In a completely non-creepy, Silence of the Lambs way, I would just like to say that it would be highly beneficial on many levels if I could take the extra skin I am sporting as a result of this weight loss, and turn it into something useful, like a cool handbag or a pair of shoes. This shit is wackadoo freakish and I don’t dig it in the least.
On the top half of my arms it's total I-will-rock-your-universe-if-you-mess-with-me muscle thanks to yoga and the Shakeweight (yes, I own one and love it!). I will arm wrestle you Sylvester Stallone style with my hat turned backwards, ala the movie Over the Top and flex awkwardly to show you were the gym is on occasion. And if I can’t take you down with my super human girl muscles, I can flip it and smack you upside the head with the elephant-like skin hanging off the bottom of my arm like a fleshy stalker. Because the bottom of my arm will salute you with the eternal wave. It’s that flabby, leftover, extra skin that has nowhere to go and “hangs” around waving for days even after you have lowered your arm. And it’s pissing me off.
Don’t get me started on the beanbag attached to my lower abdomen. While my ribs are now present once again, and my tummy has gone down considerably, I am now wrestling with the extra, stretch marked skin that has formed a home in the shape of pizza dough at the bottom of my stomach. It is smushy and fun to play with, but I do not like that it hangs low, or that I can swing it to and fro. I do not want to tie it in a knot. I do not want to tie it in a bow. I will not throw it over my shoulder like a continental soldier…..ok, I’m done. But seriously, where is the justice in this? It’s a constant reminder of what I did to my body. No amount of yoga or running or pleading with the gods will make it go away. And I have to learn to be ok with it. Or buy lots of Spanx and just fake it.
Now, I’m not complaining….oh wait, yes I am! But it’s a little bit defeating that despite working out 5 days a week and following all the rules I don’t have the guns of a previous Biggest Loser contestant. I just want my body to reflect the time I am putting in to be better and to look better. On the same scale, I do appreciate the fact that I am healthy again. It’s not to say sometimes I wouldn’t trade some of my healthiness for a buff body with abs of steel and an ass you could bounce a quarter off, but I digress.
Back in the day, ya know when I was the size of a small house, I had a GREAT ass. A fat ass, but still a great one. It garnished its share of whistles and dirty compliments, and while it couldn’t always fit into a chair, it was still a pretty nice ass. Now, it’s flat, and a little saggy, and if I wear the wrong underwear, I not only get panty lines but I also have the honor or sporting four butt cheeks. Now, that’s sexy! I went from having an ass that was, let’s say “prominent” enough to be able to rest your coffee cup on to an ass that can no longer hold up a pair of jeans without a belt.
There are so many things about myself that I am still getting used to. Like the fact that I now have normal boobs again. No more 44DD’s for this girl. Now I have to rock my little 34C-cup with pride. And buy bras with super-human-push-up-powers to make it look like I still have a set of twins that you want to motorboat. On the flip side, at least now my boobs stick out further than my stomach so I guess I should shut up and be happy with that. Or with that fact that my boobs aren’t so deflated that I look like the December cover of National Geographic.
These are just some of the changes I am learning to appreciate and accept about myself. It’s not always easy and sometimes I hesitate to share all the gruesome details, but it’s my journey and my story to tell and if I can’t be honest and real about what it felt like, I always run the risk of forgetting and ending up right back where we started. And can you imagine what it would look like to re-inflate this balllon??
On that note, Merry Christmas to all!