TCTBTF: Day 449

Read about my first foray into the wild here.

My neck! My back! My neck and my back! And by neck I mean, knee. By back I mean, knee.

My left knee has been bothering me for awhile now. Like, well over a year. Not all the time, but when it does, it’s a bitch. It really started up again a few weeks ago when I started playing Dance Central like it’s my job. I always figured that it’s due to carrying around the most weight I’ve ever held in my life. I’m pulling more weight than Beyonce when she was in Destiny’s Child.

So there’s this vicious cycle: how can I exercise and lose weight if my knee hurts, but my knee hurts due to weight gain? I’ve decided to work through the pain. I’ve birthed two babies. I watched Nip/Tuck through that final death rattle of a season. I know pain, people. I know pain. I’m gonna walk and run when I can and after losing a good 10-15lbs, we’ll see if there’s still a knee problem.

On my first day, I walked/ran the trail for 15 minutes and then turned around and did the same thing in reverse. I decided to add five minutes going in on my second evening. I got to the park, parked, and this time I didn’t have time to do my stupid stretch thing cause just as I was tying my hair in a ponytail, a little dog ran up to me.

“Where did you come from?”

*blank stare*

I ask some of the boys on the skate ramps, “Is this your dog?” No. I ask a man in a parked car next to mine. No. Right before I noticed him, a woman in a minivan dropped off some boys headed for the basketball courts. I wondered if the little dog had escaped from the van and she hadn’t noticed.

I start walking to the trail and the dog follows. For real, doggie?

“You need to go away. But stay out of the parking lot. I don’t like dogs, I don’t want you to get hit.”

*blank stare*

 

He still follows me. I run for a bit, then I guess he realized I’m an amateur runner cause he kind of trots ahead of me and hooks a right when I’m headed left. I throw up deuces and make this video:

 

 

Running Day 2

I made my way along the trail, walking more than running, annoyed that this Asian lady hair is so damn silky no scrunchie can contain it. Every time a man passed me going in the opposite direction, I smiled politely, but turned around to watch him go and make sure he didn’t double back and push me into the woods to have his way with me. This huge black guy jogs by me and when I turn my head to make sure his ass is going about his business, there’s a white guy running up on me going in my direction. It scared me so badly my heart dropped and I raised up my water bottle like I was going to brain him with it. He gave me a, “What the fuck is wrong with you” look and jogged around me.

After 20 minutes, I turned around and retraced my steps. I once again pass a gaggle of kids practicing softball. A Dad checks me out and damn near breaks his neck to watch me pass. I wish I could say I felt sexy and gave him something to really look at, but it was right around that time that I started feeling queasy and hot. I was pretty sure I’d just swallowed some bugs and I wanted to sit down on the path and cry. Or faint. Or die.

But I kept going cause, well, I had no fucking choice. I had to make it back to my car and while there are trash cans and emergency phones along the trail, there’s no “Pussy Can’t Hang” pick up service to drive your lazy ass back to your car.

About ten minutes from the end of the trail I realize it’s getting dark. I start to panic a little cause black folks in the woods in the dark don’t usually fair so well. If I’m gonna add more time to my workout, I should at least start earlier to make sure I’m not 15-20 minutes away when it gets dark. That would really suck. I post this on my Facebook wall as I walk super fast.

Then I realize that it’s not getting as dark as I thought. I was still wearing my sunglasses.

 

 

This time, I was a tad more coordinated when I exited the woods. I wasn’t as dizzy or sore as the first time, but I was just as sweaty. (That’s what she said.) I’ll add another five minutes going in -bringing my total workout to 50 minutes total – next time.

Oh, and my knee didn’t hurt.

Track of the Day: A lot of people suggested running music and I did take some of them, but I find that I don’t necessarily want something that’s high energy or fast. I just want something I enjoy listening to – something I would love to dance to because I’m so sexy when I dance, but weight gain has made me dance a lot less. Here’s the track that moved me the most today:

Jenny Wilson \”Like a Fading Rainbow\”

TCTBTF: Day 450

On May 25th, 2012, my ten-year wedding anniversary, Donny and I will renew our wedding vows. Why? Because we do what we want! (Seriously, more details on that in another blog.)

Nothing motivates a woman to get her ass (and everything else) in shape like the threat of looking like a whale in a strapless dress. For that reason alone, I suggest every wife struggling with her weight renew her vows.

