I’m having a “fat” morning. You know the type, right? Where you realize you’ve eaten a bunch of crap in the last few days and you know for a fact that you’ve put on some weight? Yeah, one of those mornings. I haven’t worked out in about a week and I’ve been (and will be for the next three days) eating lots of restaurant food. Coupled with the lower back numbness and stiffness I’ve been dealing with, and I really don’t feel like someone who regularly works out for 30 to 60 minutes a day.
Which is kind of a pisser, yo. You’d think that after nearly two years of pretty consistent exercise I could maybe wake up in the morning without being stiff.
IN MY BACK YOU FREAKS.
Of course, the fact that I’m currently sleeping on a hotel bed with a 12 year old who seems to think the idea of “sharing” the bed means that he sleeps as close to the middle as he possibly can might have something to do with the stiffness this morning. I also realized while thinking of this post in the shower that I don’t remember anymore what it feels like to be FAT. I mean, really really fat (jam on!). I try to, because I think it’s important to remember so that I don’t let myself slip back to it, but I can’t. I can’t remember what it feels like to not be able to bend over to tie my shoes or to have to ask for a seat belt extender on airplanes. I can remember what it feels like emotionally, but not physically.
It just doesn’t seem like me anymore.
Which is a good thing, obviously. It just seems weird to me. My entire life up until I was almost 30 was pretty much defined as “Mike is the fat guy.” There was that brief period when I lost weight in the early 90’s, but that only lasted about 2 years. Other than that? Mike = Fat. Now…not so much. People who have come into my life since I’ve lost weight look at pictures of old me and literally cannot reconcile the fact that the two pictures are of the same person.
All of this really contributes to my desire to hurry up and get the excess skin removed from my body. It does so much damage to my self image. No matter how much weight I lose I take off my shirt and I see it and I feel fat all over again. Not only that, but the shit hurts when I’m trying to exercise.
30 pounds to lose and I can go back to the doctor. Guh. Seems like an eternity away.
All of this self-image blather can likely be attributed to the fact that I spent the previous weekend around a bunch of people who were all dressed up and looking awesome while I was all Boring McBorederson.
I’m ok with the fact that I’m a geek. Most of the time. I’m ok with the fact that my life isn’t exactly thrilling with the kids and the mortgage and the fact that I drive a mini-van. Most of the time. Every once in a while, though, I’d like to be exotic and dangerous and exciting instead of reliable, secure and sensible. The easiest way to do that is to get all dressed up, and all I really have to do that with anymore is the kilt (which, admittedly, shows off my totally awesome legs). I want to get more dressing up clothes, but there’s that excess skin issue, blah blah blah.
This month, due to vacations, is going to be rough on my waist line (and self esteem) without a doubt. After that, though, I’m seriously contemplating going to Xany at Lifestyle for some personal trainer time.
Ok, the boy is about ready to go so I’m going to end this post before I start posting song lyrics or some other emo crap like that.