Yesterday I had my first Zumba class. I had heard all sorts of great things about this dance aerobic class, and have wanted to try it out for a while now. Well, I suddenly find myself self-employed with some time on my hands. I promptly ran out of excuses for why there were dishes in my sink and why I wasn't hitting up the gym. The dishes are still in my sink because I'd rather do cardio than dishes.
And the strangest thing happened...I loved it! Several people I know are of the opinion that if you're going to work out it has to be hard and boring and suck. I have never ascribed to this theory, and despite the fact that I'm a white girl to the bone, I love to dance. I miss going out to the O.P. on Friday nights and dancing until the D.J. or the stupid girls with their giant purses on the dance floor pissed me off. It was great cardio. Especially because in El Paso they'd mix in some salsa and reggaeton. So this was like heaven! Well minus my gay husband doing the shopping cart, and lemme tell ya that boy knows how to push a fake basket in a club.
But it was so much fun. I'm sore all over. Even my elbows hurt...!? I went back for another class today. I think I may be hooked. I was very sad when the instructor told me that I should only do three classes a week. I mean it's only Tuesday, well Wednesday by the time I get this posted.
Either way, I found a class that appeals to me and am super excited to keep with it. Aaaaand while we're on good notes, I've lost an inch off my waist. No significant change anywhere else, but my waist is now 31 1/2". Sa-weet!
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Ripples in the Pond...
And no, that's not a euphemism for what happens to the cellulite on my thighs as I walk. I'm talking about how one change can branch out to affect one's entire being.
Something that seemed huge, but in hindsight shouldn't have been as important as I let it be, has been removed from my life. In this particular case it was a member of the male species. Ladies, we beat it into our heads when we're single, but somehow forget it when we manage to snag the attention of a pretty boy in the hopes of keeping his attention. Our self-worth should not be tied to someone else's opinions. Especially if they are ridiculous. Especially when you finally confront them over the fact that they don't want anything to do with you because you're not a size four blonde, the only thing they can say in response to the confrontation is, "Blonde has nothing to do with it."
Let me back up a little here. I lived in El Paso for three years. I enjoyed three years of amazing self-esteem because the boys down there liked their girls a little thicker. I loved my curves. I loved the attention they got on the dance floor and even walking down the hall at school. And I let all of that go by the wayside in one bathroom conversation in a piano bar.
Suddenly I felt like crap because there are two numbers on my jeans size. I suddenly felt compelled to get rid of what was considered unsightly. Now don't get me wrong, it wasn't like I crumbled and limped off like a kicked puppy to do this shallow boy's bidding...I was pissed. Royally. I formulated plots to get even, I even contemplated buying him a Barbie doll with all sorts of tacky things like "Self-Esteem Sold Separately" and "Comes With Daddy Issues and Eating Disorder" written on the box. One thing I wasn't going to do was let his piss poor opinion of my appearance affect my self-perception.
But that's exactly what I did.
Well, after four margaritas a couple of weeks ago I had the conversation with him that I should have had six months ago. And after I cried my eyes out and swam a couple of laps in the self-pity pool, something amazing happened. Almost overnight all my body image issues disappeared. I like my curves again. I still want them slimmed down a bit, but there's no rush. Whereas before I was frustrated by a lack of progress, I'm much more inclined lately to accept the small victories. I see the six pounds I lost when I stopped drinking sodas as a pretty good step. I see actively wanting water and good food as points on the scoreboard. I feel better about myself, even though nothing has really changed.
And now, truly, anything I do is for me.
Something that seemed huge, but in hindsight shouldn't have been as important as I let it be, has been removed from my life. In this particular case it was a member of the male species. Ladies, we beat it into our heads when we're single, but somehow forget it when we manage to snag the attention of a pretty boy in the hopes of keeping his attention. Our self-worth should not be tied to someone else's opinions. Especially if they are ridiculous. Especially when you finally confront them over the fact that they don't want anything to do with you because you're not a size four blonde, the only thing they can say in response to the confrontation is, "Blonde has nothing to do with it."
Let me back up a little here. I lived in El Paso for three years. I enjoyed three years of amazing self-esteem because the boys down there liked their girls a little thicker. I loved my curves. I loved the attention they got on the dance floor and even walking down the hall at school. And I let all of that go by the wayside in one bathroom conversation in a piano bar.
