Dibs

Guess I won't put this off any longer. 

Trust me when I say I feel EMBARRASSED AS FUCK by all of this. Like, I need to stop and take deep breaths because I start losing my hearing from all the blood rushing to my face.

Embarrassing admission: Many, MANY nights of my life I spent them crying... and fantasizing about what it'd be like to be a normal size... about being average.

I always knew I was fat... but the mind is a fucktard-- it does crazy shit.

At times it made me feel as big as an elephant, and at others, I'd look in the mirror and think "Yeah, you're ok." Self-preservation thing, I'm sure.

After bumping into the '08-'09 photos in the memory card, I was absolutely speechless.

There it was, photo after photo... my gut. 

Dying...

Had I been pregnant, I'd at least have a three-year old by now...

What was I thinking? Well, for starters, I felt like an absolute imbecile.

How the FUCK did you not do anything about this?

Then I felt horrible for all the guys I ever liked.

Poor dudes... the motherfucking predicament I put them in... goddamn.

Then I felt SO MUCH love for those who were with me at those times.

I can't begin to describe how fast my heart melted at the thought of the kindness I received throughout those years.

I didn't think of all the mean shit... or the hate, I thought of anyone and everyone who directed the minimal amount of kindness towards me.

Wow. Just wow.

To the left: Me, February of '09. To the right: Me, yesterday, in the same pants-- my "skinny" jeans.

It made me fall more in love with my friends... fuck, even my acquaintances.

This is how my loyalty is built, this is WHY it's built. 

My friends are MUCH BETTER people than I am.

And ANY guy that allowed me to crush on him... well, I... always knew he was a good guy.

Y'all got dibs.

Gordita IV

Ahh! I need more time!
I don't care if this counts, or if it's cheating, point of the story is, I'm storing this entry as the last one for the month of March, even if I technically wrote it up on the 1st of April.

Part IV.
The positive and negative.

Had anyone told me five years ago that there were negatives to weight-loss, I would have scoffed.
How the hell can there be any sort of negative reaching such a massive goal?

Well, while it is pretty rad to fit in normal clothes and all that girly shit, there is an issue.
They mention it plenty of times on television and all those weight-loss shows. I learned of it in histology and mammalian physiology: skin. Lovely, fantastic collagen and elastin. Mmm. Fickle little sons of bitches. Definitive motherfuckers.

I've known that rapid, dramatic weight loss results in saggy skin... I mean, come on, deflate a balloon de un chingaso ("suddenly") and see the result... how the latex looks... if it doesn't burst, of course.
While I don't feel I was "enormous" I knew the chance was there if I went too fast.
I honestly tried to avoid this with all my might.
What was I going to have to resort to? Muscle. Build muscle.
You stretched your skin to the breaking point, deal with the consequences, pendeja!
And that's fine, since I've never wanted to be rail thin. A Clydesdale can never be an Arabian (oh snap! Did I just recall information from that infamous giant, green horse book I checked-out from the library all throughout elementary school? Fuck yeah I did). I've never had a small frame, and it was futile to resist my body type.
The only dainty thing on my body has always been my wrists, that's it.
So... while I'm not perfect, muscle it is:

Consider me dead if these get on Facebook.

The thighs and arms that can feed a couple of large cats.

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that PLENTY of people DON'T like muscle on a girl.
I want to be fit... but I don't want to be bulky, ya know? That's why... I'll just be over here, on the cardio machines. Cardio. Cardio. CARDIO!
I hear that shit ALL. THE FUCKING. TIME.

This leads me to another negative to the weight loss:
I'm hell of proud of my muscle... that shit was HARD to gain... and while I'm in NO WAY ashamed of it, I've encountered plenty of hate from others due to it.
Ew! Please don't flex! That shit's gross.
Women should not have muscle.
I like my girls soft. (Like your dick, I assume?)
etc etc.
To that, all I have to say is:
The only man who think a woman should NOT have muscle is an insecure, weak man.

Not too many dudes I've encountered like buff chicks. Dudes in my family? Yeah, not fans... well, my lovely godson is... and that leads me to the positives.

