Posted on

Fat Girl Manifesto

I’ve been working on this post for a while, and I think it’s something I have to “get out of my system” in order to move forward with some of the goals I have for myself.

Before I go throwing out fancy words like manifesto, I should at least know what makes a bunch of declarative statements strung together into a manifesto. So, let’s look it up:

manifesto- a public declaration of policy and aims, esp. by a political party or candidate.

Right, I can make a public declaration of policy and aims with regards to being a fat girl. So, here we go…

I’ve always been aware of the fact that people take an inordinate amount of interest in my young life, particularly in the area of my appearance and relationships. Even when I was young and thin, my weight always seemed to be an issue. I can’t accurately recall for you the number of times I’ve been told I will get fat, I’m getting fat, or, as a character from The Incredibles put it “oh my God, you’ve gotten fat!” I can’t relate how many times I’ve been told “Don’t eat that; you’ll get fat” “eat more of this” or “you really need to…”

I’ve been told I look pregnant, I’m one of “the butt sisters”, “I’d no idea how much weight you’d gained,” and been the recipient of every clock and dagger, blind item telling off and “jelly fisher” comment you can imagine.

I’ve taken the brunt of well-meaning advice. I’ve endured hearing my losing weight as a goal in enough hypothetical conversations to feel a bit put out. To be honest, it’s getting harder and harder to  pretend to be unfazed by everyone’s interest in my diet, waistline, & workout regiment. It gets tiresome not saying anything back in order not to offend people who are either unaware they are offending me or simply don’t care.

On one of the nights of the marriage & family workshop, us single ladies were given the challenge to stare at ourselves naked and identify what we love about ourselves 30 days in a row. I can’t disect how I even feel about that because so many other people’s voices & opinions are clamoring to define for me how I feel about me.

I went to the gym Christmas Eve and Boxing Day,  but my sense of accomplishment from two great progress days was marred by the relating of someone’s question as to whether my dad is to be a grandfather soon, followed by this well meaning text message:

Saw you[r] picture on Facebook didn’t realize how much weight you have gained[.] It has been a life time struggle for me. Starting Daniel fast 1-4-12 if you like I [can] send you a copy of it just to help support you.

Well, that’s just it for me. Let’s put it out in the open. Consider this my fat girl manifesto. I’m aware that I am fat. I’m 4’11” & weigh 142 lbs. I’m not pregnant. I don’t overeat, and at this point, there are few things I want less than someone interrogating me on everything I put into my mouth. I’m no bigger than I was three months ago; I actually weigh three pounds less. Nothing about my my weight is funny, friendly, or a cause for an intervention. Let’s all take it as read I know I “need” to lose about 30lbs. (…)

In order for this to be a manifesto, I’ll have to publicly declare my policy and aims with regards to being a fat girl, clearly stating my objectives. My policy, aims, and objectives, my manifesto, is as follows…

To be continued…

Posted on

Thoughtful Thursday: Weighing In

This really isn’t controversial personal enough to be a TMI Tuesday (or maybe it is), but it’s been on my mind from some of the blog reading that I’ve been doing. The question of the day is: how often do you weigh yourself, and for what purpose?

I’ve never been a scale junkie. I can probably count on my fingers and toes the times I’ve voluntarily weighed myself in the past ten years (this is not counting doctor visits and their awful mandatory weighing). For the most part, I felt good about my weight range and the way I looked, so I never bothered to keep up with the numbers. I usually went by how I felt: if I felt like I had gained too much weight, I picked up my workouts. Now that I’m getting old more conscious of my need for a more consistent workout schedule and tired of seeing fat larger than I would like body parts, I’ve come back to the question of the scale.

I know people who weigh themselves in a wide range of intervals, everything from every day to every two or three weeks. I realize for some people, this is accountability, encouragement, a wake up call, but for someone like me, it’s just torture. Weight can fluctuate so much based on the scale(s) you use, the time of day, the moon’s gravitational pull on the water in your body, a hex put on you by your boyfriend’s ex (just kidding with that last one, but it sure seems like it). When I do look at the numbers, I become way too invested in it. Perhaps you’ve seen a couple of my breakdowns over the numbers on the scale after I’d been working out consistently? Yeah, happens every time. For real.

So, how’s your relationship with the scale? Do you use other means to track your progress? Does the scale take a toll on your self-esteem? How can I overcome all of the freakouts and breakdowns I have after weighing in? Help me out here, folks!