For a long time now, I’ve wanted to be a different kind of person – more active, more outdoorsy, someone who actually looks forward to the burn and breaking a sweat. I decided to walk/run. At least three days a week, more if I want to. I’ll walk. I’ll run. I’ll do whatever my body can handle. I’ll take my iPod and a bottle of water and I won’t worry about what I look like. I’ll do just do it.

Wednesday was my first day out.

 

I had a moment of panic when I thought I might have to buy a fanny pack to carry my keys, rape whistle, mace, iPod, cell phone and water. Finally, I decided to just hold my water and stuff everything else in the front pockets of my hoodie.

I drove to the park, parked my car, and thought about stretching. I didn’t know what I was doing and considered putting my leg up on the hood of my SUV like a ballerina at her dance bar, but that just seemed stupid. So I kinda kicked my feet up and down, back to front, cause that seemed less stupid.

Following the Couch to 5K model, I walked briskly for five minutes and then did the whole walk for a few seconds and then run for a few seconds and alternate that for 20 minutes. I wasn’t able to do it for too long because my left knee is shot to shit. I’m pretty sure it’s due to either the weight gain or fucking around with that damn Dance Central. Or maybe both.

I went 15 minutes in and then turned around. I think my neck got more of a workout than anything else. I kept whipping my head around looking for rapists and wild animals. So what it’s a public park; you never know!

I exited the trail the same place I came in – between the skate ramps and basketball court. Except leaving I was a little less coordinated than I was going in. My legs were sore, I was hot and sweaty, there was a sway to my walk. I was exhausted.

It kind of looked like the opening to a Law and Order episode. You know, the park is full of families having a good time when suddenly, from the bushes, a woman stumbles out beaten, bruised, disheveled. A little girl screams. We have just met the rape victim.

I didn’t scare anyone, thankfully. I just quickly staggered to my car and gulped some water.

 

TCTBTF: This Is The Remix

OK. I’m not playing. You people better help me. You better be involved and accountable. I want tips, recipes, and motivational tools. I want participation! If you guys slack on me, I will never, ever, ever, speak to you again. I mean it!

The first order of business is to vote on whether or not we’re gonna be disclosing sizes and weights. I’m torn. On the one hand, I think it might prove to be helpful if we’re open and honest (at the very least it will shame us into action) about our numbers. On the other hand, who the hell wants the whole internet knowing what a fatty they are? I sure don’t. Also, the numbers may prove to be a distraction in the beginning.

Here’s my vote: I think everyone should mark their weight, measurements and garmet sizes down starting Sunday morning. For the first few weeks, let’s just focus on changing habits one at a time. For the first month, each week, we’ll set a goal and incorporate it into our lifestyles. Like, your first week you may decide to concentrate on cutting out soda. Week two you may decide to incorporate a walk every day. Week three? Cutting your carbs.

Each Sunday we can share how we did meeting that goal and announce our new one. We won’t be replacing the goals, but adding them. After two weeks you’ll have made two changes, three changes after three weeks, etc. Also, everyone will be responsible for sharing one tip, piece of encouragement OR healthy recipe each week.

We’ll begin this Sunday, November 1st. So eat all the halloween candy you’re gonna the night before. Also, if you’re like us and do your grocery shopping on the weekend, you can do your shopping for the first week on Saturday so you’ll wake up with the right ingredients in your house on Sunday and not be tempted to hit up IHOP or Dunkin’ Donuts.

That said, we will not berate each other for slip-ups and since we’re taking it slow (remember, you didn’t gain the weight in a week so you won’t lose it in one week either) you should make your goals realistic. If your first week’s goal is just to take a walk everyday, so be it. Don’t beat yourself up if you miss a day. You took more walks than you did last week.

Hmm, my first week’s goal will be… no soda. At all. I’m a soda fiend and I need to stop. And not just no soda, but I need to drink more water. In addition, I’m going to incorporate my normal changes when I get serious: limit carbs, sugar, fried foods, more fish and veggies, etc., but my main goal for the week is to eliminate the soda.

What about you? What’s your week one goal?

If you follow me on Twitter, feel free to tweet during the week if you need a motivational push or just to vent on how its going.  I’m neenerspb. Leave your Twitter name here so we can all follow you and let’s make sure to hashtag all of our tweets with #TCTBTF

No One Is Happy Being Fat

In the several years that I’ve been blogging, I’ve pissed off and offended many people. I’ve pissed off my sister, friends, and fellow bloggers. My father was in for a bit of an uncomfortable shock when he stumbled upon my blog heralding the joys of oral sex. Hey, everyone is forewarned!

