I used to be skinny.
No. That’s not true. But I did used to be thin(er).
Well, no. Maybe I was skinny, once. But it hasn’t happened again since 1985.
But three years ago, fresh out of a long-term-we-lived-together relationship, and my best friend’s wedding – I was thin.
Leading up Kristina’s wedding, I lost around 25 pounds (purchasing my bridesmaid dress in a size too small was a risk I was willing to take at the time to up the motivation factor). Then a week and a half after her wedding, my boyfriend of almost three years gave me the “this isn’t working” speech (it wasn’t, I agreed – probably a little too quickly, in a fit of relief). That was also three days after I’d signed us up for a family plan at the local YMCA…
So, after downgrading to a single membership – I decided to hit the gym, to continue on top of that pre-wedding -25. And boy did I.
It helped considerably that I no longer had anyone at home waiting for me to come home and cook dinner. I went to the gym right after work, got in an least an hour of cardio, and eventually started taking some classes after that, and then I could make whatever I wanted for dinner, and didn’t have to listen to any complaining about what was on the menu. And let me tell you — I was a Nazi about what I ate. Is there sugar in it? Get it away. Was it near sugar? No thank you. Were any of the ingredients housed in a room where sugar, flour, or trans fats are stored? I’ll just have the salad.
It also helped I had an enormous crush on one of the trainers, who was always there when I was. True story – his ab routine consisted of doing crunches while bouncing a medicine ball off his stomach. It was ahhhmazing.
And then usually, I went down to my basement and Ashbo’d all over the place.
What’s Ashbo? It’s amazing, that’s what it is.
It’s actually almost identical to this.
… and then before I knew it, I’d lost 70 pounds. I looked like this. From the boobs up, anyway:
That thing under my face? Yeah, it’s a jawline. I know, I was confused too.
Then seven months, three vacations, and one awesome new boyfriend (now my super supportive husband) later it started to creep back on. Little by little, one (or seven) pounds at a time. I didn’t notice right away — I was happy! then engaged! and then celebrating the fact that I was engaged! — and before I knew it nothing in my closet fit me.
I pulled it together a tad for the wedding. But then we were snowed in for what seemed like months, and it was sweater weather, and I was already married – so let’s order a pizza! Then we bought a new house, and ate whatever people brought us in the middle of painting, or cleaning, or building things. Then we found out there’s a Five Guys in our new neighborhood! And a Diary Queen! And I was in trouble.
Before I knew it, I was gigantic — at least, by my standards.
And I’ve got the baby fever, as you know. It’s my understanding that being pregnant tends to make one even fatter. I only know one person who’s pregnancy resulted in her becoming thinner, and if I didn’t love her so much, I’d punch her in the face.
I’m also getting really tired of people assuming I’m already with child. It’s a game I call, “Fat or Pregnant.”
No. That’s just my stomach. The only thing in there is a cheeseburger.
So, I’m back on the wagon. I will attempt to chronicle what is sure to be an unbearable journey back into my skinny jeans. Today marks three solid weeks of diet, exercise, and general suffering.
My first update: the first three days after I started weight training again I could barely move — which at least made it impossible for me to walk to the fridge.