A Work in Progress

I should probably write this post in another two weeks, closer to the holiday dedicated to giving actual thanks but...I'm not. Besides, I really don't get why we ever decided to allot single days for celebrating thankfulness or love or even groundhogs. These things should be in the forefront of our minds year-round (perhaps Groundhog's Day is pushing it, but it also happens to be my birthday)! I'm not saying this to sound boastful or smug, but I can honestly say that when I leave the gym after a workout, for better or worse, I experience an endorphin wave of gratitude for getting it done. In my last post I wrote about struggling through a plateau and having to make an executive decision to bust through it by eating low carb. After the first week, I entered "One-derland" and left the 200s behind. At week three, not only am I 60 lbs down, but I'm almost out of the 90s as well. Happy Thanksgiving! I'm toying with the idea of posting epic decade-appropriate rock ballads on Facebook for every 10 lb loss. I'm hoping the Foo Fighters will make a debut before Thanksgiving for "Leaving the 90s" week.

I lost 61 lbs, or an Isaac's worth of weight

With all recorded weight loss (and I've been quite vocal about mine) comes the commentary. Almost every day someone comments on my weight loss; my family members, my gym buddies, my instructors, church folk, the security guy in my office building, friends, etc. In the beginning, as my fellow big girls/boys can attest, you wonder if people tell you that you've lost weight only because you've recently said, "I'm going on a diet" or "I've just started working out". You wonder if they actually see a difference or if they're just throwing you a small bone of encouragement to carry on. But then, perhaps after 30 lbs into it, you go through the phase where you desperately hope that some random acquaintance will see you and ask, "Have you been losing some weight? I can really tell!" Now, at 60 lbs, people are actually starting to use the word "skinny" and I honestly have no idea what to do with that. My automatic response has been "Ah well...you know...I'm still a work in progress...". To be fair, I am a pretty lousy compliment receptacle when it comes to my physical appearance. I feel like when someone gives me a compliment on my looks, it's like I'm being given a big plate of homemade brownies. It's completely unexpected and I immediately want to give them a compliment of equal worth and kindheartedness in return, but that's not exactly something that springs out of spontaneity. Despite all the blogs, pictures, and Facebook posts, in real, actual, third dimensional world I try not to draw any attention to my physical appearance. For this reason, I will stubbornly cling to my hoodies and my current pair of saggy jeans until I accidentally trip over the cuffs and fall out of them like I did with the last pair. My lovely, perfectly accessorized, friend JennEds once summed my appearance up perfectly, "Angie baby, you do not dress like a shlub (my words). You dress like a person who does not wish to draw any attention to herself". So to all of you lovely, encouraging friends and family, I am truly sorry if I look like I've just been poked in the face instead of being paid of compliment on my weight loss. I'm much less confident in the three dimensional world outside of Facebook and Blogger...

I especially don't know what to do with being called 'skinny'. For one thing, I'm just not skinny. I'm a good 70 lbs from the goal weight and even that's not technically skinny (I swear the BMI was devised by evil twigs. Or the French). For another, I'm still indulging in the ever-delightful Big Girl activities that Skinny Girls could never fathom...like having to fold your underwear twice before putting it away (granted, I'm down from folding it three times). Or the epic Battle of the Rolling Spanx; that's always fun, too. Spanx are a gift from God for all women, but they can be saucy minxes for sizes 18+. When you first put them on, after you've readjusted your gigantic underwear a thousand times and tucked in all of your fat rolls, you have this euphoric moment of sheer happiness at the possibility of a gen-u-ine waistline. And in the next second, when you bend over to put on your pants, you hear this resounding THWAAAAP, and you look up to find a small inner tube protruding from under your blouse. These are not things that the Skinny Girl can understand! She has never been winded from wiping her own backside, she doesn't wear over-sized t-shirts when she goes to the beach, she never settles for just one plate at a buffet, and she has never secretly named her larger stomach roll 'Jude' because every time she looks down it is staring up at her saying "Heeeeeey"!!! No, I'm a loooong ways away from being a Skinny Girl, but I am starting to leave my Big...behind (no pun intended). I still see a Big Girl whenever I look in the mirror (Refer to the former post about the mirror situation) but I also see some of the little changes, too. My legs are starting to look like the kind of legs that are no strangers to squats and the godforsaken lunges. I've also had to move my ring to my middle finger because it keeps sliding off. These are the little things that remind me of what is yet to come.

But the truth is that being Skinny or being Big is really just a state of mind. There are some Skinny Girls who still think like Big Girls and some Big Girls that think like Skinny Girls (especially when it comes to clothing selection). In all the realms of my life I'm a Big Girl that thinks like a Big Girl; except when it comes to my gym classes. When I go to a class, I don't want to be the Big Girl...especially when I am literally the only Big Girl. I don't want to "do what I can" because my size implies a slower pace and a harder time. I want to be on par with all of my friends, but I'm still just not there yet. I can't just disconnect my my mind and my body from my insecurities during classes, either. I take each class very personally. Twice now I've allowed my insecurities and frustrations get the better of me, and I've walked out of a class. I hate that I've done it, especially since I feel like it's an incredibly rude gesture to my instructor. Unfortunately, when I get angry like that, I have two options: leave or throw something. Considering the number of kettlebells and free weights within an arm's distance, I think it's probably best that I left when I did. After the second (and most recent) time, I started bawling on my way home. Halfway through my meltdown I was like, "W-w-what is wrong w-w-with me?! I'm crying over exercise!" But as you may have already gleaned by now, my classes stopped being just "exercise" a long time ago. They're part of my life, part of what makes me happy. When I'm in that gym classroom I want to be what I'm not: a Skinny Girl. I want to be like my classmates right now. I don't want to be this pouty, whiny, insecure girl who over-thinks all of her gym classes.

I got a little perspective handed to me in church this morning. My friend and pastor Mike was giving a sermon about "the least shall become first" and he made this comment that hit home pretty hard for me (and I paraphrase) "When I have finished last, I was much more teachable than when I've finished first. When I was first, or the best, it was easier for me to believe that I was beyond improvement, that I didn't need to change. But when I was last, when I lost, or when I was the weakest on a team, I was most open to change, I was willing to see where I could make improvements, and I was ready to listen." This blog has a lot of "first" and "last" moments for me. In fact, I began this post with a "first" moment and I'm ending it with a "last". So what has my most recent "last" moment taught me? Quit whining and suck it up, cupcake. If I want to be on par with my gym buddies then I need to get over myself and work hard like they do. That's it. Just take it one Step (class) at a time.

And smile.