Narcissus
28
Aug
2007
After a few months of muscle pump (minus that month where I kept missing class), I have to say, my slightly-less-puny biceps are my proudest achievement ever.
Here in Katie’s Head
Pretty much the best thing that can happen to a woman
11
Aug
2007
Oh, I forgot the most exciting (for me) part of the Target adventure.
My mission was to buy some new pants. My old pants, the pants I bought over the last couple of years when I was forced to accept my size-10-ness, were too big. Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy wearing saggy pants to work — you know, bringing a street influence to office wear.
Maybe this is a good place for a random rant. Since, oh, high school, all the pants I’ve had to pick from in stores have been low-waisted. I’ve gotten used to this. And now that (a) higher (more normal) waists have come back into style and (b) I’ve started shopping more at Real Grown Up stores, I have acquired some pants that confuse the hell out of me. Why do they come up to my natural waist? This means the pockets are hidden waaaay up under my dress shirt, so it looks like I’m trying to feel myself up when I reach for something in my pocket. I don’t want to have to keep buying cheap shit from the juniors section for the rest of my life, but I can’t handle womens section pants.
Anyway. I am at Target. I grab a couple pairs of size 8s and head to the dressing room.
The first pair is, ugh, the pockets are all wrong. The fabric is too thin. It hangs badly. Screw these pants.
The second pair I like. Wait, no. Are these 10s? No, they’re 8s. Why are they so big? I hold out the waist band away from my body. I’m thinking, “I could get fat again and these would still fit. AWESOME.” Because my brain has long since forgotten that size 6 exists. The last time I bought something with a number that small, I was still in high school.
And of course all women know how inconsistent sizes are these days. So while half the reason I walked out of Target with a size 6 pair of striped gray capris is that I’ve lost a little over twenty pounds, the other half is size inflation and lack of standard sizing.
But that truth did not stop me from prancing around my apartment in my size 6 pants with a stupid smile for a good hour today.
And it’s good for the heart, or something
26
Jun
2007
I am considering trading in the pizza and beer diet for a wine and tapas diet, which appears more promising after just one day.
And more expensive.
Okay, maybe I’ll stick to pizza and beer.
In which I still don’t recognize myself in the mirror
02
Jun
2007
It’s a new month and I’m still going to the gym regularly.
Eighteen pounds total weight loss since last September. Six pounds just last month. Going to the gym obviously makes a big difference.
And I need to buy new jeans but I’m not sure if maybe I should wait a little longer. I keep thinking I’ll hit the wall soon but I don’t think it’s happened yet.
I went out with friends last night and, in efforts to soothe a chocolate craving, we walked over to QuikTrip and bought Watchamacallits for everyone. And I only ate half the damn candy bar. Half. I didn’t want the second half.
I realized lately that I’ve almost completely lost my once-unstoppable sweet tooth. That goes a loooong way to explaining how I lost those first twelve, pre-gym pounds.
Okay. Time to go to the gym.
The alpha phase
11
May
2007
Since that last letter from my bathroom scale, I had another cup of gelato.
And then I weighed myself. How can it be that a small gelato weighs far less than a pound, but I seem to gain an entire pound every time I have one?
Thank god for the gym.
And after three weeks of Muscle Pump class, I no longer lay on my mat and cry during push ups. I may whimper like a sad puppy, but I do the freaking push ups. (I wish this were sarcasm, but it’s all true.)
After the first class, I was sore for four days. Well, sore’s not really the word for it. I was in incredible pain and could barely stand up, sit down or walk. But the days after the last three classes, I wasn’t even sore.
So the status report after a month of gym-going is this: I’ve lost a few more pounds. My clothes fit better. Many of my TV shows are going unwatched.
I’ve also rediscovered my crafty side. Sadly my crafty side has not developed any real sense of craftsmanship. (It has long baffled me that with some things, I am maddeningly anal retentive, while with other things I can’t muster more than the sloppiest of techniques, with no real pattern as to which tasks fall in each category).
This week, I decided that I’m tired of my ugly, cheap (read: I bought it at Target/Wal-Mart/Big Lots and put it together myself without needing a single tool) furniture. So I went thrifting and found myself a new nightstand ($10) and a TV stand ($5!!!). It amazes me that I can find furniture that’s twice as sturdy as what I have, twice as attractive once it’s painted and far, far cheaper than even the DIY Target equivalent. I’m spending more on paint than I am on the furniture.
So I’m left with two major concerns:
- How can I rearrange my living room so that it makes sense? (It’s nearly impossible given the ridiculous proportions of the room, but right now, it says “stay the hell out of my territory” rather than “make yourself at home.”)
- How do I deal with the fact that my ugly couch and loveseat are solid black? (I would never have chosen them on my own. Why didn’t I hold out? Yet another chapter in I am an Idiot. It’s a long chapter, entitled “I have no skill for design, except when criticizing other people’s work.”) I’ve heard there are slipcovers that are actually attractive, but that sounds pretty laughable to me.
Anyway. Cheers to progress.
Finally, a reply to one of my letters
03
May
2007
Dear Katie,
You know I’m proud of the success you’ve had with your pizza and beer diet. And congrats on reaching a new round number this week.
But I think you should know that this modified pizza, beer and gelato diet is not going to fly. I know you rationalize it by walking to the cafe, but a three-block walk does not burn off even the smallest cup of gelato.
Seriously.
Love,
Post mortem
17
Apr
2007
Oh, god. I nearly died. It’s apparently a daily miracle that I can walk, because I have no muscle whatsoever in my legs.
Cycling for Fatasses is too hard. But that’s the point, right?
I’ve already had to be talked out of a Dairy Queen binge. Good thing tomorrow is Pizza and Beer day.
