When I first started losing weight seven years ago, I thought it was going to be the hardest thing I would ever do. (This was obviously a few years before I had kids.) It was REALLY hard; I wasn’t far off that in that it would be one of the toughest journeys I would ever go on. There were times where I felt like I was crossing the Sahara, alone, in a snow suit. Or a fat suit. Whatever; both make you sweat.
I didn’t understand it would change things so viscerally. I had no idea that just losing weight would teach me things about myself I never knew, other than the fact that my jeans didn’t have to assault me, and you can leave the muffin tops to muffins. Which is good, because that meant I could stop hating the muffins and start eating them. Mmmm warm muffins.
It taught me I had more will-power than I know. It taught me that I could enjoy foods that I had only laughed at previously. It taught me that I was strong enough to throw around a medicine ball like Atlas, or Jack LaLane or Steven Tyler..oh wait, wrong medicine ball. It taught me I could stand tall and be proud of the progress I made and to hell with people who thought my depression or my drive or my love of peanut M&Ms with popcorn would stop me. Psshhhh. They should know the thing I like best more than anything in this world is making idiotic people eat their words. (just so you know, your words taste like steak-ums.)
Oddly enough, the first BIG lesson I learned had NOTHING to do with my epic internal struggle; the war between the fat girl and the fit girl.
It had to do with Lucy and Ethyl. Who are Lucy and Ethyl, you ask? That would be my boobs. When I was heavy, Lucy and Ethyl stood *mostly* where they were meant to. After I lost 175 lbs, not so much. I was standing tall, and they were acting shy and staring at the floor. I tried to coax them to be cheerier on my own, but they weren’t talking to me at the time.
That was until I got a bra fitting. I found out that my formerly 38 DDDs were now 34ImaybeaBcupifIhavePMS. I got a REAL bra. Fitted by a REAL person. A tall, Russian woman who clicked her tongue at me and purred: “Dahhhling, you should have seen me months ago. You’re making your bosom sad. Your bosom needs to be happy. My bras? Bosom Prozac.”
Bosom Prozac? I wanted Bosom Prozac? Prozac makes you gain weight. My boobs could use some prozac. She did just that. The first big girl bra I bought after I lost the weight made me stand taller, and Lucy and Ethyl stood right with me. Like soldiers of cleavage.
Remember yesterday’s Birthday Week challenge? Did you all go meatless yesterday? I am going to assume you did. It’s good for my heart if I assume you did. I had a lovely meatless Monday-zomg the dinner I had. The recipe is coming later in this post.
Today’s challenge/task has to do with your girls.
Task #2 Get a bra fitting.
It will change. your. life. For guys? Um. Do 40 Burpees. I hear they’re good for moobs.
Getting a fitting takes ZERO time and it is sooo worth it. You’re worth it. Lucy and Ethyl have never been the same. I mean, Lucy still gets a bit loopy around cough syrup, but I think Ethyl is totes ready to ditch Fred.
As for yesterday’s task? I loved it. I loved dinner, too. Do you like nachos? Oh, you do? How about pizza? Yes?
Then Nacho Pizza is for you.
When was the last time you had a bra fitting?
How are you staying active today?
Because I’m drinking my requisite bucket of coffee, how do you take yours?
This is for Julie at Peanut Butter Fingers:
The Captain playing the Lava Game.
He may have just had a healthy twix bar, too.