Thursday, January 10, 2013

I Want to be a Skinny Bitch


I have never done well with New Year resolutions, particularly not if they involved food or exercise.  New Year’s resolutions have always seemed to me like a wish list that seemed a good idea at the time, after a few glasses of champagne and some misguided optimism.  To date, I have had a 100% failure rate when it came to sticking to or even seeing through these “resolutions”.  But this year I am determined that it will be different.  You see, I firmly believe that my body is on a 5 year cycle.  I have 5 fat years and then 5 thin years and 2013 is the start of my thin cycle.  I know it sounds strange but trust me it’s true.  I am fat and it is time to fight the bulge and get back into shape.
Gaining weight is sneaky.  It happens gradually and sometimes you hardly notice it.  Yes, you start to realize something is happening when you have to hold your breath when putting on those jeans, when your cat falls off the couch while lying next to you because it’s running out of space and when you are growing a second chin.  But denial is a very powerful weapon in my psychological arsenal as is rationalization.  Over the last three years I have noticed that I was gaining weight but I told myself it was healthy, that nobody likes skinny bitches anyway and that I was only five stomach flues away from my goal weight.  Sure I had to go up a size with my shirts and pants but that’s all part of growing older and being big boned, right?  Well, no!

You see the turning point came a few weeks ago when we had the family over for Christmas lunch.  It was a beautiful day and perfect for lounging next to the pool.  Naturally hubby was taking pictures, as he always does, but what I didn’t know was that I was in a few of those pictures.  When I decided to look through those festive photos I got the shock of my life.  I was horrified to see myself sitting on the couch, shirtless looking like an albino whale.  I almost died.  So I deleted it.  But that was not the worst of it.  A few days ago, while in the pool hubby pointed out my belly button.  I will not nauseate you with the graphic details but suffice to say it was an eye opener.  At this point I started resenting the pool as I was convinced that only bad things and terrible revelations are made there.
Having had my go to option of denial shattered into little fat pieces I did the only thing I could at the time.  I sat on the shower floor and cried like a little disturbed child who just survived Chernobyl.  All those crisps, chocolates, cheeses, breads, hotdogs and fries that I ate flashed in front of my eyes and the shower water rained down on me like a calorie hail storm.  I had nobody to blame but myself for the extra of me there was to love.  I had to make peace with the fact that I was fat and I had to decide what I was going to do about it.  Am I going to let myself go, become morbidly obese and possibly develop diabetes and get heart problems?  Or am I going to put my big girl panties on and do something about it.  It may seem like a clear cut decision, but I promise you it wasn’t.

The only things in life I hate more than homophobic religious nut cases are diets and exercise.  Both feel like punishment and both make me cranky as fuck!  You can’t tell me that there are actually people out there that like being hungry and tired all the time and that they do it to themselves on purpose.  I also don’t like to sweat and I despise rice cakes.  But, hey if I want to lose the extra Backstreet Boy that I gained over the last few years I don’t have much of a choice, now do I?  So I decided that I was not going to “let myself go” and that I would hire a personal trainer, go see a dietician and loose the weight.  But that is easier said than done.
You see I am one stubborn bitch and if I am getting a personal trainer that person must have a strong personality and have a high tolerance for whining, bitching, moaning and possibly crying.  I need a person who will be able to push me, motivate me, put me in my place and be able to tell me to suck it up and shut up.  In other words I need a bitch with compassion.  I am sure you are out there somewhere!  I have realistic expectations and I know that I won’t lose all the results of my shameful culinary gluttony in a month or even two months, but the important thing is that I just need to get started.  I also don’t expect to have the body of a Greek God in six months but God knows I will try.

So let’s all agree that this is NOT a New Year’s resolution but rather a lifestyle adjustment, an investment in my health and an attempt to reconcile my negative perception of our pool of shame.  They say nothing looks as good as skinny feels.  I haven’t been skinny in 15 years so I kind of forgot if that is true.  Next week the hunt for a personal trainer starts and my diet commences.  If you eat anything delicious looking near me expect a filthy stare and if you see a cranky sweaty bitch it will probably be me.

Till next time.

1 comment:

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