SlimStacey

The Burn

"Burn out the day/Burn out the night/I can't see no reason to put up a fight/***I'm burning I'm burning I'm burning for you"  Blue Oyster Cult, "Burnin' For You"

Gotta say, it's still not any easier for me to face a workout in the morning, despite moving to a size 10 pants from a size 12 a month ago.  It still sucks, if I may be so indelicate.  It still hurts.  It still...burns!  Yes, you can get addicted to the afterglow of a workout, when you're on an endorphin high, and you feel the muscles healing, and it's a different kind of burn that you experience.  While I never thought I'd be into ripping my muscles and looking forward to the sensation of them healing (I know at least one person who's going to read this and think...GROSS!!!), it's still an unexpectedly pleasant sensation.  And it's how I'm getting definition in my neckline, my shoulders, my biceps, triceps, etc. 

People respect you more when they see you're taking care of yourself.  And your spouse/significant other respects you more when they see parts of you that maybe other people don't see and notice improvement.  Like Steven, my husband:  "Look, obliques" (Pointing to my abdomen)  Yes, they're baby obliques, kinda like a little starter set popping up from under the pile of pudge that's my tummy.  But, hey, they're there in all of their modest glory.  They're cute.  Of course, I want a serious set of washboard abs, but that requires more time, more work, more ripping of muscle fiber, more healing.

More burn.

So, I burn for myself.  I burn for my hubby, who would like to enjoy a trimmer wife, even though he claims I'm fine just the way I am.  (Fine is OK for hair, not my body, I've decided).  I burn for my son, Steven Ames, who is already clambering across the floor on all fours about as fast as a grown person can walk.  I need energy to play with him, and I want to set a positive example for him in terms of what a healthy, happy life entails.  And if that means I've gotta burn to do it, well, I'll give the workout devil her due anyway.  Pardon me, my workout awaits.

My Pants Fell Down...In Public

"Wave your hands in the air/shake your derriere/***That B double O TY oh my"  Tag Team "Whoomp! There It Is"

You know, I hate to write this particular blog posting, 'cause it's pretty damn embarrassing.

Well, nah, actually, under the circumstances, I LOVE it!

Before I had a child, I was never a size 12 or larger.  Ever.  In the year leading up to conceiving him, with the fertility medications swelling me up for a year before THAT, I'd only moved from a size 8 to a size 10.  When I delivered my son at 203 pounds, that sucked horrendously, but my son was 9 pounds 2 ounces, so that plus a few extra pounds dropped off immediately at the time of delivery.  Over the next few months, I dropped into the 170s, then stalled at 169 pounds.  Which prompted the creation of this blog. I wanted leverage on myself to continue changing, and I wanted to inspire others in their weight loss struggle.  WOW, it worked!  I have at least 20 people writing in to me detailing their struggle, their efforts and, sometimes, their progress (folks, you need to update me...you know who you are).  I also went from 169 to 163 pounds.  YAY!!!!  And I haven't mentioned my measurements yet because, well, I have to purchase that flexible tape measure to do them in the first place!  Hello, Target, here I come!  But, in the meantime....

My mother, who works at the GAP and used to be a size 12 herself, generously gave me her old size 12 wardrobe (now that she's a size 4...look, don't be a hater, she earned it).  So, if I have to be a thick girl, at least I'm a well-dressed thick girl.  A thickshionista, so to speak.  And the size 12s started out tight, and then were normal sized.  The more I worked out, especially combining weights with my aerobic workouts (LOVE you, The Firm!!!), the more my waist cinched in.  The more my arms began to get shape to them...hello, biceps, triceps. 

But yesterday, I realized that perhaps my jeans were starting not to fit, but in a good way.  I had to go to the Danbury Mall (I mean, the GAP was having a sale, y'all).  I dressed Steven Ames up in GAP gear (actually, but for two outfits, everything he has is from the GAP...remember where Grandma works?).  Then I dressed myself in GAP gear.  But I chose the "skinny" jeans from the size 12 collection in my closet.  Because, after all, that would fit...right???  Seemed like it would do the job before I left the safety of my house.

As I walked through the Danbury Fair Mall, with the sound of the carousel droning on in the nearby food court, I strolled around the upper level with this sense of...wait a minute...were the "tight" and "small" size 12s too loose?  Come on, I've only been writing this blog for a month.  I couldn't be at a size 10 already.  I mean, there were cheat days.  That drunken Bubba Beer Bash recently, where I ingested five to six Mike's Hard Lemonades and what seemed to be an entire block of cheese.  I'd not been perfect in my quest to lose weight, but then again, I'd in an overall sense been quite dedicated.  But come on, I dropped a pant size already?  Nah....

Strolling past the Apple store and gawking in amazement that the store was so flooded with people (where's this Recession?), I realized that my pants now felt different in a bad way.  The more I walked, the worse it got.  What was happening?  I stopped.  They dropped. 

It's kinda that simple. 

Crap!  I hauled them up, and thank goodness, I was wearing a long top with a cinched bottom to it.  I made sure that the cinched bottom covered the top of the jeans and, worriedly, did this kind of hustle-shuffle-hustle-shuffle-stop sort of progression the hell out of the mall.  Being that Steven Ames was only a few days shy of 10 months at the time, he remained blissfully unaware of my circus sideshow of a spectacle.

The whole car ride home, I had this Cheshire-cat grin on my face.  I'm not a size 12 anymore.  I'm a size 10.  A TEN.  That's only one more pant size away from 8, which was where my wardrobe was at when I was a single girl, when men thought I was pretty and STARED...it's the size Marilyn Monroe was, and she was the sexiest chick on the planet during her lifetime.  You can keep your small-waif sizes.  Like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, I just want to go "home" to my size 8 jeans and suits.  Of course, there's just one more thing:   I gotta get Mom's size 10 wardrobe now.  To tide me over...for now.

