Finally Down

I got on the scale this morning, and I have finally dropped two pounds. I now have lost 35 pounds since January 15. I weigh 215 pounds, and I have 70 more to go. That sounds daunting, until I remember that I once had 105 pounds to lose.

I have dropped three dress sizes. Bones are appearing where no bones have been seen for years. As I keep saying, I am far from thin, but I am thinner than I was. I'm calmer about it than I was in the beginning, but at the same time, I'm wondering what life will be like further on the weight loss path.

I was convinced that I was overweight because I like food, I like the taste, the texture, all of it, of food. And I do, but is that all there is? I know that I eat emotionally to some degree. I know that I like the mindlessness of stuffing food into my mouth, I like that feeling. I like sitting down with a bag of chips, I like eating a large quantity of something. I like the repetitive nature of it, to be honest. I like that you can experience that taste over and over and over again. Go back for more and have it reliably be there...unlike people, for instance, who so often have their own things going on.

Last night as I lay in bed, I could feel, for the first time, my ribs against the mattress. It was a very unaccustomed feeling. I still have quite a lot of padding, but I'm starting to feel a little unprotected. I found myself wondering how women who are much smaller and thinner than I am can stand it. How can you face the world with so little between you and it? So maybe, to a certain degree, I was eating, or I became overweight, because I felt I needed a buffer. A little something to provide me with privacy...because, to a certain point, being overweight does provide you with privacy. You are left alone, by men, by salespeople, by lots and lots of the world. You become the invisible woman, part of the backdrop for the birds of paradise of this world. There have to be dowdy, middle-aged, overweight women around, so that the slender young ones can be noticed, right?

Well, that's exaggerating, of course, but it is sort of the truth. But then there's another reason, more deep-seated, I think, that I may have been hiding behind my weight because of.

Let me see how I can put this, without sounding like the part of my anatomy that most needs to shrink is my head, or my ego. I have a big personality. I like to flirt. I like to make men notice me. When I have it going on, I have it going on, even if I'm not Kate Moss, Gwyneth, or the bean-pole of your choice. Even at 250 pounds, I could get it going on, at least to some extent. I concentrated on boobs and legs and figured everything in between could just, literally, fade to black. Well, as I get smaller, or more closely fit society's stereotype, I can have it more and more going on. (No, I'm not Stacy's mom, either). I have a particular style, so I don't really attract every single guy out there, and I'm 51, let's face facts, so my days of being a bombshell are probably long behind me, if they ever were--but I can still rock a pair of high heels, and I still have some pretty impressive cleavage, and for the first time in ages, I'm approaching the ratio. So what does that mean? Who does that make me? Will I go out of control? And was I afraid of that all these years? I had my wild days, do I think that I'll go back to them in a size 8? Maybe, maybe. I'm not sure.

I just know that it's a little alarming to be out there in the world without my personal wall. Maybe that's why I'm growing my hair...I still need something to hide behind.

Real Live Woman

REAL LIVE WOMAN (Trisha Yearwood)

I don't buy the lines in magazines
That tell me what I've gotta be
I don't base my life on a movie screen
I don't fit the mold society has planned

I don't need to be nineteen years old
Or starve myself for some weight I'm told
Will turn men's heads--been down that road
And I thank God I finally know just who I am

I ain't a movie star
May never see the view from where they are
And this old town might be as far as I'm goin'
But what he'll hold tonight in his hands
He swears is so much better than
Anything that this ol' world can show him

(Chorus:)
I'm a real live woman
In love with this man I see lying here next to me
Lost in the way that he's holdin'
This real live woman
In the arms of a man where I'll fall asleep knowing
There's nothing on Earth he loves more than
This real live woman

I work nine to five, and I can't relate
To millionaires who, somehow, fate
Has smiled upon and fortune made
Their common lives a better place to be

And I no longer justify
Reasons for the way that I behave
I offer no apologies
For the things that I believe and say
And I like it that way

Time passes

It's been a while since I last wrote here. That's probably for the best, since I might have spent all my time beating dead horses. As it is, I might beat a few anyway, but at least time will have passed since the last flogging.

When last seen, I was wearing a size 18 skirt from Talbots. Well, I can still wear that skirt, but I have since bought three size 16 skirts. They fit. I got a size 14 that I ordered today, which doesn't fit, quite, but which I now believe will. That makes two that I have in advance. Gives me a goal.