Love and support.
I am OVERWHELMED... completely at a loss for words, when it comes to the kind words directed my way from my friends and family.
I know I said I had folks hating... and while they're still there, the ones who have stepped up have... really, truly touched my heart.
It's insane, really.
Kind of scary.
I freak out because I stop and think about how dark and abysmal my existence was exactly a year ago... (no, really, remember last year my cousin got married and didn't put me as her bridesmaid and I was also cropped out of my FAMILY photo with the bride? That kind of shit only happens in sitcoms with titles that contain the word "Ugly")
Today, I've seriously been one of the happiest girls on the planet. I literally have a bounce in my step!
All the words, every single one, I keep in my heart, and fuel me.

i am proud , you are in realy good shape that is some serious dedication to your training congrads madrina. keep up the exelent work

eso si son cojones madrina no chingaderas not many people can do that!!!!!! everything is posible when you realy want it!
You're FUCKIN' AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!! I'm sooooooooo happy for you \0/!!!!!!!!!!

But this is really inspirational (at least to me). You took something that effected you negatively and made something positive to yourself out of it. I hope you are really proud. I am proud of you :)
I am so proud of you!!! That's dedication!!! Shit, work it!!! 
Damn girl you be killin em
Congrats! So proud and happy for you! I admire you!

Those words help lean the scale, BIG TIME, to the positive.

I always knew I had the best people around me.
I fear I don't have enough time on this earth to ever fully repay them for the large impact they've had on my life.

Goodness gracious... I'm a positive person!

Gordita III.

I had originally planned on posting this series back when I hit the 173 mark... since that ugly number marked me for the rest of my life.
I hadn't seen the likes of that number since eighth grade.
Back when I started the diet, I didn't have a goal in mind... that number was not even a glimmer in my eye.

In all seriousness, I never thought I'd reach the 170's.

The last year has been a cycling of increasing my protein intake and veggie intake, and drastically decreasing everything else.

The reaction from others over MY eating habits is what has surprised me most. The outrage is what... leaves me speechless.
"THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH FRUIT!"
WHOA, homegirl! I'm sure there isn't, but right now, I need to cut that shit out. You've seen how fruits have worked out for me these last 26 years... calm the fuck down. You eat all the fucking fruit you like, kinkajou, but I'm cutting them out for the time being.
After enough bullshit reactions like that, I had to get snotty... it's just... inevitable for me. Piss me off, and I'll become pretty fucking petulant/insolent.
Look dude, carbs are GREAT... but right now, they're not very conducive to the biochemistry desired.
I have a biology degree, pre-medicine to be exact... you majored in art, shut the fuck up and quit judging ME for MY current dietary decisions. I'm not doing drugs, so get out of my hair, k?

I also had people in my face over my gym activity. Concerned maybe I was acquiring an addiction.
That shit just made me laugh.
Gym problem because I hit it up for two hours a day? There were days when I'd be in school for TWELVE hours of my day... no one ever became concerned that I was acquiring some freak addiction to school.
Plus, the time spent in the gym was less time I spent home, considering suicide (no, seriously).

All in all, this change in diet and increase in gym activity is what kept me on this planet.
It didn't just improve my physical health, but it helped my mental health... except for the low-carb/no-carb rages... those aren't fun.
I've also met some remarkable people who have helped me along the way. I have a little gym family that has embraced me, and is genuinely happy about my progress. Their faces light up each week when they see me. It is SO incredibly satisfying... and welcoming... and nice. Sure, if I think too much about my actual friends and family who aren't happy about my progress I nearly cry (it's so frustrating... their silence... or straight up snubbing. Some of the comments I get throw me for a loop, because of their backhanded nature. There is just NO pleasing some people, and while it SHOULDN'T bother or hurt me, it does. I can't eat sweets in front of some folk because they judge me... a couple have OPENLY said I'm going to go back to how I looked. Oh, ye of little faith. Little do you know your skepticism/hate only FUELS me. Proving people wrong is my forte. Few have my discipline/determination, best believe that... or better yet, DON'T), but I TRY to keep my thoughts positive... and I cherish every single compliment thrown my way... for the first time in my life. It is honestly something I'll appreciate until my dying day. Every single positive thing-- from Kelley having my back that one day at Red Rock when I freaked the fuck out thinking I was going to die on the trail (I now run that trail, Kelley! It's so crazy!) to the older lady who worked up the courage to whisper "You look so good, honey!" after months of seeing me in the same spot at the gym-- has managed to touch my heart way deeper than I could have ever anticipated.

