So listen to this. I got the notification that my bridesmaid dress had been shipped—I sh!t you not–as I was eating a bar of chocolate.
I’d had a really small breakfast and lunch was still hours away! I was hungry! And it was only 100 calories!
Of course I tried to make up for it at the gym that day, doing this workout (what I could make sense of, anyway).
It totally backfired, making me so sore that I had to skip my next workout. If you want to know.
I was really hoping that they sent the dress via Turtle Speed, because I thought I had until the end of the month of May to reach my goal. And here it was, not even the 10th yet. But of course it arrived about two days later.
Here it staring at me.
At first, my plan was to go ahead and wait until the end of the month to try it on. After all, I was on track for three more weeks! But of course, of course the insert said I had only seven days to notify them of an issue. And I had to admit, it looked depressingly like it would fit exactly right. I decided not to try on the dress that day, at any rate. I was really bloated and figured that, at least, might change within a week. So I hung it up where it eyed me accusitorily for two days.
Finally I said screw it. I slipped it on and zipped it up.
As I suspected, the waist fit perfectly. Drat! All that work for NOTHING! NOTHING!
The top, however was quite large. All this really told me was that, if you have a 28″ waist, you are clearly expected to have a 38″ bust and an incredibly long torso to balance it out (You guys, I wear an E cup bra! That is not even small!).
And no surprise, it was too long. All this led me to the conclusion that I am, in fact, deformed.
Just kidding. Kind of.
So, mission failed. I will not be returning my dress for the next size down. But there’s still some hope that I might be required to have it altered a bit before the big day. Other than the huge shoulders, I mean.
Am I discouraged? A little. Anyone who makes a goal, works towards it, and fails to meet it has to call set-back. I would have felt better if I could say I’d made some kind of progress, even slight or visible only to me. But my stomach and arms were still as flabby as ever, my clothes still fit on the edge of tight, I wasn’t sleeping any better, I’m constantly hungry (am I the only person on earth for whom exercise is like gasoline on a fire?? Who are these people who are less hungry when they work out?), and, worst of all: I had to go to the doctor, and I weighed in at 122 pounds. I mean, what would have happened had I not done all this work in the past four months–I’d be 150 pounds?
I can’t make sense of it. It was hard not to feel like I’ve been doing all this for absolutely nothing. And confession: even Lazy Girl Fitness is hard. I still have to say no to food I wanted to eat. It still feels like work (so, I can’t even say it’s enjoyable me-time). I still have to scrutinize my body in a way that makes me itchy. Meanwhile, heinous pictures of me in a swimsuit were taken on our Memorial Day beach vacation that will never see the light of day.*
*You might imagine that the Jersey Shore is full of Snookis, but you’d be wrong. Seriously every girl on the Wildwood Beach was smokin’.
So, feeling depressed, moody, hungry, and fat, I did what every girl in my situation would do. I took a pregnancy test. It was negative, natch (birth control: it works, y’all!).
I didn’t throw in the towel on my plan though, tempting as it was. Even though my body didn’t seem to be bending to my efforts, for all I know there are still good things going on internally with, you know, organs and stuff *snort*.
What’s that? Yes, it’s true that my exercise and eating habits aren’t very punishing (#shutup). But that was because I wanted a fitness plan that was sustainable in the long term. And that is one thing I can say: I’ve created a habit of exercise and diet that I feel capable of maintaining. So I kept plugging away the best I could in the face of defeat.
via Back On Pointe Tumblr
I did a 5k. I found a 10-minute workout that I actually understand. I added short intervals of sprinting. I bought a new, strategically-designed-yet-still-incredibly-hott-swimsuit. And hell yes, I got a faux tan (not above a little trompe l’oeil). Now, about a month after this dress arrived, I think I am starting to see the tiniest bit of a difference.
I realize that at age 30+ and postpartum, I will never have the body I really covet, at least not without a personal trainer and chef. But that doesn’t stop me from completely illogical thought patterns, read: ignoring small accomplishments (being the most flexible in yoga class) in favor of picking at myself (roll of pudge threatening to spill over yoga pants), and channeling body envy of girls who are, seriously, not even fully grown. But the next day, I’ll be feeling pretty positive (for instance, on the day I weighed in at the doctor at 122? I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was OK). So the challenge is mental as well as physical. It’s my hope that in another month’s time, if nothing else, I’ll be proud to stand up with my friend in my size six bridesmaid gown.