{ but i don't like the burn... }

I cried this morning.  Okay, I cry every morning.  When I get up and get ready for the day, I usually put pants on.  And this is when I weep openly- an outpouring of tears is made manifest as I try to make my pants fit.  {I refuse to buy new ones.} I will MAKE these fit.  Yet, sadly, they are the "stretchy" ones and I am still laying on the bed doing the "get-your-pants-on wiggle".  Which is probably why I wear scrubs or other forms of "comfy" clothing- my hubby's clothes included {although the other day I found a pair of jeans on the floor and thought they were his because they looked too big for me.  Oh, no, they were mine- depressing}.  Those who see me walking my son to school every day probably think that I am insanely poor, or have extremely bad hygiene.  And that's why I put on a hat and sunglasses- the bigger the better.  Besides, I need something to balance out my ghetto booty I'm not a big fan of exercising.  Granted, I LOVE the way I feel when I'm done, and the sense of pride and accomplishment is overwhelming, but I have a pain tolerance of, oh, about negative eleven-teen.  And that doesn't go well with the burning sensation one usually feels when working hard.  But...I...still...do...it.  Not to loose weight, but to justify my eating habits.  Even though the pants that fit so well a year ago don't anymore, I exercise so that I can have that extra piece of pizza.  Instead of burning off the calories that already clog my innards, I think to myself "I exercised today- that means I can have THREE donuts instead of one!  Righteous!"  I exercise so that I can eat.  I'm not a fan of starving.  I AM a fan of enjoying life and the pastries therein.  
I am surprisingly awesome at maintaining my current weight.  That's just the problem though.  This is not the current weight I wish to maintain.  Not that I would consider myself overweight, there's just "areas" that need 'fixing'.  Thinking that maybe if I worked a bit harder, I could reach my goal- then maintain from there, since apparently I'm good at that part.  So, at the beginning of the school year, I decided to walk my son to school.  Okay, yes, it's only around the corner, but that's a good start, right?  Then I decide that I would take the wagon and pull BOTH my kids to/from school.  Nice plan- my arms will be AMAZING in a few months.  American Gladiators- here I come!  Or so I thought.  
It is now April.  My arms are still 'flapping' and my rear is still 'bubbling'.  My gut is still 'poochy' and my chest has gone 'droopy'.  NO advancement or progression has come of this 'walking and pulling over 60 pounds a day' stuff.  So I decide to cut down on my calorie intake.  Do you realize how LITTLE 1200 calories a day is?????!!!!!  But I'm determined.  I weigh, starve {it feels like}, then weigh some more.  Nothing.  I go on vacation and eat WAY over the alloted calorie budget.  I loose 2 pounds.  Seriously? 

I weighed myself again the other day, just to measure my "progress".  NOTHING.  So I take my regime one step further- working out with weights.  I grab my dumb bells and begin.  

There are some 'exercises' that should be banned from the face of the earth.  Like LUNGES.  I LOATH lunges.  I despise them like the First Lady does sleeves.  I hate doing them.  So in my infinite wisdom I think "If I hate them so much, maybe they'll actually work for me!".  

Two days later, I am in intense and severe anguish.  I can barely walk.  And the three story home I reside in is a living nightmare.  The two flights of stairs taunt me as I begin my trek......UP.  I can hear them jeering and teasing as I grip the railing and PULL myself up the 32 never-ending steps, crying, praying and feeling deep humility and deep tissue burn in the southern half of my person.  {It's pretty embarrasing when one has to LATHER Icy Hot on their butt.  And the back of the thighs.  Oh, and my knees don't like me either.}  All around the house I waddle back and forth like a penguin with a freezer-burn, wincing with every step.  I only did 15 on each leg!!!!!  I am the Queen of Lame-O, the President of Whiny-Babies, and the Grand-High Duchess of Whimpy-ton.  My hubby mocks as I climb up the stairs on all fours, using my upper body strength {*snort*} to pull me to the top.  {Going down is a breeze- I just let gravity take over.  The trick is to make sure you wiggle your legs quick so you don't end up doing some amazing gymnastic move that would  be seen only in the Olympics.}  

I believe in magic.  I bought some new shirts the other day, thinking that I had found a style that could offset my "oversized load" and I could fool anyone into thinking I was fit and trim.  Just so you know-  I saw a picture of me in one of those "certain style" shirts-  plan totally backfired.  I look pregnant.  So instead of tricking the eye into thinking slender {because it's the eyes that do the thinking}, I have created a definitive area that DRAWS attention and makes people present congratulatory remarks.  
One simply cannot win in this game...

I blame it on childbirth.  How 'bout you?

1 post a comment :

Mama Nut said...

Yeah, I blame all my weight issues on the kids -- and my parents for giving me the "Fat Genes" not to be confused with the "Fat Jeans" -- I have those too.

Great blog!

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