ANYWAY! Backing off the sentimentality, the 173 wasn't coming fast enough... then around the last week of December, I hit 169. I was going to talk about all this then... but I was too excited about other stuff.
Now, I've dropped another 9 pounds, where I've managed to remain.
Yup. I'm very publicly, and quite happily, admitting my weight. I'm a 27 year old, 5'8", 160 pound Mexican-American. C'est moi.
Want photos?
I don't care, I'm posting them anyway (especially since I refuse to put these on FB, because I've always been of the "Don't let your right hand know what your left hand does" type person. I'm keeping this shit to myself... and my close friends/family who, for some freak-reason, still read this. Bless your hearts, guys... it's a tough read... with my constant tangents, misspellings, terrible grammar, cryptic bullshit, etc etc. Anyway, this is the only place I feel safe to... get all giddy, sentimental, truthful about this issue, so bear with me).

My 18s. I wore the hell out of those pants.
I knew it was time to do something the moment I RIPPED these... at the airport, of all places.

These were my "goal" jeans... my 16s that were more like loose 15s.
I loved these pants.

Exact outfit I wore the week I joined the gym.
To think I ever squeezed into this makes me want to cry.

Sorry for the underwear pic... but I mean... do you know when's the last time I remember having hipbones like that? Never. NEVER.

Never again.
Now it's muscle time.

I'm tired and incoherent now. It's bed time.

Gordita II.

Now it's time for part two. Possibly the more embarrassing post... but again, I'm going to "keep it 100," as the youth say nowadays (by "youth" I mean "much more legit people than this nerdy, med-school drop-out").
No day more fitting for this post, considering it was exactly one year ago today that I embarked on this wild weight-loss... journey.

Without further ado, part deux:

So uh... I've been having this weight issue for the majority of my life... at least, the important years.

Yeah, I played basketball in high school... and if you ask me, and based on photos I've seen of myself form back then, I was fucking normal... just not the petite look most boys dig and most girls aspire to. 

I wasn't short, and I wasn't bony. I was 5'8" and 196 pounds (imagine my freaking horror when I saw coaches from ALL schools in our division got that information and kept it in their clipboards to study! Absolutely HORRIFYING! I kid you not when I say I barfed). My job was to take the shots from the top of the key (because I could not/ CANNOT make a layup to save my life), but more often (and more importantly), to stand there and take the charge... like some damn rhino... a hippo... Shaq (I love you, Shaq!).

Hit me, homie. Come at me, little point guard, I bet you I ain't going nowhere!

And while I DID have a couple of boys who'd look past that, the number of boys who overlooked me because I wasn't skinny enough FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR surpassed the number who gave me a chance.

And it wasn't just in the romantic sense where I was rejected because of my size... I was also rejected by girls as a friend, family members left me out of parties because I was too "big."

All kinds of people overlooked me because I was... big.

I can't recall when I crossed the 200 mark... because I stopped weighing myself once I entered college.

College... ahhh... good times, good times.

I DO know I was no longer fitting in clothes. Shopping was hell. It was a punch in my (evidently very enormous) gut. I'd come out of the experience in tears.

All of my pants (which were about... five pairs, max) were torn in the thigh area, from the massive friction my thunder thighs caused.

[I had been shopping in the "junior" department at stores since FOURTH GRADE. I was a size 13 in sixth grade... and I remember bulging out of thirteens once I entered eighth grade. Shitty part about that was that in those years (1998-99), society was not too sympathetic to us "fatties" and "regular" stores still weren't catching up with the plus sizes. I basically had to pray not to get any bigger... or else I'd have to... well, I don't know what I would have had to resort to. Homeschool? Early embracing of the Hermit lifestyle? I did rip two of my pants in my high school days. That was embarrassing... and loud... homeschool would have avoided me that trauma]

In college-- my first year, to be exact-- I was a size 15. I knew when I'd gain weigh based on how snuggly my pants fit.

Being (against my will) a Biology major, my schedule was hectic and stressful. No time to eat properly, much less workout... and why lie, if I DID have time to do any of that, I chose not to... I preferred to sleep... or weep, atop that stupid Organic Chemistry/Molecular Biology/Mammalian Physiology book.
It never really struck me how much damage I was doing to my body with my late nights and shitty diet (cheese, cheese, and more cheese. And bread. And pasta. And quesadillas... oh man, quesadillas! And Buffalo Wild Wings! Oh yeah, that place hit the spot every Thursday, pre-lab)... not until I hit a monumental birthday.

By the time I hit the big 2-1... as in, the moment I became legal... I didn't turn into the "typical" Vegas local. I didn't hit the clubs with a vengeance. Why didn't I? Because two months after turning 21, I attended my friend's 21st birthday party at Tao. She was throwing a joint party with one of my high school's "popular" girls... a very pretty girl, a very nice girl... but one who had a very fucking jerky boyfriend. A total piece of shit asshole. 