Most of the people I know are afraid to open their mouths about my weight loss, for whatever reasons, and I suspect those reasons are as various as the people themselves. But two weeks ago I went to a graduation party for my nephew and was nearly overwhelmed with compliments. A number of the people there hadn't seen me out of a coat since December, and in December I was not the woman I am now.

I have now lost 33 pounds. Yes, I slowed down substantially, but that's fine with me, really. I have time to get used to myself. Time to adjust. Time to shop!

Tonight after work, I decided to go to Starbucks for a treat. I had 12 points left for the day, and I've been wanting the orange mocha frappucino. So I got that, also the orange coffee cake that goes with it, and I'm figuring that was my 12 points. Good enough. So I went through the parking lots, up the hill to Main Street. There was a time when that walk nearly demolished me. When I was panting at the top of the (not very steep) hill. When my feet were aching, and I was limping because of my hip. Well, I might have been a tad bit winded tonight, but by the time I hit the counter, it was over. After I got my stuff and sat down and ate and drank, I headed back to my car. I worked all day in high heels, and I still had them on, and I noticed, as I clicked down the sidewalk, that I was going much faster than I normally would have. I worked on my feet, partly, all day, then taught a lesson, which was sitting, then closed the store, and I was still able to do that. It wasn't a hike up Mount Tom, but it was more than I could have comfortably done this time last year. So I feel good.

However--I know of someone who is NOT feeling so good about herself and her weight, and who is engaging in that most fruitless of activities, comparing herself to someone else.

Long ago, again, back in the Stone Age, when Seventeen had actual articles and not sound bites, someone wrote about breasts. Specifically, how everyone's were different, and how they all had their good points. I wish I had a copy of that essay, it was pure genius. I remember something about low-slung breasts, ideal for displaying a string of pearls...small ones, that fit nicely into bikini tops, lush ones that did something I forget. ( I can't think of anything that lush breasts do that was suitable for a body acceptance pep talk in Seventeen in 1973, but there must have been something). The point was, of course, that they're all good, every last set of breasts. That goes for body types, too. There are the women who are meant to be lush, cushiony, curvy. They will always have hips, they will always have breasts, they may not always have washboard abs (but then, your grandmother was damned happy to graduate from a washboard to a wringer washer) but they will be GORGEOUS. Just as they are. A few pounds one way or the other can of course make a difference in well-being, but not necessarily attractiveness. Then, there are women who are naturally rangy. They are certainly more streamlined, like greyhounds, maybe, and they may fit fashion's dictates of the moment, and they have their own sets of virtues, but there is no point in comparison. I often looked at my elongated, attentuated (toned!) trainer at the gym and thought how we could easily be from different species--but Kris was Kris, and I was myself. With great calves, and nice muscle control. You are who you are. You can't make yourself inot someone else.

Now for my addition to my collection of enchanting plus-sized women.

Her name is Wendy, and that's as much as I know of her personal business, other than the fact that she's divorced. I have seen her twice at the garage I use. I noticed her the first time, on a summer afternoon. She was wearing a raw silk (or at least it looked like raw silk) capri pant and sleeveless top set. She had her shoes kicked off and one foot tucked up underneath herself. By no standard can this woman be called slender; in no way does she fit society's standard. But I sat and looked at her and wondered how any man with a pulse could look at her and not want to pull her off into the nearest dark corner. Or, even better, the nearest pile of harem-style cushions, there to spend an afternoon enjoying the delights of the flesh, literally and figuratively. She was not conventionally pretty, Wendy wasn't, but she had the kind of face you want to keep looking at. Alive, perceptive, interested eyes. A strong nose, a mouth that, while not exactly lush, tempted. All this without any design--she exuded confidence as natural to her as her breath. I thought I had made her up, until I saw her again a few weeks ago. T-shirt and capris this time, and sneakers, I think. No less tempting. Just as unconciously emanating sex appeal, and something even more primal than sex appeal. Sensuality, that was it. Say it slow, savor the syllables. And all unknowingly. As we sat there, two not-small women, I was happy she was there. I thought I might get grandfathered in under her aura, and some of her natural glamour would rub off on me.