So here’s the truth, I’m out of shape. I’m the most active out of shape person I know. I have a black belt in Taekwondo and in the past year when I wasn’t writing
and stuffing my face, I was teaching 3 different types of dance and martial arts. According to the health app on my phone, I naturally walk about five miles a day just doing normal shit.
Last year, I mostly freelanced from home and I gained 20 pounds (okay maybe a little more than that). I gained so much weight that I took a pregnancy test even though I was sleeping with no one because the only thing that could explain my weight gain had to be Immaculate Conception. When the test came out negative (obviously), I realized I couldn’t blame my late night rendezvous with spoons of Nutella with gelato and sour powers on the side on anyone but me.
The thing is, if your office is the desk five feet away from your bed there’s no need to put on pants. I was pant-less for so long that when I decided to leave the house and go places that required me to wear pants, the pairs I owned no longer fit. You’d think that would be a wake up call. Nope. It was just a signal that I should just buy skirts. My friends always said I should wear more dresses.
So, for a while when I woke up in the morning without the minimum of energy required to squeeze into my pants, I pulled on a dress and went on my way. This worked until last week. I had to go to a mixer in the evening one day, so I pulled on a black dress that could transform easily from day to night with a few tweaks to my lip color and shoes. When I put on a dress that I have owned since 30 pounds ago, and the zipper went up so I thought I was good. In my full-length mirror I looked great. All of the mirrors I passed throughout the day confirmed that this dress had the same powers as “The Traveling Pants” (those are from a movie where a group of girlfriends who range in size from 0- 16 can all magically fit into the same pair of pants, so they all share them as they go on their separate adventures).
When you live alone there’s no real checks and balances when getting dressed in the morning.
Me: Hey Simone, do you think you look fat this morning?
Me: No Simone, you look great!
Me: Thanks Simone.
At the end of the day when I checked myself out in the mirror at work, I turned around, and I looked like I fought that zipper. That zipper which went up so smoothly, looked like it was holding on for dear life. I was already teetering on being a cheeseburger away from pleasantly plump. I didn’t realize that I already crossed into the land of weight believe (as in I can’t believe I weigh this much… and it shows). Apparently, I no longer looked good in skirts/dresses either.
When I was 29, I bought a pair of Spanx as a joke. I bought the dress I was supposed to wear to my sister’s wedding two dresses too small (On purpose. Because I’m insane). By the time I turned 30 a few months later, they became a necessity. Sigh.
I’d like to take a moment to say shame on my friends for not slapping the burgers out of my hands and for meeting me at random food trucks, and French cafes for wine and desserts every week. The only person who gave me a hint that I shouldn’t pass go, or collect $200 but just head straight for the gym was one of my exes. I mentioned that I need to lose about 40lbs and his response was “No, maybe just 20lbs.” He never agreed with me when I called myself fat before that conversation.
To be clear, this is not a post to declare that I’m going to go on some insane weight loss program and make you care about my weight loss journey by posting my workouts on all of my social media accounts. (Though, if I end up with a beautiful set of abs and you follow me on Instagram, I might be annoying for a while.) As I’m writing this I’m eating a chocolate bar stuffed with pure hazelnut spread. I’m just sharing my agony because misery loves company. But, I’m going to do something about it though. It is cuffing season after all, and let’s face it, no one is going to want to see me naked if I don’t look good in my clothes.