What happened at this party? 

Well,
One: when it came to letting us in the damn club, the line was stopped directly in front of me... that was fucking nice. 

Two: I became the bag girl... you know, the girl all the other girls toss their purses to while mouthing "Can you keep an eye on this for me?" and proceed to disappear into the night. Yeah, sure, I'm not going anywhere.

And the last straw: As I sat watching the stupid bags (seriously, girls, WHY the fuck do you take a BAG to a club if you don't expect to keep your own fucking eyes on it?), I noticed the popular birthday girl arguing with her boyfriend directly in front of me. He was asking her who the fuck we (I was sitting there with my bestie) were and why we were sitting in their VIP area. She told him we were the other birthday girl's friends. The jackass looked at us, and very loudly laughed (hysterically) while pointing directly at us.

It was quite humiliating... and it cut me deep.

I only continued to balloon after that. A year after that, my final year of college in '07, I barely fit in size 18s.
Yes.
One day... I don't know what exactly possessed me to do this, but I decided to get on the scale.
I saw the number, and immediately jumped off... as if a cobra had just swiped at me.
245.
Ouch.
It was a rough wake-up call... but not hard enough to push me into the gym. Don't get me wrong, I BAWLED my ass off that night... but I didn't do anything other than that.
Then May of '07 rolled around, and a friend finally gave me enough courage to join a local gym... with the promise of a very cute instructor.
I told myself I was going to change.

This is where the "fun" part starts. The photographic proof. Now, if it were up to me, there would be NO photographic proof whatsoever, however, my friends were typical FRIENDS who want nothing more than permanent reminders of the good times.
'07... how did I look in '07?
Ok... deep breath... here we go (guys... this is what I imagine a mouthful of battery acid going down my throat feels like. Not fun. Painfully embarrassing):

The week I joined the gym.
I remember this because I was in a world of pain here.

This one hurts my eyes... and my stomach. And my heart.

I'm hyperventilating by now...

The friend who lured me to the gym with the promise of a ridiculously handsome adonis for instructor.

Oh my God... is it over yet?! I can't look!
:(
...
Ok... I'm good to talk now.
Ok, so '07 I join the gym with the promise to get better... but my diet doesn't change, neither do my sleeping habits... and my consistency isn't great either.

'08 rolls around, and how do I look?

Those are s'mores in my hand, FYI

... ah geeze...

time of my life... time of indulgence.

No words, really. 

Those ta-tas are now gone... bummeroo.

... I see this and wonder how anyone could love me.
Bless his heart.

However, by now I'm out of college, so I don't care. I'm in the honeymoon stage where everything is daffodils and rainbows... I sleep until my back hurts... I have no care in the world! I have a biology degree, no job... it's the first taste of absolute freedom I have since August 1990 (the time I entered kindergarten).
I travel to Europe... I travel around the US and Mexico... I fall in love... the world is my fucking oyster, and who gives a shit if I'm 245 pounds (or more?).
The next time I check my weight, I'm at 225... a win, I think, because I feel it's good considering I'm living the life of a bum.

Around this time I'm completely enamored with the idea of moving to the bay area because my dude is out there... and considering I have a biology degree, getting a job out there and furthering my education practically in the bag.

As I work out the details, personal issues arise... deaths in the family occur, and my move to the bay does not work out.

Through all of this, 2009 comes and goes in a sad haze... enter 2010.
My relationship with the bay area guy ends BADLY in March of that year.
I'm a depressed mess.
How do I recover? I resort to my true love: writing.
A love I discovered my sophomore year of college, but never pursued due to my lovely parents' dream of me becoming a doctor (I guess I should mention I tried... my my heart and body refused... so in the middle of my application to various schools, I quit. I acquired the biology degree, but I refused to enter medical school).
Now that I had zero interest in going to the bay... and a new found interest for following my dreams, I decided to finally gun for that star: I was going to attend grad school... for creative writing.

I prepared all of 2010 for grad school... I zoned in on that sucker the entire year.
At this point, I was hitting the gym consistently. I had noticed my attention span was longer if I worked out... and I retained information much easier.
Was I eating right?
Hell no. Not when there's Buffalo Wild Wings down the road... and Yard House two minutes away... and all-you-can-eat sushi on nearly every busy street!
By December of 2010, I had submitted my applications... and I played the waiting game... often envisioning my life in New York as I worked on my tricep pushups.
I wonder if they have cheap gyms in New York...

