Here's a TMI post, because I feel I don't do this enough (please note the sarcasm).
So, I think I'm not the only person who has difficulty noticing when they gain or lose weight.
When I gain weight (well, this was back in the day. Now I have a problem because I check weight gain like a motherfucker. But let's act like I don't do this), I am in denial. I usually have to squeeze my ass into jeans in order to admit that maybe... just possibly... I've gained a few pounds.
When I lose weight... well, this is a new sensation for me.
I have lost weight in the past, but not nearly as much as I have now. The most drastic aspect is in the clothing.
For the most part, when I'd lose weight, it wasn't so much where I'd notice it too much in my clothing. I'd just think
Well, looks like I'm wearing these pants way too much, 'cause they're starting to zag a little.
Since March-- you know, the month my world came to a screeching halt-- I've dropped six dress sizes.
Yeah.
I don't talk about it because I'm extremely self-conscious about it... and it makes me sad because of the difference in treatment I get from others (you know all those fat-suit experiments they run on TV shows? Like the time Tyra did it? Yeah. Living it. It makes me cry, believe it or not... and that's considering that people are treating me FAR better than they used to. I'm still the same girl inside, and it upsets me to see that people will be quick to assume I'm awesome just because I'm of a "normal" size. I've been doing EVERYTHING in my power to show people I'm a good person worth their time, and all it took was for me to drop a couple of pant sizes. That's just fucked up).
But this post isn't supposed to be sad, so I'll just evade that aspect.
Ok, so the dress sizes.
I haven't had a problem with the pants, because I've been lucky enough to get my sister's hand-me-downs (I NEVER thought that day would come. EVER), but the last week or so, I've had a little problem with the underwear.
The problem, you ask?
They keep falling when I'm at the gym.
The worst part is when I have to do the plyo portion of the workout.
Jump squats, ski lunges, and especially jumping jacks fucking kill me.
I wear spandex capris for the most part... and they are pretty much like a sixth layer of skin (the dermis and epidermis compose 5 layers, I do believe. Oh, how I miss you, Histology!!), but someway... somehow... my underwear find a way to fall down below my cheeks. Would I be a bigger idiot and wear a skirt, they'd be on the floor within minutes.
Well, today I finally had enough.
After the fifth time of having to get through two hours of constantly reaching for my underwear as inconspicuously as possible, I came home and went through my drawers.
I trashed a number of underwear that no longer stay on my ass, but I also found underwear I had purchased in middle school.
Can you believe my middle school underwear no longer fit?
Yeah. It was bittersweet.... because, oddly enough, I'm sentimentally attached to them.
They each have a story. A story I feel happy when I remember.
Ha.
But alas... it's time to clean up... as much as I may love my "Flirt" underwear (WHY would anyone want to advertise that shit on their underwear? If your crotch flirts... I wouldn't consider it a positive... but still, they remind me of a conversation at one of my many Hometown slumber parties... so I cling to that pair as if it were my passport) they had to go.
The downside to dropping sizes... so difficult to part ways with such intimate companions.
I'll always remember you, friends... you made me feel normal when that damn Sisqo song came out...
So, I think I'm not the only person who has difficulty noticing when they gain or lose weight.
When I gain weight (well, this was back in the day. Now I have a problem because I check weight gain like a motherfucker. But let's act like I don't do this), I am in denial. I usually have to squeeze my ass into jeans in order to admit that maybe... just possibly... I've gained a few pounds.
When I lose weight... well, this is a new sensation for me.
I have lost weight in the past, but not nearly as much as I have now. The most drastic aspect is in the clothing.
For the most part, when I'd lose weight, it wasn't so much where I'd notice it too much in my clothing. I'd just think
Well, looks like I'm wearing these pants way too much, 'cause they're starting to zag a little.
Since March-- you know, the month my world came to a screeching halt-- I've dropped six dress sizes.
Yeah.
I don't talk about it because I'm extremely self-conscious about it... and it makes me sad because of the difference in treatment I get from others (you know all those fat-suit experiments they run on TV shows? Like the time Tyra did it? Yeah. Living it. It makes me cry, believe it or not... and that's considering that people are treating me FAR better than they used to. I'm still the same girl inside, and it upsets me to see that people will be quick to assume I'm awesome just because I'm of a "normal" size. I've been doing EVERYTHING in my power to show people I'm a good person worth their time, and all it took was for me to drop a couple of pant sizes. That's just fucked up).
But this post isn't supposed to be sad, so I'll just evade that aspect.
Ok, so the dress sizes.
I haven't had a problem with the pants, because I've been lucky enough to get my sister's hand-me-downs (I NEVER thought that day would come. EVER), but the last week or so, I've had a little problem with the underwear.
The problem, you ask?
They keep falling when I'm at the gym.
The worst part is when I have to do the plyo portion of the workout.
Jump squats, ski lunges, and especially jumping jacks fucking kill me.
I wear spandex capris for the most part... and they are pretty much like a sixth layer of skin (the dermis and epidermis compose 5 layers, I do believe. Oh, how I miss you, Histology!!), but someway... somehow... my underwear find a way to fall down below my cheeks. Would I be a bigger idiot and wear a skirt, they'd be on the floor within minutes.
Well, today I finally had enough.
After the fifth time of having to get through two hours of constantly reaching for my underwear as inconspicuously as possible, I came home and went through my drawers.
I trashed a number of underwear that no longer stay on my ass, but I also found underwear I had purchased in middle school.
Can you believe my middle school underwear no longer fit?
Yeah. It was bittersweet.... because, oddly enough, I'm sentimentally attached to them.
They each have a story. A story I feel happy when I remember.
Ha.
But alas... it's time to clean up... as much as I may love my "Flirt" underwear (WHY would anyone want to advertise that shit on their underwear? If your crotch flirts... I wouldn't consider it a positive... but still, they remind me of a conversation at one of my many Hometown slumber parties... so I cling to that pair as if it were my passport) they had to go.
The downside to dropping sizes... so difficult to part ways with such intimate companions.
I'll always remember you, friends... you made me feel normal when that damn Sisqo song came out...
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