Posted on

Putting My Best Fitness Foot Forward

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have seen my recent rant against a certain Scale/ BMI/ body fat/ blood pressure measurer when I visited my new gym. I realized I wasn’t angry at the machine, however; I was angry at myself. I think a lot of are taking out misplaced anger on machines.

When I first approached the life center with a trainer (who mercifully couldn’t stay), there was a woman already in it. She proclaimed that she was finished, that the machine “lies anyway.” Does it really lie, or are we just in denial about our weight & body fat and health?

I got in the lie center and recorded my initial readings. The numbers suck. They are not reflective of who I am or how I feel most days. They are a far cry from me at my best. But deep down I knew that already. My knees hurt a lot for apparently no reason, I’m restless, I have no appetite then late at night I’m starving–my body is out of whack and suffering…and the numbers I’m about to share with you prove it.

I weigh (at around 5′ tall, for perspective) 140 pounds. That seems heavy but not substantial if you don’t know he ideal weight fomy height is around 100 pounds. Yeah. My body is 32.2% fat; yes I am a third fat. So there you have my current stats. I’m also having breakouts, headaches, and aches. I sleep badly. I can’t find the energy to do much…I am far away from me.

Once my car has been fixed, I will begin to take classes at the gym a few times a week. My company offered corporate memberships, so there are a lot of my coworkers going. They offer great classes, including cycling & Zumba. I’ve only ever taken Yoga & Tai Chi, so we will see how I like them. Maybe my fitness passion is in there somewhere.

Today I am reminding myself to make myself a priority. Nothing in my life runs without me. I have to take care of me so I ccan take care of everything else. It’s time for my ouside to match the inside I want to have, and polish my insides until they shine through again. I’m rededicating myself to me.

What are you going to rededicate yourself to? It’s officially fall, you know; fall back into step with something that made you happy…and tell me all about it!

Posted on

Weighing In

The weigh in. I wish weigh ins for me are like they are on The Biggest Loser or Celebrity Fit Club. The numbers would go up and down before they stopped, and I would have time to prepare for it, whatever it was. I definitely would not have been prepared. Despite my pants being loser around the waist, my stomach looking a little less jiggly puff, at least a half hour of cardio each trip to the gym, according to the scale I used (not the scale I first checked my weight on, by the way), I weigh six pounds  more than I did when I first weighed in. How that is possible, I don’t know. But I am upset. I went to the gym at least 3 times a week, at least an hour each time, with 30 minutes of cardio, fifteen minutes of abs, and fifteen of hips, quads and hamstrings., not to mention yoga. I am going to the fair tonight or tomorrow, and I feel like eating something deep fried. I am well and truly disgusted with this whole process.


Posted on

Random Thoughts Ahead!

I know I owe you a ton of things, and I made a deal with myself to get them done, along with a million other things, before my birthday, but I have been having a mini crisis in regards to said birthday and a pervasive I don’t give a good curse word attitude in all things related to goals/resolutions/self improvement, etc. Aside from the fact that the year is no longer shiny and new, I decided the beginning is a positioning phase, that my birthday will be the start of the real work. In consequence, my mind/body seem perfectly content with mediocrity this last week before then. I am waiting until the day after said birthday to weigh myself. That’s scary. I am making doctor and dental appointments before my birthday. That’s scarier. I haven’t been anywhere but on campus when I had brochitis and was half dead since I was sixteen. I haven’t been to the gynecologist. What if I have cysts on my ovaries? What if I’m destined to be childless or have a weird lung disease or am anaemic or my body fat is over 20%?

The Clean Up Woman is out. Those tickets were too much by themselves right now, not including dinner or anything else. I have no special desires or urges of things to do for my birthday this year.

I read the John Mayer playboy issue. Whatever. The man has never been any different than he is. I get his attitude, and Kanye West’s. I don’t agree, but I understand. When everyone tells you that you can’t, that “forget you I know I’m great” cockiness propels you to be famous. The only thing is, how do you come back to Earth when everyone all of a sudden agrees with you and gives you praise? Especially when life continues and you realize it’s still not enough. That’s not all you are. People try to use you as a meal ticket. You have nearly no true friends or people you can trust. Now, John Mayer’s “peeps” has never interested me. If his peeps has a whites only sign, hey, whatever. You aren’t the nicest person or someone I would want to date and I appreciate you leaving sistahs like me alone. We have enough men who are full of it and feeling themselves a little too much running around after Black women without him. But Continuum is still a fantastic album.