Then March 17th, 2011 rolled around.
The infamous emails.
Rejected.
By every single school.

"Not a big deal" you might think... but see... I'm a nerd. I've always been a nerd. Princeton contacted ME when I was in high school due to my AP exam scores. I had NEVER been rejected.
And this was my DREAM. My wildest fucking dream. A dream I allowed others to hear... a dream I was now going to have to admit to being too... lofty.
My soul was crushed.
I got lost.
I lost the will to live... since I no longer really had a reason... I no longer knew who I was.

March 29th, 2011 rolled around, and after days of not eating... or sleeping... and only crying... I decided I was finally going to cave.
I was finally going to DIEt.
Would it work? Who knows. Who fucking cares.
Would I die? Who knows? Who fucking cares?

I jumped, head-first, into the depths of the unknown... not caring what April 30th, 2011 was going to look like, much less how I was going to look like...
and never imagining I'd make it to March 29th, 2012... especially not looking like this:

Do those pants look familiar to you?

I'll leave the rest for Part III. This was WAY too long.
Please don't stare at the photos for too long... you have no idea how embarrassing they are...

Gordita I.

A while back I mentioned how I've been working on a "series" of entries.
I haven been reluctant to post it because... well, it's hard. It is SO. DAMN. HARD.
I know I often over-share on here, but in real life, I'm as private as they come. I prefer to listen to others talk, than open up and speak. I hate any kind of spotlight, and will fight my way into obscurity.

However, since tomorrow marks a HUGE day for me, I decided to just... let go... and be one-hundred percent sincere on a topic that has engulfed my entire life, centric to my existence:
AnoMALIE is was FAT.

First, I'll start with the "pre," my childhood... the time my issue with fatness is cemented. Where my trauma arose.
I wrote this entry back in July, against my better judgement-- my urge to remain silent-- I'll post it.
I apologize for the sentimentality... but this topic BURNS me to the core... travels down my esophagus, seeps its way to my ventricles... and gets carried down my bloodstream to every inch of my body.
I'm so sorry.

*** 

I'm very tired after a day of being relatively sad... so this means I'm pretty vulnerable right now.
Add a laptop to this late-night vulnerability, and you get my equivalent to a drunk person and a cellphone full of ex's numbers.
Well, no, not like that.
I'm just going to spill my guts about something I guard very tightly when I'm in a normal state of mind.

I'm currently facing a problem I never thought I'd have.
In the past, I criticized others for their reactions, but now that I'm in their shoes, I'm having a difficult time dealing.

I've made it more than clear that I've always had a self-esteem issue. I've never really liked myself.
This has made people suspect that maybe I hate myself because I'm "in the closet," but those who know me best can attest to that being false.
My image problem stems from being told I'm not good enough, and that I'm "ugly" ever since I was a toddler.
It's kind of fucking hard to get out of that mindset after decades of hearing the same shit.

In the early years, I didn't have the "fat" issue, because I was a healthy kid whose mom didn't allow her to have junk food until she knew how to read (and even then, Mom didn't buy junk food until I was in 5th grade... and the junk food would be either a bag of Doritos or Hot Cheetos). I was also very active... so I stayed skinny.

Happy, healthy kids...
who are more than stoked over the fact that they're finally going to try some sugar.

Then puberty hit.
I still remember (Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm going to admit this, but fuck it, let's be real. No sarcasm or hyperbole used for self-preservation this time)
::deep breath::
being in third grade and that being my first time feeling the pressure to "lose weight."
A week or so after third grade would be over, I was going to be making my first communion... and I was stressed over fitting into my perfect white dress.
I had purchased that motherfucking dress the previous year, because I was... one of those little bridesmaids at weddings-- not exactly a flower girl, but I was one of the girls in charge of carrying the train of the bride's dress.
Anyway, kids grow. So I was outgrowing this dress at a fast pace.
A month before my first communion, I remember stepping on my dad's scale and looking down at my weight for the very first time:
94 lbs.
FUCK! I NEED TO LOSE THIS!
I CLEARLY remember thinking that.
I was a 94 pound third grader. NINETY-FOUR-FUCKING-POUNDS!
I can't begin to describe the sense of... worthlessness that overcame me at that moment. I mean, I was in NO WAY expecting to see that number. NO WAY.
I remember setting the goal of NOT breaking the 100 mark.
The day before my first communion, I stepped on the scale:
102 lbs.
I did my first communion with puffy eyes.
Mom has a jumbo-sized photo from my first communion hanging in the living room. It mortifies me... because you can see how disgusted I am with myself. A nine year old... hating herself.