Suddenly I felt like crap because there are two numbers on my jeans size. I suddenly felt compelled to get rid of what was considered unsightly. Now don't get me wrong, it wasn't like I crumbled and limped off like a kicked puppy to do this shallow boy's bidding...I was pissed. Royally. I formulated plots to get even, I even contemplated buying him a Barbie doll with all sorts of tacky things like "Self-Esteem Sold Separately" and "Comes With Daddy Issues and Eating Disorder" written on the box. One thing I wasn't going to do was let his piss poor opinion of my appearance affect my self-perception.
But that's exactly what I did.
Well, after four margaritas a couple of weeks ago I had the conversation with him that I should have had six months ago. And after I cried my eyes out and swam a couple of laps in the self-pity pool, something amazing happened. Almost overnight all my body image issues disappeared. I like my curves again. I still want them slimmed down a bit, but there's no rush. Whereas before I was frustrated by a lack of progress, I'm much more inclined lately to accept the small victories. I see the six pounds I lost when I stopped drinking sodas as a pretty good step. I see actively wanting water and good food as points on the scoreboard. I feel better about myself, even though nothing has really changed.
And now, truly, anything I do is for me.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Baby Steps
Baby steps to the car. Baby steps to the grocery store. Baby steps past the cheddar cheese.
My wonderful and talented sister-in-law decided she was tired of me eating junk food and writing about it. Her actual text went a little something like "For the love of God don't let me read the words "fast food" on that blog next week!" And invited me along for a grocery shopping adventure.
Now, like I told her, it was not a matter of mmm, I can't wait to scarf me down some grease and potatoes. I would seriously be looking at the menu and be thinking "Bleh. Really? Is there any way I can order half a hamburger, hold the heart attack?" I really do prefer good food. I actually get a craving for veggies.
My schedule, however, is more conducive to chicken strips and tater tots. My day is literally jam packed. When I get home, all I want to do is crash.
However, I've been pretty good this week about actually hauling my butt out of bed early and making breakfast...that is when a blackout doesn't take out my damn alarm clock. I've been making lunch for the next day at 11:00 at night because it's the ONLY available time.
But I gotta say, it's working. I haven't looked at the numbers, but I certainly feel better about myself. Part of that could be that I found my self-respect again on a whole different playing field. (It wasn't in the pocket of an old pair of pants like I previously thought. It was at the bottom of my fourth margarita!) But that's another story.
There is a table of danger at work. On this table are all sorts of candies and carbs practically taunting me all day long. (Seriously, the designer came in, saw the junk food, had a conniption fit wherein he prayed to the god of the cabbage patch, and promptly had his assistant go out for a veggie tray.) But I've been choosing the healthier options. I actually walked into the break room with the intention of grabbing a Diet Coke and went, "Ooooo bottled water! I'd rather have that!"
I call that a break through.
My wonderful and talented sister-in-law decided she was tired of me eating junk food and writing about it. Her actual text went a little something like "For the love of God don't let me read the words "fast food" on that blog next week!" And invited me along for a grocery shopping adventure.
Now, like I told her, it was not a matter of mmm, I can't wait to scarf me down some grease and potatoes. I would seriously be looking at the menu and be thinking "Bleh. Really? Is there any way I can order half a hamburger, hold the heart attack?" I really do prefer good food. I actually get a craving for veggies.
My schedule, however, is more conducive to chicken strips and tater tots. My day is literally jam packed. When I get home, all I want to do is crash.
However, I've been pretty good this week about actually hauling my butt out of bed early and making breakfast...that is when a blackout doesn't take out my damn alarm clock. I've been making lunch for the next day at 11:00 at night because it's the ONLY available time.
But I gotta say, it's working. I haven't looked at the numbers, but I certainly feel better about myself. Part of that could be that I found my self-respect again on a whole different playing field. (It wasn't in the pocket of an old pair of pants like I previously thought. It was at the bottom of my fourth margarita!) But that's another story.
There is a table of danger at work. On this table are all sorts of candies and carbs practically taunting me all day long. (Seriously, the designer came in, saw the junk food, had a conniption fit wherein he prayed to the god of the cabbage patch, and promptly had his assistant go out for a veggie tray.) But I've been choosing the healthier options. I actually walked into the break room with the intention of grabbing a Diet Coke and went, "Ooooo bottled water! I'd rather have that!"
I call that a break through.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
I Needed That
So, I started work as an overhire stitcher at the Wyly today. God, I needed to be back in a costume shop. It felt so good to be back up on my feet or hunched over a needle and thread instead of a computer. My hands are so sore from all the hand sewing today, but it feels amazing to use those muscles again
*Note to self: Painkiller before bed because you KNOW shin splints are forthcoming!*
Not only was I up off my butt a good portion of today, I also wandered all over the Arts District looking for where the hell I was going and hunting down lunch. I actually feel good about the amount of running around I did today...the blisters on my pinky toes would beg to differ, but who asked them anyway?
