My monsterously envious green self has reared its ugly head once again. I worked out on Sunday with Sahm, and it was a good workout, but after a long lapse in between Turbos I was worthless. Don't get me wrong, I was glad that I did it, but man am I out of shape and wimpy. I am huffing and puffing with half of the effort I used to expell. And there's Sahm, adding some extra hops into her lead so that she'll feel like she actually did something. "Up the cardio a notch, I don't feel a thing." And sometime she says truths like, "Yeah, I am sore after the first time but then never again. " or "I was doing these side-planks up on my toes and fingertips and other people were struggling and I was thinking, 'Really? Cuz this is not really challenging me at all.'"
And it is at those times when I want to grab her by the long flowy hair and shove her in front of a mirror and scream at her "THAT'S BECAUSE YOU ARE NOW ONE OF THOSE SKINNY BITCHES WHO IS IN SHAPE AND LOVES EXERCISE BECAUSE IT IS REWARDING TO YOU!!!!" And I am still an out-of-shape schlump who is just waiting for the damn hour to be over so I can say I worked out and go back to the parts of my life I enjoy.
And that is hideous of me, right? I mean, I am proud of her work. But does she have to mention that she can do fantastical feats of strength and not bat an eyelid while I am huffing and groaning through the modifier that most 5-year-olds could do in their sleep? And it's her job. Truely, this is now what she does for a living - work out and lead others in workouts. She is in the cohort of people who go to work and say, "ooh, check out this really hard move I learned yesterday. It really works your abs. I was sore for two days, it was awesome." And I love my job, but it entails sitting on my large duff most of the time. And conversations with peers are about the person who wants out of the nursing home who had dried poo all over their rear end, so we agree it's not a good idea for them to go home. And there's junk in the break room and junk in my trunk as a result.
So I look at her skinny assed self, and she can say she is not, but she is as small as she has been since high school. And then I can look at myself. And then I can get together with any crowd of friends in this skinny assed town, and my incredible Hulk side is raging - yelling at me to never eat anything but lettuce and chicken, to get up and work out. And I do it for half a day. And I am starting to believe that short of going to some nazi excercise camp, I will never again see the day when my flesh does not squish into a mound between my bra and my pantihose resembling an alien set of alternate breasts. How depressing. Loads of cute spring and summer clothes at Kohls and I will not subject myself to the torture of trying them on and hating them all.
Oh, did I mention that I got my period?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
You're the psychologist so you can back me up here: See, I still don't feel like I'm really in shape. I mean, I know I'm more in shape than people who don't work out, but I've never been in shape before so my brain is having difficulty acknowledging the fact that yes, I am probably in shape. This is why when I notice people not keeping up or me not being sore I automatically think "I must be doing it wrong." Because I'm not THAT girl - the one that's in shape. It's like the huge obese people that get gastric bypass and then feel all weird because they can't believe they're thin. I DON'T think I'm fat though, and I don't think I need to lose more weight - so in that regard I don't think I'm a freak.
Well I have always been the "skinny bitch" you refer to often in your blog... but let me tell you... THINGS HAVE CHANGED!
I went swim suit shopping with my mom last weekend and it was horrible. I always thought big boobs would be kinda cool but I guess there's a big difference in big milk filled boobs and silicone filled ones. As if the big boobs weren't disgusting enough I've got a huge muffin top and back fat! I ended up wearing one of my mom's suits to the pool. I'm 25 and I borrowed my 54 year old mother's tankini.
So, it seems that changing our shapes just screws us all up in the head no matter which way you go. Hey, come to think of it, staying the SAME shape screws me all up, so...great.
Ladafam - welcome to the muffin top club, and just be proud to carry the banner as a former skinny bitch. (I would gladly wear it.) If it were me, I'd carry around a photo of myself from the non-backfat days and just show everyone, "Yeah, but this is what I really look like when I have my real body. This one is just on loan from the Mommy Museum."
Post a Comment