So, my butt is really big.
You know how there’s all these things all the time that are all “Yo writer, you wanna be successful? Butt in chair, bitch. Butt. in. chair.”
So I spend a lot of time with my butt in a chair. Or on a couch. Or possibly the front steps. Where ever I can go with some kind of writing utensil so that I can spend lots of time just creating my own brand of woo-hoo yee haw sexy nerdy snarfly glitter puke.
And end result is a big. big. ass. And waist. And hips. Thighs. Biceps. Omg…. and back fat. I have back fat.
I was unaware of the extent of said back fat. However, I can’t say I didn’t have a clue about how fat writing makes writers. It’s been talked about over and over. Plus, common sense says if you sit around all the time, downing coffee by the gallon, eating garbage, never exercising, your ass is gonna expand people. Common sense.
So anyway I kept seeing author Sara Humphreys posting about her workout regimen…and you know how you see those freakin’ infomercials and you’re just like, yeah, that’s a scam. Those have to be actors or freaks of nature. That doesn’t happen to real people. Except it did happen to Sara. Sara went and lost a crap ton of weight and is wearing a bikini again. At 40 something, and after having four boys.
Now, me? Not gonna wear a bikini. My stomach looks like Freddy Kruger took up residence and I’m carting him around like that weird twin alien from Total Recall.
Is this all getting too weird and personal? Eh, anyway.
So I decided that I had to do something about my fatness. Because my knees were giving me shit, and I realized I avoided having my picture taken, and my mom had a heart attack a few years ago, and shit wasn’t I on the road to heart disease with a side of processed nacho cheese.
First step was taking pictures of myself. Remember what I said about back fat? HOLY SHIT. I don’t have a full length mirror in my house, so I had no idea how terrible I looked. Looks are a superficial reason to get in shape, but for some reason, that’s more motivating than say, diabetes, stroke, heart attack, fat rolls, blindness, loss of limb, asthma, being trapped in my couch and unable to stand, motorized shopping carts, and knee surgery. When I saw those pictures, my reaction was sorta like this:
I’ve tried like, every stupid freaking exercise thing ever. I’ve been to a nutritionist, worked out five-six days a week, I own a treadmill that I used to use regularly (yes I know I should have been using it all the time, but it’s boring as hell, k thanx bai), I took martial arts and did a hundred pushups and a couple hundred jumping jacks like it wasn’t shit at all, Tae Bo, The Firm…I’ve done it. I’ve failed to lose weight at it. I dunno if I didn’t have all my shit together or what. Maybe my nutrition was off, or I wasn’t burning enough calories or….I dunno. But as I’ve posted before, I’ve been overweight for my whole life. At least, as long as I can remember. I’ve never been thin enough to wear a bikini, never had a flat belly, and I think my thighs were pretty much fused to each other.
It was feeling pretty bleak and sad over here in Fat Jenn land.
***Awws don’t cry Dean!***
I bought the exercise program Sara kept shouting about with all the enthusiasm of a rainbow puking unicorn. She’s adorable, that Sara. And very motivated. She’s like….she’s like being around a motivational speaker who doesn’t throw a catch phrase at you and then try to sell you a set of self-actualization CD’s. (Oh, the workout. It’s called T25, it’s by Beach Body, those crazy mofos who do P90X and Insanity and PiYo) I follow that bitch to the letter. To. The. Letter.
My knees? They feel better. Not sounding so much like bubble wrap anymore. Everything is shrinking. (including my boobs and that makes me kinda sad, but less under boob sweat next summer appeals to me.) I’m losing weight–although I do think that the scale is a tool of the devil cause it fluctuates wildly and tries to play dirty dirty tricks on you–and I’m just, well, I’m shrinking. All over. 🙂
And it’s pretty freaking awesome. This isn’t about body shame or not being able to love myself or whatever. This is about being healthy and not trapped in a wheelchair when I’m old. It’s about riding my bike and being able to walk up and down steps without being in agony. This is about having a tight little ass despite all the time I spend sitting on it. I don’t care if that makes me shallow, I want to feel good about my body, and not be super sick and on forty five medications when I’m sixty.
T25 is no joke. It’s hard. HARD. But it’s only a half hour a day, and with a decent amount of attention paid to what I eat, T25 is helping me take control of my weight. Of my life. For the first time ever, I’m making an effort to lose weight that’s actually working.
And doesn’t that make me a happy happy camper.
There’s also this super great group I belong to on Facebook. It’s a secret/closed group, and it’s focused on health, fitness, and support. The Romance Fit Club for Readers and Writers. No spam, no shame, no bull shit. Join it, and hang out with a bunch of chicks who will cheerlead you, answer your questions, and surround you with some fluffy fluffy love.