Then there was the time I pissed off the Christians by saying how creepy I found it when random ones would approach me in parking lots asking if I had given any consideration to where I’d spend eternity. Um, not recently, but I am considering giving you a snoutful of this mace in my purse. After that, I pissed of an Asian girl when I wrote an open letter to all the Asian girls on my campus. Listen, it’s not my fault they all dress like they’re going to the club instead of class.

Along the way there have been countless more, I’m sure – white people when I talk about white boys going white boy crazy, Floridians when I say it’s the child molester capital of the world, black people when I wonder why they can’t ever get their ass to a movie on time and then shut the fuck up while it’s on, Republicans simply for being douchebags, etc., etc.

Today, I’m gonna piss off fat people.

(Writer’s Note: It is truly not my intention to piss anyone off. I just like to say that I am. It keeps you reading. This is meant to be equal part humor, self-deprecation, and motivation. This is for all the people who complain about their weight, yet won’t do anything about it – at least not consistently. And I’m throwing stones at my glass walls. If you are fat/overweight (whatever word you like) and happy with yourself, then do you, boo. Do you.)

Being fat sucks. Anyone who is fat and says they are happy are lying. No one is happy being fat. Sure, you can be fat and have a great job. You can be fat and married to the man/woman of your dreams. You can be fat and have the most wonderful kids and the most fabulous friends. You can be fat and go on the most luxurious of vacations every year. You can be fat and drive a nice car, screw a hot girl, and wear the most expensive clothes. And all of those things may make you happy, but you are not happy being fat.

And if you say you are, you’re a big fat liar.

I don’t care what else is going on in your life, if someone told you that you could swallow one pill and get rid of that FUPA or stop having your muffin top muffining over the top of your jeans, you’d swallow that bitch before they could offer you a glass of water.

I am overweight. Yes, most of you are thinking, “It’s okay. You just had a baby.” Well, yeah, but that doesn’t make me any less overweight. Today I told a friend (who is a self-proclaimed “fattie”) that I lost six pounds since last week and recently discovered that I not only fit into a pair of pre-pregnancy jeans, but they are falling off! Instead of being happy for me, she informed that I am not fat. I am a fat faker. Apparently, I am faking the fat funk. She told me that I can no longer use the word fat as it would be considered offensive since I do not belong to the fat club.

OK, sure, I’m not obese or anything, but I am not comfortable. And I knew this would happen. For whatever reason, I turn into a beast when I’m pregnant. I just do. It’s all la la la until the third trimester and then my footsteps on the second floor have Donny casting wary glances at the ceiling and wondering if the flat screen one the first floor is mounted to the wall securely.

When you are fat.. I mean, overweight, it is always there. When you’re playing on the floor with your kids, the fat is crouched in the corner, a reminder that you’d be able to play more and without losing your breath if you’d just lose 20lbs. When you’re typing away on the laptop, the fat reminds you that a year ago the laptop rested on smaller, firmer, thighs. When you walk into your closet the fat reminds you that there’s a whole wardrobe you can no longer fit.

I have felt all of those things and it sucks. And if I feel that, if I know the dread that comes with being invited out, but turning down the invitation because you can’t wear your nice clothes and can’t bear to buy something new in your new fat size, then I’m sure people who are fat/obese are downright miserable.

I used to get so mad watching Star Jones on The View. She’d always make remarks about how confident she was with this “big is beautiful/more to love” bravado. The whole time though, she’s breathing heavily and coughing up powdered sugar. If you’re out of breath from talking while sitting, something ain’t right. I thought the message she was putting out was a dangerous one. I believe in personal responsibility, but I wondered how many women with weight problems were watching and let that pump them up or allow them to lie to themselves. Now, after surgery, she admits that her health was in danger and she was unhappy. No shit.

It sucks when you let the fat stop you from living your life. Let me tell you a story: A few years ago I had discovered Myspace after one of the best seasons of Big Brother (one of my favorite reality shows.) One night, I was looking for friends on the site when I remembered reading that one of the stars of that last season, James R., had been discovered for the show from his Myspace page. I looked him up and sent him a friend request. I knew nothing about Myspace and how it worked. Then I started blogging and building a small audience. One of the first people not related to me to leave a comment on a blog was James. We became friends. A short while later, his girlfriend at the time called to invite me to a surprise dinner party for James. My first thought was that I wouldn’t go because I wasn’t happy with my weight.