Ate:
Fast food all three meals. I really need to go grocery shopping, and it's on the list. However, every breakfast that I've had lately from a drive thru has been absolutely revolting. I don't even want it anymore. I just need to stop hitting the damn snooze button and make breakfast!
I actually intended to do something halfway decent for dinner, but got called in to rehearsal and had to book it back downtown.
Workout:
Wandered aimlessly for a bit downtown, and then wandered with aim.
*Note to self: Painkiller before bed because you KNOW shin splints are forthcoming!*
Not only was I up off my butt a good portion of today, I also wandered all over the Arts District looking for where the hell I was going and hunting down lunch. I actually feel good about the amount of running around I did today...the blisters on my pinky toes would beg to differ, but who asked them anyway?
Ate:
Fast food all three meals. I really need to go grocery shopping, and it's on the list. However, every breakfast that I've had lately from a drive thru has been absolutely revolting. I don't even want it anymore. I just need to stop hitting the damn snooze button and make breakfast!
I actually intended to do something halfway decent for dinner, but got called in to rehearsal and had to book it back downtown.
Workout:
Wandered aimlessly for a bit downtown, and then wandered with aim.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
The Numbers:
I hate them. They suck. But here they are. You can't face the music about shedding some poundage if you don't face the numbers. So here we go:
Weight: 193
Height: 5'7" (I don't really expect this one to change very much.)
Giant wake up call. According to a couple of different BMI calculators (and yes, I checked a few because I didn't want to believe the first one) this puts my BMI at 30.2. That's Class 1 Obesity.
Fuck.
Bust: 40"
Waist: 32 1/2"
Hips: 48"
I entered all these plus a few other numbers into a handy dandy calculator and came up with 27.33% body fat. That's over a quarter of me. Ick. I'm still in the acceptable range for my height and weight, but it's definitely not the lower end of the range.
But if you put those numbers into a hip to waist ratio measurement, I'm healthy as a horse and at really low risk for disease.
See this is why I had such a hard time getting started. I ignored the numbers and went based on look and size. I still wear the same size jeans I wore in high school. I don't look much different. I don't gain weight around my face, and I gain it proportionately. And a bit of that weight is muscle. So it's hard to pin down an actual problem...until it's in numerical form.
I'm attaching a really unflattering picture of myself along with a really good one so you see what I mean.
Now, even in this one, I'm sucking my tummy in, angled to be slightly more flattering and have my arm held away from my body so it doesn't squish out and look bigger. ALL THAT WORK! It's ridiculous.
Now here's one, that to my knowledge hasn't been shopped:
And I don't think I look half bad. The arms are a little chunky and the cut of the dress hides a multitude of sins.
I need to stop dressing to hide the problem and actually address the damn problem.
Weight: 193
Height: 5'7" (I don't really expect this one to change very much.)
Giant wake up call. According to a couple of different BMI calculators (and yes, I checked a few because I didn't want to believe the first one) this puts my BMI at 30.2. That's Class 1 Obesity.
Fuck.
Bust: 40"
Waist: 32 1/2"
Hips: 48"
I entered all these plus a few other numbers into a handy dandy calculator and came up with 27.33% body fat. That's over a quarter of me. Ick. I'm still in the acceptable range for my height and weight, but it's definitely not the lower end of the range.
But if you put those numbers into a hip to waist ratio measurement, I'm healthy as a horse and at really low risk for disease.
See this is why I had such a hard time getting started. I ignored the numbers and went based on look and size. I still wear the same size jeans I wore in high school. I don't look much different. I don't gain weight around my face, and I gain it proportionately. And a bit of that weight is muscle. So it's hard to pin down an actual problem...until it's in numerical form.
I'm attaching a really unflattering picture of myself along with a really good one so you see what I mean.
Now here's one, that to my knowledge hasn't been shopped:
I need to stop dressing to hide the problem and actually address the damn problem.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Part of the Problem:
I think part of the problem I have with the word "voluptuous" is how remarkably often people mispronounce the shit out of it! The word is "VOLUPTUOUS." I think the "p" sound has much to do with my distaste for the word, but it drives me bat-shit up the walls when people throw an "m" in there. There is no "m" in there! M's got better things to do! She's busy bossing Bond around. Turning voluptuous into volumptuous just makes me cringe. Even as I type volumptuous that red wavy line is screaming, "Hey! Knock it off!" The word now contains the word "lump." And there is nothing sexy about a lump. If you've got a lump, you need to get that shit looked at.
