So, I know I said I was all for going to the gym. However, the fact that my legs feel like I got attacked by an obese baby elephant, isn’t exactly making me want to go to the gym anymore. I get up from my desk at work looking like I have a bowling ball shoved up my butt and I am constantly getting stares. It’s cool, while you were sitting on your couch watching TV, I was out getting my ass kicked in Crossfit. Anyway, I decided that I will not go to the gym tonight. I physically cannot move, no, like actually. I cannot move. I need to be wheeled around, because otherwise my spaghetti legs will give out on me and I will be on the floor within seconds. I really don’t want to injure myself so that I won’t go to the gym for another month after. I’m being proactive; let’s just go with that.
As much as I hate this pain, and as much as I want to slice my legs off myself, I know that in the end, I will have hotter legs than anyone else out there, and I ultimately don’t want to get rid of them, because that’s always been the one “skinny” thing about me. This excruciating pain is magnificent and I never thought I would say this, but I kind of LOVE it. I just keep thinking back to what I did. I did those gym classes that you see those crazy fit weight lifters doing on YouTube, I am so proud of myself. Fat Hillary would have never done anything like that. Well, she would have watched the YouTube videos while eating a bag of chips, but that’s about it.
I’m contemplating putting an ad on Craigslist right now for someone to come over and rub my thighs.
I figured something out today, and again, it’s going to sound mucho cocky. I came to the realization that everything about me is amazing. I got the “fat genes” because I had everything else going for me. I had the looks, the personality, the humor, the brains, and the whatever else is amazing that most people don’t get. I got the fat because I couldn’t have everything, right? Who would want to be friends with someone who had absolutely everything going for them? I sure as hell wouldn’t.
Along with the fat, came the lack of confidence. So I was lacking two things that the other kids already had. But whatever. I feel great now, and I’m so happy with how far I’ve come.
On the confidence note, this morning I went to the gym, it was 7:00 am. (What the hell was I thinking? Had I absolutely lost my mind? Well, I lost that years ago, but whatevs, right?) Anyway, so even though it’s 7:00 am, I should still have even the tiniest bit of energy in my oh-so-large body, I look over at myself in the mirror at my sexy Zumba dance moves, and then look over to Bubby Yetta on my right. This bubby was moving in all sorts of ways imaginable, while I’m standing there on the side looking like a seizing squirrel doing the funky chicken. I don’t like to dance like a normal person because I’m always afraid that my belly rolls are going to pop out of my shirt and I’m actually going to look like something died in pants and I’m just moving in all sorts of stupid ways looking like a moron. Anyway, I immediately get this sudden burst of energy, after seeing this bubby. Well, it wasn’t exactly a burst of energy, it was more of an embarrassment thing, because I want to be dancing better than a 93 year old lady. But I shouldn’t hate, GO YETTA!
Anyway, my hard work paid off and I need a leg massage. Any takers?
I’ve taken this whole “I have a smaller stomach” thing way too lightly these last few days. I figure if I have a small stomach, I won’t need to eat as much, therefore I can eat whatever I want. I understand that weight fluctuates over the course of a week, and it’s majorly unhealthy to weigh myself everyday, however when I woke up this morning and saw that I had gained two pounds overnight, I couldn’t help but hate myself.
After surgery, doctors and nutritionists give post op patients a list of foods they can and cannot eat. We are also given information to eat on portions, and examples on what to eat for meals. If I’m not honest with the world, then I can’t be honest with myself. I have taken bites here and there of foods that I have wanted. I have had an extra three or four bites when I shouldn’t have. From this point on, I never want to see the scale go up again. I can do this. I didn’t go this far just to fail again!
Not to make any excuses, like fat people are good at, but I have been to the gym 5 times in the last 7 days, and I’m so f!@ing proud of myself! Maybe it’s muscle weighing more than fat? NO. It’s just fat being fat.
I promise MYSELF that I will stay on track. It’s only been two months. I should not be off track already.
Monday morning, I walk in to the admitting department of the hospital not knowing what’s about to come my way. I expected hospitals to have long wait times, so I anticipated having about an hour of dillydallying time. WRONG. They took me in right away. So as I walk into the Operating Room Floor, this overly friendly man immediately asked me to disrobe and put all my clothes in a garbage bag? (What is this, prison?). I’m sitting in this chair half naked waiting for the OR nurse to come get me. All these doctors keep walking by me with lunch boxes, so I figure I’ve got at least thirty minutes to take a quick nap. I close my eyes, and then all of a sudden, just as I close my eyes- this large, heavy set woman comes and calls my name. We walk the halls together, and she puts this gorgeous shower cap on me, instructs me to sit in this normal sized bed. You would think for bariatric surgery they would at least give you a double; yeah right. Suddenly at that moment, it all became real. Doctors kept coming up to me, introducing themselves, poking me with needles and putting strange clothing on me. As I’m put on the operating room table, the last thing I hear is : “ok, we’re going to inject Propofol now”… I respond with “isn’t that how Michael Jackson died?”… Then I took a long nap…