I DID NOT lose weight after that. In fact, I just kept gaining it... but not in the best places.  I was flat as a board... I looked like a pudgy little boy. I reminded myself of a carcass whose getting consumed by bacteria/maggots on the inside... you know, when they get bloated right before they burst and get super disgusting?
But still, in today's standards, I wouldn't be considered out of the ordinary. I don't know where exactly all that heaviness came from... but it was there.

My next devastating encounter came in 8th grade Health class.
The teacher measured all of our heights... and weights... in front of the entire class.
That has to rank as one of the most humiliating moments in my life.
I remember her being a mean bitch... she was scary, in her late 20's... and she CLEARLY didn't think through this idea of hers.

She measured EVERYONE... and my heart rate would only increase with each new person to get measured... because the rest of the classmates were SO interested in seeing what others weighed.
Of course, the teacher would facilitate this curiosity of my fellow classmates because she'd call out the weight and height of the person she'd be measuring.
I remember my heart racing, and almost fainting... because I was terrified.
The teacher was using one of those legit scales doctors have, which also measure your height... so it was very easy for others to read... just in case they couldn't hear the teacher, ya know?

I was the second to last person.
It was one of those moments where you can't hear shit because of the blood rushing to your now-beet-red face, you're suffering tunnel vision... everything fades, and nothing else matters.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, I walked over to the scale.

Defeated, I stood quietly as she measured my height.
"5'6" and a half, " she called out loud.
I was the tallest person measured up to that point.

Then the weight.
First, the 100lb weight. Bam! Didn't budge.
Move the small weight? Nope... that doesn't cut it.
Add... the 50lb.
The girls in class gasped once they saw that.
I bowed my head in shame... not wanting to see the final number.

I made eye-contact with the teacher before resting my gaze on the floor... making sure she understood it as my "I'm the good girl in class who never talks and does all her homework on time... I didn't deserve to be humiliated like this..." look. That was exactly what I was thinking, at least. I saw regret in her face... but she still kept going. She had to finish what she had started.
She had to add a 20lb weight.

The loud, obnoxious guys hooted and hollered "OH MAAAAAN!!"
My throat was hurting by now, from holding back the tears. I could hear one of the bitches in class whisper "Damn... she's already at 170 pounds!"

By now, I was the heaviest person in class, by at least 20 pounds.
This time, the small little weight only had to move over three tiny marks.
"A hundred and seventy-three pounds..." a classmate called out. "A HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-THREE POUNDS!"
The teacher then tried ameliorating the pathetic, traumatic scene by declaring "REMEMBER! MUSCLE WEIGHS MORE THAN FAT!"
Yeah... because I'm totally a ripped 14 year old, lady.

The last kid to get weighed was a 6'2" 203 pound basketball player. Sure, he was the heaviest... but he was also the tallest... and a fucking basketball player.

I don't know how I still functioned for the rest of school... Health was my second period out of six for the day.

***

That's where it ends.
That's where I'll pick up tomorrow.

-50

Today, I crossed a special marker.
I'd get into more detail, but that'll just have to wait for a future date... when I'm less embarrassed by it.
What I will say, is that today I passed the -50 mark since I first started with this "I don't care if I die... fuck it. I lost the will to live, so let's just fucking do this shit already" food and exercise experiment.

At first it just started as that-- losing the will to carry on, no longer caring for the joys of... anything, not just food. Only real thing I had was gym time. The endorphins released while working myself to exhaustion were really the only things that brought any sense of... enjoyment in life.

Six months later, and I can say I'm... happy with the choice. It's my new lifestyle, and I dig it... even if I sometimes bark at poor, innocent people who happen to be too slow or loud or... in the same room as I.
If we go back to May of '07, the number actually goes up to -70.

Imagine, this post was actually going to be a gripe about something from yesterday... little did I know Mr. Scale would make me a happy girl instead (but let me clarify I don't really care for numbers. What I'm really working for now is volume... as in, muscle volume... well, tone. I don't want to be a pro-lifter or anything, but I definitely want to be firm... none of that bullshit cardio-queen flimsy, soft body. That shit ain't my style. I prefer the "Don't fuck with me" look... 'cause intimidating dudes is what I do).

I'll be angry some other day.

Como los usa el Ranchero

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...

