187.8 lbs. Do you hear something like a distant hammering? That’s me pounding my head on the wall.
I was talking to a friend about this plateau and she had an interesting insight: I may be drinking too much water. I had thought that there was no such thing and, in fact, the best means of treating a water weight gain was to flush it out with more water. My current intake is close to a gallon a day, mostly on the instructions of Torquemada. However, what the body cannot use, it stores (same with food) and a gallon of water weighs 8 lbs. This surprised me because I thought whatever water the body didn’t use became a very uncomfortable bladder and a run to the restroom. Not so, according to my source. The recommendation I got was to reduce my intake by at least 2 glasses per day and see if that didn’t break the plateau. We’ll see what happens tomorrow (which is Monday and Monster Mondays. Monser Calorie Burn, that is).
I had occasion to go through my storage unit yesterday (through a combination of factors, my current living situation is a hotel and I have not had a home of my own for 6 years. So, whatever doesn’t fit in my car lives in my storage unit. I’d really like change that). I rooted through a number of boxes including those containing clothing I hadn’t been able to wear in years (too tight). I didn’t locate my beloved Levis yet, but I did find some khakis that had been the right size but cut so that they were uncomfortably tight (business casual allows for polo shirts and khakis. I think it makes us look like a cult). When I tried them on, they were now too big, as in “able to pull them on and off without unzipping them” too big. This is the kind of progress I like.
(Random) Another reason to buy Not Your Daughter’s Jeans: they are made in the USA.
I’m not a big fan of looking at myself, either in the mirror or in pictures. This morning, though, as I moved in front of the mirror, something caught my eye and I had to go back and look. I confirmed that I had actually seen what I thought I saw:
The beginnings of a waist.
Not the equator that I had formerly been sporting. I’m talking about an indentation between the bust and the hips. You know, an hourglass? There had been speculation for years in the scientific community that mine was extinct, a similar debate to the current status of the ivory-billed woodpecker. Those who had said it was gone and never to be seen or heard from again (my waist, not the bird) will have to re-evaluate their stance.
This is a significant step forward in the (loving) eradication of the Great White Belly. I believe what has done the trick (or begun to do the trick. Let’s not get carried away, here) is the work I’ve been doing that focuses on the oblique muscles (the ones on the sides of the waist that allow you to twist). I state and emphasize that there is no such thing as spot reducing, but as you work, tighten and build muscles, the landscape around them changes to accommodate the emerging shape. I can’t see ribs (they’re still under a layer of fat. Smaller than it was,though) but I’ve noticed that the bra strap overhang is almost gone and whereas the band of the bra (for guys, that’s the part with the hooks that is your worst enemy) used to indent, it doesn’t anymore. In fact, I may need to go down a size.
I still don’t like looking at The Great White Belly. It’s shapeless and pasty, has stretch marks around the front and hangs down and low to create a flesh fold that is unattractive and unfeminine. It would take the tummy tuck from hell to tame this beast. . (This is going to get a bit gross) It’s necessary to lift the fold to wash and dry the crease (skin care is skin care) and swipe it with deodorant, especially during hot weather. A few years back, a man with an ugly heart told me I smelled bad because I was fat and sweaty (I shower and shampoo every day, so I’m clean) and that I was stinking up the couch of a friend (like I said, I haven’t had my own home in a few years). It’s not so much that I felt any real truth in what he said (I’d known this guy for a few years already and considered him a smug jackass who’s nowhere near as intelligent as he pretends to be), but it was the fact that he felt free to make this statement that hurt. The friend had nothing to say on the subject and hasn’t since the incident took place. While his comment didn’t make any difference in my behavior, it didn’t do anything to change my self-loathing and that was probably his intention. The best defense is a good offense, after all.
Fuck him.
The Great White Belly, though still considerable, is changing shape. It’s smaller, the sides are shrinking and narrowing and the rolls, while still there, are getting smaller. Do I think I’ll ever be a size 2 or 0? Hell, no. Let me tell you something: those Hollywood starlets whom we’re supposed to worship and imitate? The ones who do wear 2s and 0s? Yeah. They’re Munchkins in Manolos. These are short women in high heels who consider cigarettes, Red Bull and vodka a three-course meal. I’ve worked as an extra, I have seen these women up close and they are tiny. If you’re over 5’ 6”, you aren’t going to wear the sample sizes.
Well in closing, I offer the following before and after shots, from July 4, 2010 and May 28, 2011.
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