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“I was talking to someone the other day and I said you were skinny. They said, ‘You haven’t seen her lately, have you?’”
It’s a good thing that I’m not sensitive about my weight or that could be akin to poking a fat bear with a pointy stick!
Last Wednesday afternoon, I stopped at the office of a friend, as the two of us had planned to grab a drink after work. As we were leaving her workplace, one of her co-workers stopped me to share that thoughtful tidbit of gossip. Needless to say, I later skipped the Miller Lite longneck and ordered a stronger adult beverage.
Because I know my friend’s co-worker, I have no doubt she was just making conversation and did not mean anything hurtful. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t at least a bit stunned by her words, my only response something along the lines of, “Yep, I have gained some weight.”
I admit I’ve gained weight; I wrote a column about it in this newspaper just last month. But why do people sometimes feel the need to point out the extra junk in my trunk?
Believe me, every time I look in the mirror, I notice how round my face has become; my chubby cheeks can’t be camouflaged by any amount of makeup or outlandish hairstyle.
And each time I grease my legs and hips with lotion before sliding into my jeans, the extra poundage is quite evident. Originally, I was using old-fashioned lard to make getting dressed easier – lard soaks into the skin slower than lotion, thus the race to get my pants on wasn’t quite so frantic. The need to change lubrication, however, was obvious after the friction by my denim-clad thighs rubbing together caused a slight fire that burnt a significant hole in my favorite pair of Levis.
Thankfully, it had recently snowed and a quick roll through the front yard put the fire out before any serious damage could be done. Though the smell was similar to fried chicken, which sent me on a road trip to KFC and inched the needle even farther up on the scale. But who cares? You still gotta love the Colonel!
As you read this, I am into my fourth week of trying to twist, crunch and squat the pounds away. Thus far, I have gained three pounds and added one-quarter of an inch to the circumference of my right thigh.
I have been sweating three nights per week to the American Gladiator Ultimate Workout and the only similarities I can see between myself and the video’s instructors is the size of our thighs. Sadly, where theirs are all rock-hard muscle, I admit mine are more the consistency of soft butter mixed with a bowl of Jell-O that hasn’t yet fully congealed. Squishy!
Despite the less than stellar success I’ve seen after nearly a dozen workouts, I have committed to give the infamous athletes another three weeks to spark the physical transformation I so drastically wish for. Additionally, I plan to alter my diet a slight bit in this second session of exercise. No more will I classify 16 Belgium chocolate truffles as a “small snack” or rationalize eating an extra Taco Bell burrito with “at least I’m not having fries.”
For the next three weeks, I promise to eat no more than 10 truffles in a sitting and I’ll trade the half-pound burrito for a soft taco!
If the pounds fail to melt away in the next 21 days, it’s on to Dancing with the Stars Latin Cardio Dance. So wish me luck, as my two left feet are guaranteed to cause massive destruction in my living room dance floor.