Bulking up

Sticking to my "manly deltoid" from yesterday's post:

I've never been "slender." I've never known what it's like to be "rail thin." My body just wasn't built for that business. Like I've said before, I was built to survive harsh winters and to be able to wrestle cattle.
I had tiny muscles... and a booty (this no cussing thing is KILLING ME), even in my toddlerhood... up until about third grade, which was my absolute thinnest time:

Thunder-thighs didn't phase me at 2.5 years of age.

I might have been 7 here, and that was the thinest my legs have ever been.
And my brother was being a dummy on purpose

I was sort of lanky, with long arms and legs, but I wasn't frail (except for my wrists. They're such a joke of a body part).
Of course, since being "built" has never been popular for girls, I was always, always, ALWAYS told I "could be thinner."
Even during my anorexic phase of 8th-10th grade, I wasn't a sliver. I wouldn't eat a single thing all day, and I still had meat on my bones. Always.
Obviously it affected me, a lot, to not be the freakin' bone people wanted me to be.
I look back at pictures of my teen years and think "Dude, I wasn't fat at all! I was a developing child with big cheekbones... boobs and a butt... and all that time I let others convince me I was a tub."
It bums me out to know I wasted so much of my time trying to be something I was obviously never meant to be. When I think back to... any time, really, I've always had a distorted image of what I look like. All thanks to those backhanded compliments like "Oh man, AnoMALIE! The other day I saw a girl who looked JUST LIKE YOU... and she... well, let's just say, if you were to lose a little more weight, you would be SO GORGEOUS!" or "You know what would make you look even PRETTIER? A girdle!" ??? Whoa, are you serious?! (she was)

I'm not saying that I was never enormous... no, no, no! I was a f'ing heifer from like... '06 to like... '08... although I REALLY let myself go in '07, which was my ABSOLUTE worst phase. I agree with people who went out of their way to say "Uh... AnoMALIE... you're uh... putting on a little weight there, aren't you?" 'cause I totally was. And it was that which finally got me off my butt and back on a work out regime.
Now, while I'm still NOT a rail... and my thighs are thick enough to feed a person for months if they had to resort to cannibalism, I realize... I got some sweet muscle. Muscle that has taken me YEARS to build.
I'm not a skinny girl... I'm not a monster... I'm just... a beast (who turns into a monster when she doesn't watch what she eats or works out).

I mention this because I've been dealing with an issue for the last few months.
My little sister gained a good amount of weight after coming home from her semester abroad, three years ago.
She had always been the thin pretty girl of the family... I had always been the bulky nerdy one.
People were noticing her new body, and weren't shy in pointing it out.
I'd encourage her to join me at the gym, but she has little patience. She wanted to see results immediately.
So she would skip out on the work outs to go eat with Twiggy.

Well, she has a friend who is a personal trainer... and he got her to try this popular diet.
You eat 500 calories a day. And you don't work out. At all.
What was the result?
She lost weight. A lot of it.

Family is once again noticing, and now they're getting on my case.
Oh man! Look at D! You lost all that weight in a month?! (oh yeah, it was 38 days of this strict diet) AnoMALIE! You should try it!
This of course, only brings about my death-stare.
It makes me furious.

My family wants me to be a twig. NOT GONNA HAPPEN.
It frustrates me how they don't appreciate the beauty of muscle.
Muscle is GORGEOUS.
I'd rather have muscles than the mush your body turns into after a month of eating 500 calories and NOT working out.

I'm further irritated because D has gained this... obnoxious attitude about her weight-loss.
And she's getting delusional.
She started working out TWO DAYS ago.
Yesterday, she was sore and complaining.
What does she tell me?
D: *Trainer* told me I had to lay-off the weighted squats. He said my legs are bulking up and that's why they're so sore now.
Me: What? You're like that because YOU BARELY started your workout regiment again. I get like that when I miss two weeks of gym time.
D: Well... he told me I have massive thighs, and if I keep doing leg presses and heavy squats I'm going to get an excess amount of muscle.
I scoffed by now.
D: AnoMALIE, he's a personal trainer! He knows more than you do!

Woooooop! Wrong thing to say!
Me: First off, this kid was a BUSINESS MAJOR. DON'T come at me with that BULL. SECOND: You need to eat a RIDICULOUS amount of calories to build muscles. "Bulking up" requires a ton of effort and dedication. A weak little diet and a DAY of leg pressing 80 pounds is NOT going to get you bulky. CALM DOWN, Arnold!