Tiger Woods is speaking out tomorrow. I must admit I am curious. I always wanted him to say something. Whether he really apologizes sincerely or to save his family/caree/image, whether this is just because he’s felt it in his pockets, or whether it’s because he just has to say something so he can get back to playing golf, he needs to address it, if for no other reason than to say screw you all, I’m a grown man and don’t owe you anything. It’s the same issue I took withRihanna and Chris Brown. You have to speak sometime, and if addressing wrongs to your character won’t make you, threats to your livelihood will. I will probably have to youtube it, but will give you my “expert” opinion.

Well, work calls.

Posted on

Freestyle Friday? Umm…k

***This is not the beginning of another weekly/monthly/whenever I feel like it…I’m just being lazy and have a lot of random things to say, so it’s like a freestyle–off the top of my head, creative (hopefully), and interesting.

Random thought number one: My abs and arms are burning! Yoga fit abs is twelve minutes of Hell on Earth, but I know it works because I finished over twelve minutes ago and my arms and abs are still tingling…or I’m that out of shape, but since I exercise quite regularly now, I revert to the former opinion.

Why have I been writing so much about sports/using so many sports metaphors lately, knowing I know next to nothing about sports. I need to get back to writing about things I know about–like writing, music, creativity, randomness, movies, cookies, cooking, and using my rapidly expanding knowledge of yoga and accounting.

I went looking for a site to find other black women who are into yoga (the fit part, and the breathing…I’m not into making it a religion, I have a Savior),  but instead I found BAP Living, a subject I’ve been interested in and aspiring to since I bought and read the BAP handbook. This site is not entirely like the handbook, but it seems like something fun to get into.  It still doesn’t have much to do with yoga, so back to square one on that.

Blondie doesn’t touch anything she would eat with her hands. It’s a weird OCD quality. She is a germophobe, so she doesn’t want to put germs on her food, I guess. She eats sandwiches and french fries with a fork. She puts her pills in the top of her asprin bottle and tosses them into her mouth. If someone puts their finger in her asprin to get some out, she will throw them away. While I find all of this overkill, at least I know she washes her hands faithfully. That’s more than I can say for a lot of nasty people I’ve seen walk in and out of bathrooms without washing a hand. Then want you to eat at the potluck…child, please!

Sara has given me so many shirts I may never have to buy shirts again, unless I keep losing weight in my waist. My pants no longer fit snug at the waist. I actually need a belt. Don’t have one, because I always buy snug jeans, but I needed one today. I think I may have flashed a cowork or two the waistband of  my boyshorts. Thank goodness I shower and wear clean underwear everyday! LOL Sitting here, I have a little less stomach in my lap. It’s progress.

A friend of mine wants me to review his music in my blog. I may get to it this weekend or next week. I’ve always liked his music before, but I thought he was primarily a jazz musician. This is a R&B album, he assures me. I’m glad, because I have no special qualifications to review jazz music, other than the fact my stepfather was a self-taught jazz musician, so I know what makes the compositions sound “smooth” (that jazz “real jazz fans” dislike), what improvisation sounds like, and how jazz slips in that little opening in your soul and plays with all of your emotions. I guess you could say I have the words for their sounds, but I feel on more sure ground with R &B, as I cannot myself do more than pick out a few notes and chords. I sang in choir, was even invited to sing in the Spring Festival for judges and be graded for the State competition, but I never went. It’s true; I am a chicken. I cannot sing in front of  a crowd to save my life, but I tear it up in my car, in my shower, in front of Mom, Mr. P., my brother, in a crowd, or in former times with my stepdad.

What other random things can I say? Yoga is teaching me rhythm, at least in breathing , something which is also helpful in the gym. I can focus in on my breathing and find my zone so easy. I’ll be running again in no time. Once I actually begin to jog, of course. I haven’t been on a treadmill in weeks. I am still conquering the cybex machine. I got up to 30 minutes on the weight loss program yesterday. My heart rate got up to an alarming 187 before my breathing exercises brought it back into the safe and fat burning  mid-150s. I can also hold myself up on my elbows and forearms and do those leg lifts. I can get up to ten in a row.  I can do fifty rows on the rowing machine, and fifty each on the hip abductor and adductor machines.

I still need to write more and get involved in more of these other goals before the month is over this weekend, but the Australian Open, Mr. Perfect, yoga, the gym, my mama, my friends, and my body’s needs for rest are probably going to keep me busy enough!