I should point out now that:

1. James is hot.

2. No matter how much I love my husband, I will always be one of those women who likes looking her best when in the presence of a good looking man. It doesn’t mean that I love my husband any less or will be any less faithful. But if given a choice, I will always choose NOT to look a hot ass mess around hot guys. And if one of those hot guys should be so bold as to smile and tell me how great I look, I will smile, blush, and get all atwitter at the compliment. It’s how I roll.

I got over my stupid issues, went to the birthday party, and had a great time. I was looking at pics from that night the other day and thought, “What the hell was I smoking?” I would kick a puppy down a flight of stairs to look like that now! Now? Sheeit. Now, James could be pounding on my front door, battered and bruised with a homicidal maniac hot on his ass, and I wouldn’t let him in till I lost 20lbs. I’m just saying.

I have delayed meeting up with an old friend I recently found on Facebook because of baby weight. I have dreaded visits from out-of-town internet friends because of this baby weight. I have turned down invitations for Donny and I to go out to dinner with friends. I have avoided going to my husband’s job because I’m so annoyed with myself and this weight.

And if I’m “not that fat” and I’m living like this, I can only imagine what truly overweight people are feeling and how much life they’re not living. (For the record, I consider myself truly overweight. Being 5’11 only gives you but so much in the way of camouflage.)

There are a bunch of reasons why people can’t/won’t lose weight. Some of it’s medical. Some of it’s just poor lifestyle choices. In my case, there’s this vicious cycle going on. I know how to lose weight. When I focus and get into it, not only do I lose weight quickly, I enjoy it! And because I know I can do it, it’s easier to procrastinate getting started. It’s convenient to say, “I know I can lose 20lbs in three months so who is it going to hurt if I start next week over this one?” The problem is next week turns into the week after and then the week after that.

Who knows? Maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe there are people out there quite loving their flabby bellies and back fat. Maybe there are people out there who, for whatever reason, have just decided to ride the fat thing out. But for those that aren’t happy, for those that can go days with feeling fine until they have to try on a piece of clothing that no longer fits or run into an ex, I hope they/we do something about it. I think we need to make those unhappy moments the rule and not the exception. We need to remember how much we hate it when deciding between fast food and a home cooked meal. We need to remember how much we hate it when we decide to take the elevator over the stairs.

We need to make the decision to be happy and healthy.

***

So, I just had a convo with my friend who is now calling me a fat faker and she feels as if I’m coming off as attacking fat people. Granted, she hasn’t yet read the blog as I type this and this is based on our IM conversation about the blog.

Let me be clear:

• I understand that I am approaching the weight thing from a totally different perspective than someone who has been overweight for many years or their whole life.
• I understand that it is possible to gain weight and like it. Been there. Done that. Rocked the t-shirt. I was a rail before I got pregnant with Kali. I still have clothes from that time and I wouldn’t want to be that skinny again. I liked my post-Kali body once I got it in order. Finally, no more white girl butt! The problem became when I gained 30lbs after that and only lost 20 of that 30 before getting pregnant with Jack. This weight, I’m not happy with.
• Anyone that has been reading me for awhile knows that I don’t make broad generalizations. Of course there are happy fat people. And I’m sure there are people who are happy who happen to be fat and happy WITH THE FAT. I may not understand it, but I’m sure it exists. And come on, would you click on a blog titled, “I’m Sure There Are Fat People Who Like Being Fat, But I’m Not One Of ‘Em. No Offense To You If You’re a Happy Fatty?” I think not.
• I do think people make excuses and I think that making excuses is always easier than putting in the work. Not all overweight people, but some. Definitely people like me. It’s easy to say that eating something that tastes good but is bad for you makes you happy. It’s hard to say that maybe you shouldn’t be eating it right now or that the portion is too big.
• I always say that bad things can happen to good people who are where they’re supposed to be and doing what they’re supposed to be doing. You can be in great shape and get cancer. Knowing that, why take the chance on getting heart disease or diabetes because you can’t control your eating habits?
• My children didn’t ask to be here and I owe it to them to not die at 40 because Mommy couldn’t stop stuffing her face with bad foods.
• If you are overweight and happy with it, I’d like to hear from you.

If you are happy being fat, good for you. For me…