.

I stretched for about 5.2 seconds and then practically ran up the steps to the treadmill, pant legs flapping in the breeze all the while. I loaded up my MP3 player with some great music and reacquainted myself with some old workout buddies (Beyonce, Britney, Coldplay) while getting in a groove. I alternated speeds and incline a little until I broke a mild sweat...didn't want to overdue it. I was pretty happy with the 2.5 miles I did, even though I only burned about 2 and half tic tacs worth of calories.

When I was done, I got off to go find a paper towel to wipe down the machine. I was dizzy. That's pretty pathetic. I had motion sickness from the treadmill. HAHA.

I felt petty good although I could envision every single fat cell in my body freaking out the moment I started walking on the treadmill. I pictured a fat little guy stuffing his face with twinkies, screaming in fear and running around looking for a way to make it all stop. Take THAT! Mama means business.

This time around, though, I don't have a picture that I cut out and hung on my refrigerator. I don't have a mental image of what I want to look like because I don't want to set unrealistic expectations for myself. Who knows if I have the same build or body makeup of that MODEL in Fitness magazine. I just want to be healthy and toned. I don't want  to be rail (which is good since it will never happen) and I don't need to hit a certain number in weight or clothes size. I just want to be strong and healthy.

So, hold on to your hat. I plan to drag every single one of you on this journey with me. If you're brave enough to watch my successes and those times when I will inevitably fall on my face. (Although I hope not literally since that IS a fear I have on the treadmill...especially when I start mentally choreographing routines in my head and really get into it.) What a sight I must be.

Until next time...
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