I Ain't Done

"Yeah, I am the ripper [wo]man/A locomotion mind/Love American style, yeah/I am the nexus one/I want more life/F***KER I ain't done"  Rob Zombie w/White Zombie, "More Human Than Human"

Do you know that flossing supposedly can add 1.5 years onto your life expectancy?  I found that little bit of Personal Trivial Pursuit to be quite interesting, myself.  Well, working out on a daily basis can add far more to your lifespan than that!

I can't possibly tell you enough how much working out on a daily basis has helped me.  It's given me more energy, more stamina, more strength, and more definition...yes, although I'm still encased in a pillow of lard, the layer is getting thinner and you can actually see there's muscle going on in there.  Someone told me the other day that it was nice to see that I was getting my waist back.  Nice! 

It may take a while before you see the exact results you were looking for, but in the meantime, you have to be grateful for whatever progress you can measure.  If the scale isn't budging in terms of numbers, how about inches (around your waist, bust, thighs, etc.)?  How about muscle definition in your arms, your abs, etc.?  How about dropping a dress size?  (Or men who aren't trannyfags, how about this:  dropping a pant size?) 

For those of you who have begun your workout efforts and you aren't "there" yet (the pant size of your dreams, the measurements of your dreams) PLEASE don't give up because you aren't there or anywhere near there.  Take any positive progress as positive reinforcement.  You should be hungry for more life...maybe not in the same way Rob Zombie is, perhaps, but in the way I do:  you want more hours, more days, more time in which to mint the better version of yourself...physically, mentally, emotionally, financially and spiritually!  La Chiam!

You Better Work

"You better work (cover girl)/work it girl (do a twirl)/do your thing on the runway"  RuPaul, "You Better Work"

You know, it's not pleasurable to exercise.  At least, that's my observation.  Others may feel differently, and if so, good for them.  Rah-rah, you cheerleaders, you.  But I do enjoy the after-effects.  I met up with someone for lunch the other day, and they did a double-take when they saw me.  "You only lost six pounds?" she queried.  "You look like you lost a whole lot more."  That's when I got into the whole muscle doesn't weigh heavier than fat, but it does take up less surface area than fat does (see my prior post, a few days ago). 

Personally, I also enjoy the endorphin rush I get once the workout is over.  It's no lie, you certainly DO have more energy after a workout, and it does last all day long.  Your body starts to feel more...I don't know...efficient?  I suppose that's an appropriate descriptive term.  And, after a week or two of working out, you DO kind of feel the muscles start to grow throughout your body.  But does it hurt when you first start working out?  Sure.  Do you sweat sheets of perspiration, do you turn cherry red at the new effort you're putting your body through?  Of course!  Is it worth the effort?  YES!

There's no magic pill for you to take to get the results...and if there is, it's either illegal, not good for your health or about to be recalled by the FDA.  There's no shortcut to good health.  To quote RuPaul, drag queen and fashionista...You Better Work.  But if you do, and you're consistent about it, you'll start feeling like a cover girl in no time!

Get Up Again!

"It doesn't matter who you are/It's what you do that takes you far/And if at first you don't succeed/Here's some advice that you should heed/You get up again, over and over"  --Madonna, "Over and Over"

I think people make getting healthy a lot harder than it has to be.  Honestly, there is no going on a plan for a few weeks or months, and then you're fine.  There's no short detox that's going to re-set everything, and you have no more worries.  And if you were doing OK for a day or two, or even a week or two, and you fall off the wagon, who cares?  There's always that next minute to get it right.  Don't say there's always tomorrow...because tomorrow never really comes.  It's always now.  Right now is where you're living.  Even a minute later...it's still right now for you.  You have to be present with your healthy lifestyle choice.  You have to know that, no matter what, it's a forever plan, not just a plan that's limited in time.  It's cool if you want to lose 20 pounds or get your bad cholesterol down 20 points.  Those are valid and probably necessary and time-sensitive goals.  But don't forget about the rest of you!  And don't stress it if you didn't take that walk you wanted to this morning, or you bypassed the elliptical or you ate that handful of chocolates.  Just find a moment to go for that walk, even if you have to bring a small child (or a big friend) in tow, get on the elliptical and watch TV instead of sitting on the couch and watch TV.  Resist the next handful of chocolates.  All you can do is do what Madonna preaches in her song, as noted above.  Get up again.  Over and over.  For the rest of your life.  And the more you do the right thing by yourself, the more opportunities you'll have to do the right thing!

New Attitude

"I'm wearing a new dress (new), new hair (new)/Brand new ideas, as a matter of fact, I've changed for good."  Patti LaBelle, "New Attitude"

Last night was proof that I certainly have changed for good.  I may not have a new hairdo or, quite frankly, a new dress, but that's OK.  The new attitude is more important.  I worked throughout the day yesterday, and had my son all night long.  Steve was out, and so there would be no help with Steven Ames, who of course kept himself and I busy as he crawled through the house endlessly, opening up cabinets, emptying their contents, and then crawling around again...rinse, repeat....  So, at the end of the evening, when I finally put him down for the night, usually I would sit in my glider-rocker and veg out.  But no....

That's when I realized I hadn't worked out all day.  So I had to pick my rear end up off the rocker and pull out the weights, the Sculpting Stick and (stupidly named) Fanny Lifter from The Firm.  I also hauled out the sticky mat for my ab workout and stretching/cool down.  And I worked out for 60 minutes.  It had to be 10:30 PM when I stopped.  Sweating, I collapsed into bed and passed right out.

When I woke up this morning, what do you think that scale told me?  I'd lost another pound.

Workout every single day from now on, no matter what?  SOLD!