A Promise after a Proposal

When you gain weight to the point where you are considered (and truthfully) are fat, nobody tells you that it is going to be so much more than not being able to fit into your cute, high-end-retail jeans. I have this pair of Express jeans that were my all time favorite pair of jeans that I owned. They are a dark wash, boot cut (which is weird, because I really don't wear boot cut jeans), size 4, and they are fabulous. I used to wear them like a sexy, second skin. Now, I just stare at them like someone I used to know, like someone I used to love, but we had a huge falling out and now we are disgusted strangers who stare vaguely across the room at each other at a forced get together. I look at them in my closet and wonder how I ever fit into them. Now, they wouldn't even fit over one of my legs, and probably not all the way up it either.

Nobody tells you that every time you gain a few pounds, the harder it gets to sleep. You can't get comfortable and all that fat on your belly and chest crush on your lungs making it difficult to breathe. Nobody tells you that you will start to sweat all the time. I don't mean like normal sweat either, I mean sweat in places that you really didn't know you could sweat, and that you will need to shower like twice a day because deodorant just doesn't work the same and isn't made for those certain places. Nobody tells you that when you do decide to go exercise because you have a random and rare burst of energy, that your ass cheeks will chafe to the point of it being painful. It also happens between your legs. And let's be honest, are you going to let a guy in between them if your thighs look like raw meat? No. Fuck no. It is so unattractive. Nobody tells you how much wearing heels hurts. Even more so than usual, because all that weight is pressing down on a little tiny spike. I used to wear heels all day in school. I never walked very well in them, but they didn't hurt me like they do now. I won't wear my super cute black and beige wedges with a black bow ankle strap out to The Beaches, because I can't stand to stand on them longer than ten minutes. All my friends are wearing heels, but not me. Well, everyone except for Destiny, because she is tall and uncoordinated as shit. Nobody tells you how exhausted you are going to feel all the time, and how all of a sudden you need naps that aren't really naps, but more like second full night sleeps. Nobody tells you how everything about you will slow down. I used to walk so fast that my friends would get irritated with me when we went to the mall because I was too all over the place. Nobody tells you that when you breathe, you will make an audible sound. Like you just ran a mile, but really you are just sitting at your desk listening to lecture, as if note taking is suddenly a marathon (actually, it is a marathon. Those bastard professors at FSU acted like we all had Spidey Senses and could write at the speed of light. Assholes). And then there is that one skinny girl sitting beside you with her platinum blonde hair and she's breathing all normal and shit and you suddenly hate her and envy her all at the same time. OVER BREATHING!!!! WHAT A HORRIBLE THING TO BE JEALOUS OF! Nobody tells you that when you have sex, you don't and can't move as much, meaning it doesn't feel as good, meaning your special friend might just fall flat. Sadly, literally. Certain positions are no longer an option because all of you is all in the way.

Nobody tells you that being fat is more than having to buy more clothes, and that these new "fat" close are more expensive because it takes more material to make those jeans fit around your ass. Nobody tells you that suddenly, you don't want to go to church because you look like a pig in a bonnet and gown, (I won't use that as my full reason, because I would be lying if I was). Nobody tells you that when you do your hair in the morning, you look specifically at your hair because you cannot stand to look at your double chin. Nobody tells you that you won't want to walk at your graduation, because you don't want to look back on the best four years of your life and see yourself as a complete stranger in a different body. Or how you don't want to take senior pictures because you don't want to see yourself like this and show this you to your children one day. Nobody tells you any of this maybe because it's sad or embarrassing or gross or you don't want to admit it to yourself.

But I will.

It has been well over a year and a half since that one asshole told me the truth about what I was. I was fat. I am fat. Like I said before, I wasn't hurt that he said it, I was hurt that he didn't love me enough to stick around and help me get back to that sexy, fit girl I used to be. I used to cheer, tumble, and do drama and I even attempted to play tennis, of course I was in shape. I remember thinking a size 4 was fat. Ha! Fucking hilarious.

But what have I done about it? What have I done since that day that I swore he was going to eat his words like a delicious cheesecake laced with cyanide? Not a damn thing. Sad, but true.

Sure, I have gone on little fitness kicks where I was exercising twice a day, once in the morning before class and once in the evening. And I really did enjoy that! I loved it so much and I was getting results! But I quit before I had lost enough to be noticeable to others. I'd eat better, or swear I was going to after downing a Chik-fil-a vanilla milkshake with a side of nuggs. But what have I really done persistently, continuously, dedicated myself fully to? Not a damn thing.

Until right now.