As angry and irritated as I have been... D is still walking around like a peacock and thinking she's a gym buff (she tells people she's now a "diet and gym junkie." I nearly choke on my spit when I hear her say this. She might be a diet junkie... but gym? HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!).
Then I have to stand there and listen to my aunts suggest I try this wack diet.

I hate people.

you have got to be sh... what? I can't cuss?!

It appears that all in this world is attempting to make me cuss or gossip.

I bumped into a girl I hadn't seen in about two years today. I knew her since ninth grade, and all the time she was sort of rude and snobbish towards me. She's about five inches shorter than I am, she'd turn beet red if she walked up the stairs to our history class in a hurry, and she used to be about my same weight... but since she was shorter, she looked like a pomegranate (I'm only being rude because she was rude to me).
I still remember when I moved to the new side of town, to a new high school, and knew no one in class. I remember seeing her get dropped off by the school bus right in front of my house. I'd see her cross the tiny desert to her house (Funny side note: once I saw my neighbor's dog--a 6-month-old pitbull-- chasing after her as she got off the bus. She was already a meanie to me by then, so I did what any other bitter girl would have done: watched her run her mean-ass home leaping over tiny Joshua trees and creosote bushes, that's what! You don't make AnoMALIE angry). I thought she'd be nice to me, and when I told her I was her neighbor, she just looked at me and said: "Humph... so you're the one who moved to that pink house?" Not much else (Now you know why I didn't help her during the pitbull incident?).
That didn't really bother me, what did was how she saw I was a loner and did nothing to try and help a girl out. Instead, she'd talk trash whenever we did anything in Bio class and I would mess up (cause I'm one of the dopiest people in the universe). Like once, when our teacher was trying to be innovative, we played BioJeopardy, a very lame version of Jeopardy, by dividing the class according to gender.
So here I am, in a class where nobody likes me (except some of the boys who were always sweet to me since they don't usually go with the whole girl drama b.s.), in a group where not a single member approves of me. As a way of trying to fit in, I tried answering as many questions I felt confident in answering. The plan worked out fine the first two times I raised my hand, each time earning 300 points for a total of 600 points for the girl's side. Yeah, no other girl had raised her hand to answer.
Then came time for a 600 point question. I can no longer remember what the question was (why waste space remembering something that screwed me over like that?), but I remember it was something I knew very well. My hand shot up almost immediately after the teacher finished asking her question.
Wrong! Minus 600 points!
"Pshhh... yeah. Thanks a lot dumb ass. You just Fuckin' ruined our game. We're at zero now!" the jerky girl said.
Her words were followed by grunts and "Psshhyeahs" from the girls.
Yeah... 600 point I racked up ALONE, imbeciles. Fuck trying to help you guys out again.
I didn't raise my hand again. I sat quietly with my chin resting on my hands that were directly above the black science-class counter top (pathetic, I know, but I was 14 and had just been called a dumb ass. Devastating blow for a nerd).
And there began my dislike for Jerk-face (the girls from that high school in general) AND class participation. I also think it's been the only time anyone other than me has referred to me as a "dumb ass" and meant it.
Junior year I was moved to a different high school, as was she, and there we began to dialogue a little more (she'd ask me for History class answers cause I was pimp like that). Those last two years she really ballooned up, and in part I was thinking it was karma finally catching up with her for being such a jerk. But it also made her very accessible and nice.

Then today... man o man! I saw her again, and she's thin (as a rail)! No one has seen her so small.

Here comes my complaint: Why, Oh why! did this news story have to come about during lent, after I made the conscious effort of laying off the cussing AND the gossip?

Upon seeing her, the first thing that crossed my mind was:
"OH SHIT! Is that *Jerk-face*?!"
I then followed that by quickly telling my closest friends about what I had just seen.
Dude! She's like, a twig! She's freakin'... skinny!
It was like a really bad episode of Jenny Jones... you know... when tormented adults are reunited with old high school bullies in a show with the really creative title of "I was a geek/fatty/loner then, but look at me now!" But in this case, it was the tormentor reunited with the tormented to say "Who's the pomegranate now, dumb ass?!"
Hey! It's winter! I'm supposed to be pale and red-cheeked... and packing on the pounds! It's in my genes! My ancestors have been doing it for ages, and it's worked for them! (yeah, too bad it's 68 degrees outside... and it's Vegas)

I came home and I still couldn't get over it. So I checked out her Myspace account, and sure enough, there she was: Jerk-face in all her skinny-girl-glory.
Grr... How can I keep from cussing AND gossiping when that rude girl has managed to shrink to a size even thin girls are jealous of?!