O.S.M.
As mentioned below, I am getting married in 95 days. Just hold that in your brain as my justification for the following:
Oprah talks about "A ha!" moments. Well, I don't know if this was "A ha!" or "Oh shit." I went shopping for wedding dresses three weeks ago. There is nothing in this world that can make a grown person more insane than dress shopping. Bathing suit shopping sucks too, but this whole wedding dress thing for someone almost 40 is just stress wrapped up in an anxiety blanket.
I tried on many dresses. Maybe a dozen. I have some body issues and the past 7 years have not been kind to me. And I haven't been kind to my body. Neglected. Allowed to get fluffy and soft and well, fatter than I've been in my life. If you take a neglected 39 year old body and throw a strapless* ivory gown on it, good luck in trying to avoid the truth.
I felt ugly. I realize that I am not huge. I know that. Weight is subjective. For some people being a size 8 is giant, for others its a goal or "Never gonna happen and I don't want to try that and I could care less." Totally cool with that. I get it. However, for me, a size 16 dress just ain't gonna make me feel good. It was humiliating. I wanted to cry.
And there it was, my Oh Shit Moment. Actually, it was more like a series of them:
* Oh Shit: I have to wear a dress in front of people
* Oh Shit: I am having professional photos of this day
* Oh Shit: At our 25th anniversary those photos will be on display
* Oh Shit: When I die, those photos will be on display
* Oh Shit: Is that back fat popping out of the top of my dress?
* Oh Shit: How many chins does a person need?
* Oh Shit: I think I used to have biceps and a collar bone
Things didn't go well for me. I had a moment there in the dressing room while tugging at what I think was supposed to be a bra but was more of a medieval torture device where I thought: I've got time. I can fix this.
And so, I'm on a mission. And I am on it for all the wrong reasons. It isn't for my health, but it sounds nice to say it is. It isn't for any other reason than the fact that I felt nasty and yucky and old and frumpy and I don't want to spend my wedding day feeling anything other than happy and the effects of too much wine.
I started dieting about three weeks ago. Simple calorie counting to get me started. I downloaded myfitnesspal onto my iPhone and log my food. Its going just fine. I'm down around 13 pounds but the scale isn't where its at. Also, I'm sure mine is a damn lying liar. I need to lose inches.
I researched things and I found P90.
P90 is body boot camp. As much fun as boot camp sounds, I think this is worse. This is so bad people. I started yesterday and today I can't lower or raise myself without support. I am using the handicap bathroom folks. Not for the space or some hope that fewer people use it but for the bars on the walls. Because I can't lower myself unassisted. My office chair has arms and they may not make it to the end of the day today. Things are not good.
My legs, ass and sides of my torso are completely useless to me right now. I'm sore in places I didn't know had muscle. I worked out for the 40 minutes and wanted to vomit for about 20 minutes after. I kicked back Alka Seltzer hoping it would help. I was shaking and things looked all blurry and black spotty. But the pain? That kicked in pretty badly during the night. When my alarm went off at 4:30am I had a hard time rolling over to shut it off. The last time I had this problem I was 7 months pregnant with twins. Only that didn't hurt as much as this morning.
I have to do it again tonight. I know once I get started I'll feel better. I'm familiar with sore muscles - I survived 12 years with Mrs. Galipeau after all. But I was young then. And fit. This? This is torture. But I'll do it. I'll do it every damn day until March 17th and by then hopefully treating my body like this will be routine. And maybe it won't hurt so much by then?
I figure on March 18th I can start P90X. Because I'm nothing if not a sadist.
*What is UP with all dresses being strapless? Why? Why do we do this to women? To ourselves? Do you have any idea how many bicep curls you have to do to pull this off without looking like a sack of flesh? So awful. So purely horrible.
Oprah talks about "A ha!" moments. Well, I don't know if this was "A ha!" or "Oh shit." I went shopping for wedding dresses three weeks ago. There is nothing in this world that can make a grown person more insane than dress shopping. Bathing suit shopping sucks too, but this whole wedding dress thing for someone almost 40 is just stress wrapped up in an anxiety blanket.
I tried on many dresses. Maybe a dozen. I have some body issues and the past 7 years have not been kind to me. And I haven't been kind to my body. Neglected. Allowed to get fluffy and soft and well, fatter than I've been in my life. If you take a neglected 39 year old body and throw a strapless* ivory gown on it, good luck in trying to avoid the truth.
I felt ugly. I realize that I am not huge. I know that. Weight is subjective. For some people being a size 8 is giant, for others its a goal or "Never gonna happen and I don't want to try that and I could care less." Totally cool with that. I get it. However, for me, a size 16 dress just ain't gonna make me feel good. It was humiliating. I wanted to cry.
And there it was, my Oh Shit Moment. Actually, it was more like a series of them:
* Oh Shit: I have to wear a dress in front of people
* Oh Shit: I am having professional photos of this day
* Oh Shit: At our 25th anniversary those photos will be on display
* Oh Shit: When I die, those photos will be on display
* Oh Shit: Is that back fat popping out of the top of my dress?
* Oh Shit: How many chins does a person need?
* Oh Shit: I think I used to have biceps and a collar bone
Things didn't go well for me. I had a moment there in the dressing room while tugging at what I think was supposed to be a bra but was more of a medieval torture device where I thought: I've got time. I can fix this.
And so, I'm on a mission. And I am on it for all the wrong reasons. It isn't for my health, but it sounds nice to say it is. It isn't for any other reason than the fact that I felt nasty and yucky and old and frumpy and I don't want to spend my wedding day feeling anything other than happy and the effects of too much wine.
I started dieting about three weeks ago. Simple calorie counting to get me started. I downloaded myfitnesspal onto my iPhone and log my food. Its going just fine. I'm down around 13 pounds but the scale isn't where its at. Also, I'm sure mine is a damn lying liar. I need to lose inches.
I researched things and I found P90.
P90 is body boot camp. As much fun as boot camp sounds, I think this is worse. This is so bad people. I started yesterday and today I can't lower or raise myself without support. I am using the handicap bathroom folks. Not for the space or some hope that fewer people use it but for the bars on the walls. Because I can't lower myself unassisted. My office chair has arms and they may not make it to the end of the day today. Things are not good.
My legs, ass and sides of my torso are completely useless to me right now. I'm sore in places I didn't know had muscle. I worked out for the 40 minutes and wanted to vomit for about 20 minutes after. I kicked back Alka Seltzer hoping it would help. I was shaking and things looked all blurry and black spotty. But the pain? That kicked in pretty badly during the night. When my alarm went off at 4:30am I had a hard time rolling over to shut it off. The last time I had this problem I was 7 months pregnant with twins. Only that didn't hurt as much as this morning.
I have to do it again tonight. I know once I get started I'll feel better. I'm familiar with sore muscles - I survived 12 years with Mrs. Galipeau after all. But I was young then. And fit. This? This is torture. But I'll do it. I'll do it every damn day until March 17th and by then hopefully treating my body like this will be routine. And maybe it won't hurt so much by then?
I figure on March 18th I can start P90X. Because I'm nothing if not a sadist.
*What is UP with all dresses being strapless? Why? Why do we do this to women? To ourselves? Do you have any idea how many bicep curls you have to do to pull this off without looking like a sack of flesh? So awful. So purely horrible.
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