A few weeks ago, I got in touch with my ex ex stepmom (doesn't that sound like something out of a soap opera?) and implored her to help me. I can't do this on my own, I am at the point where I need expert professional help! Jamie is amazing at what she does, and she is the ultimate result of hard work. Her body is tight, toned, and bangable, the ultimate goal of what I am trying to transform back into. I never really considered myself to be beautiful, though I did applaud myself on my good qualities, and one of them was being fit. Anyways, Jamie writes a section in our paper called The Fit Girl Chronicles. I knew if anyone could pull me from this vat of fat that is myself, it would be her.

We sat down and went over a meal plan, my goals, what would work and what fallacies and lies were lurking out there in skins of "Get-fit-quick" schemes and diet books. Her methods are simple, and as she read them out to me, a light suddenly clicked on above my head and a flame ignited in my heart, setting it on fire. I could, would and was going to do this!

Today was day one of Jamie's Bootcamp. I was terrified as I walked out onto the muddy expanse that was the Duck Pond field. I looked around me at all the other ladies and one dude there and felt a little better. Everyone there needed to be there. I talked with my mates and learned that they all had areas they wanted to fix, but most of them, like me, wanted to shed weight all over. Or at least maintain where they were now, to avoid becoming a sad story like myself.

For the next hour, I hurt, sweat, stank, hurt some more, watched little specks of black glitter flutter across my eyes warning me that I was going down soon. I blinked them back determined to not pass out. The workout was intense, but more so because I have not done that sort of exercise in at least....forever. After just one round of different exercises, I felt the bile rise in my throat. Another obstacle, another reason to quit. I simply refused to puke behind one of the picnic tables in front of all of these strangers. I choked it down and continued.

My way of getting through it was doing what I always do in any undesirable or tough situation, I pretended to be a character from a book. I find it extremely useful to empathize with someone you admire from a story or movie when presented with a tough situation. When I study for finals, I pretend to be Hermione Granger. When I write my blogs and work on my other projects, I try to channel Carrie Bradshaw. When my boss schedules me for "Facilities" which is just a nice way of saying, "Clean the shitter," I imagine that I am Cinderella or Snow White and that later on that day, my prince is going to come sweep me off of my feet from behind the cash wrap and carry me through the glass doors, if I could just get through changing the trash in the women's bathroom. When I have to clean up the Loft before my Papa comes up here to turn down the A.C. or make sure the doors are locked and sees my mess, I pretend to be Rapunzel. I look over my balcony and imagine flinging my hair down to the ultra sexy Flynn Rider and letting him climb up to my now spotless keep for some tea and trash tv. It may seem silly, but it really does work.

My latest read was the first book in the Divergent series. I pretended that I was Tris, training for the Dauntless initiation. At the start of the story, she was weak, just like I am now. But hard work, a few tears, and determination made her strong, just like they will make me. I embraced the mud and the stitch in my side and thought how I would love to be strong enough to whoop some dude's ass if I ever needed to, and this was the start of that training.

After that super intense, stomach churning, amazing work out, I felt so accomplished. It was great to hurt, to feel my lungs burn, to finally have a reason for audible raspy breathing. It was great to feel pain, just to know that I am alive. It means that I do have a chance to change, that there is still time to avoid all the horrible health hazards that come with gaining an unsavory amount of weight.

My sudden motivation has come from my best friend. That's right, Cassie is finally getting married!!!!!! Matt proposed to her two weeks ago. There are things that I would not do for myself, but that I would do for her. So, when I was lacking motivation to do it for myself, suddenly I found it in her. I would do anything for her, she is my heart and soul (most days). And I will be damned if I stand next to her as her overly honored and way too excited Maid of Honor at the size I am now. I refuse to let her down in photos by saying, "Please edit my arms in this,", in searching for the perfect dress that fits all of the bridesmaids and asking her secretly for something different because it doesn't flatter me, and all that is getting married. She would never say anything to me, because she loves me, but I cannot bear to have to take pictures standing next to someone so beautiful, so serene and perfect. Also, I just had a holy shit moment as I realized that her extremely handsome cousin, Ben, is the best man. Meaning, he will be the one escorting me. And when he does, I am going to look stunning. He is a great guy and deserves a little slice of arm candy. Even if it is only for a minute, because sadly, I am pretty sure he looks at me like family. Which is okay, because he lives clear across the country. And just like that, I am daydreaming.

I want people to know, you can do this! If you are reading this right now and you are not happy with your body and health, know that you can change! It is not about being stick skinny, it is about being healthy. My goal is to get back down to the weight I thought I looked best at, 125-135 lbs. If you can do the math and add 80 lbs to that, you know where I am now. There is no bow to put on that to make it look pretty, there is no hiding it beneath a big shirt, because soon it is going to be in a fitted chiffon gown. It is there, it is all there, but not for long. I swear. It is not about being skinny, or if it is for you great, do your thing. It is about being the best you can possibly be. I know where my best Cara is, she is here, underneath all this. I am going to find her.

I swear.