So, the moral of today's story is pronounce your word correctly. Because with a word like this, there's really no need to go from bad to worse.
Ate:
Whataburger for breakfast (One resolution for this year is no fast food breakfast unless I'm so hungover I'm tempted to keep drinking instead.)
Jimmy John's ham, turkey, and cheese skinny sandwich. (Don't let that name fool you. That bitch had almost 600 calories.)
Chocolate Banana Skinny Smoothie (This one actually was pretty skinny on the calorie count)
Spicy sesame chicken from Pho Colonial with Cucumber Limeade to drink (Which was the freakin' bees knees!)
Yeah. We went way over the calorie count today. We'll do better tomorrow.
Workout:
Consisted of letting my eighteen month old nephew chase me in laps around the sofa with his Frankenstein zombie arms..in heels. I then proceeded to fall to the floor and let him catch me. Where he crawled on top of my butt and pushed on my back until I army crawled across the floor, dragging his adorably chunky butt with me.
And if you don't think that's a workout...you try it. Get back to me on that one.
So, the moral of today's story is pronounce your word correctly. Because with a word like this, there's really no need to go from bad to worse.
Ate:
Whataburger for breakfast (One resolution for this year is no fast food breakfast unless I'm so hungover I'm tempted to keep drinking instead.)
Jimmy John's ham, turkey, and cheese skinny sandwich. (Don't let that name fool you. That bitch had almost 600 calories.)
Chocolate Banana Skinny Smoothie (This one actually was pretty skinny on the calorie count)
Spicy sesame chicken from Pho Colonial with Cucumber Limeade to drink (Which was the freakin' bees knees!)
Yeah. We went way over the calorie count today. We'll do better tomorrow.
Workout:
Consisted of letting my eighteen month old nephew chase me in laps around the sofa with his Frankenstein zombie arms..in heels. I then proceeded to fall to the floor and let him catch me. Where he crawled on top of my butt and pushed on my back until I army crawled across the floor, dragging his adorably chunky butt with me.
And if you don't think that's a workout...you try it. Get back to me on that one.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
I Hate The Word Voluptuous
I do. I hate the word "voluptuous." I realize that it is supposed to be a word that embodies sumptuous and sexy. But I hate it. Especially when it is applied to me. Especially when I'm wearing a swimsuit.
I'm a curvy girl. I'm a 10-12 on top and at least a 14 on bottom. My hourglass is a little bottom heavy. I don't think I'm necessarily fat, just a little more rounded than I'd like to be. I jiggle in places I'd rather not. Parts of me hit each other during the day and night that I wish didn't (for example my thighs in a skirt). And don't get me started on the hail damage. If my ass were a car, it would be a bargain in a hail sale. But I'm after changing that.
We've only got a few months till the world ends anyway right? (I don't believe that. I'm just a smart ass.) So why not see if I can't look absolutely hot by the time the Mayans roll around. I'm hoping this might provide me with some motivation. So I'm not being hateful when I say this isn't for you. Mostly I'm just saying that this is for me. Online accountability to myself. If you'd like to come along for the ride, it won't hurt my feelings. I'm just not self important enough to think anyone else gives three damns.
Ate: Too much crap to try to stave off the New Year's hangover.
Workout: Walked all over Six Flags a couple of times. 25 squats, 10 tricep chair dip thingys
And yes, thingy's is a technical term. Get over it.
I'm a curvy girl. I'm a 10-12 on top and at least a 14 on bottom. My hourglass is a little bottom heavy. I don't think I'm necessarily fat, just a little more rounded than I'd like to be. I jiggle in places I'd rather not. Parts of me hit each other during the day and night that I wish didn't (for example my thighs in a skirt). And don't get me started on the hail damage. If my ass were a car, it would be a bargain in a hail sale. But I'm after changing that.
We've only got a few months till the world ends anyway right? (I don't believe that. I'm just a smart ass.) So why not see if I can't look absolutely hot by the time the Mayans roll around. I'm hoping this might provide me with some motivation. So I'm not being hateful when I say this isn't for you. Mostly I'm just saying that this is for me. Online accountability to myself. If you'd like to come along for the ride, it won't hurt my feelings. I'm just not self important enough to think anyone else gives three damns.
Ate: Too much crap to try to stave off the New Year's hangover.
Workout: Walked all over Six Flags a couple of times. 25 squats, 10 tricep chair dip thingys
And yes, thingy's is a technical term. Get over it.
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