Belle of the Weight Loss Ball

Two things about losing a bunch of weight: (1) people notice and like to go on and on about it and (2) you realized that you must have been really fucking fat. Although, was I? Yes, I have gone down 3 sizes, almost 40 pounds since starting work (60 since having Maggie) and am venturing into Fit Year (holler 1998) territory. But was I that big? Being tall, I can carry more pounds than most, but the reaction from all is getting a tad hysterical. My favorites being the following:

You're still running? Yes I am still running. I like it now. Who knew? You know how they tell you about running and its addictive properties, but no one ever explains it to you because there are two types of people - those who run and those who don’t. It’s kinda like a secret society, and the first time out you are running with the runners, but you are not one of them, you like to pretend to be. And boom, seven months later, you don’t run for three days and suddenly you are getting trembles, shouting at people like a crack whore in need of a fix. So yeah, it is fucking addictive.

Good for you. This is by far my favorite of the all the comments, only because I am insane and can’t help to think the person just said “Good for you (you fucking cunt, I hate you).” Because that is how I would feel. I would be, holy Jesus, here she comes again with her thinner face, and her running, and her smaller sweaters. Why does she mock me and my big butt? WHY!!!!! Asshole.

So yes, I am a tad off. Is this even news?

My Imagination

When I started running, it never occurred to me that seventeen weeks later there would be this amount of pain. A pain that is completely and utterly isolated in my triceps. It hurts to type, which I do believe is an indication of one hell of a sore. Logically all I can come up with is that my body is attacking the last true bastion of fat laden cells. When thinking of losing weight, I imagine little beasts consuming the fat stores that lay upon my body. Which scientifically is pretty fact based; however, I don’t believe most people believe it looks like this:



Eat em up my little purple monster. Eat em up.

T Minus . . .

In less than five days I will be returning to work after six months of bed rest, birthing and baby. It could be said since I did this with Owen, it would be easier, and I am sure that within a week I will fall into the routine and not even think of what I am feeling now. And that is absolute dread mixed with a taste of vomit in my mouth. I just have to think about it and I suddenly become weepy and anxious and wanting of vomiting. Mother’s guilt is a tough one. But I am looking forward to the good things, like a paycheck and my return to running at lunch. Which will help me return to my pre-pregnancy size. Seriously, pregnancy does so weird things to your mid section, you think you will just bounce back and then you put on the next size up pants, which you can pretty much pull down without unzipping, but your size is a tad too tight and no way are you going to go all camel toe as a mother of two. Thank god for maternity clothing, and its elasticized waist. After three weeks of running, I am sure I will no longer have to pull my pants up constantly because I will have a button, a zipper and a waist. The crack of my ass no longer privy to the light of the day, so we can now all rest easy.