Dear Yoga Teacher


Dear Yoga Teacher, or any fitness instructor for that matter,

Thank you for thinking that I’m just as flexible as Amanda and Rihanna, however, I hate to break it to you, but I am not. I can’t even sit in child’s pose without my feet getting stuck in my butt. Isn’t child’s pose supposed to be the comfortable one when I’m relaxing? I don’t find it relaxing, I feel stressed, and also,  I need a muscle relaxant just to keep my knees on the ground, and my head in a normal position. When I have to do downward dog, I feel like I’m a 6 foot Great Dane, unable to keep myself up. I shake everywhere like I’m doing the freaking salsa in an awkward pose.  When everyone else is doing that funky thing when their feet are in the air and we have to reach, has it ever occurred to you that I have a stomach and it gets in the way? Seriously, it’s like one of the orange cones that won’t let you move. MY STOMACH IS AN ORANGE CONE.

Your enthusiasm makes me feel like I could do it, but the tire around my waist really just gets in the way.

 

Sincerely,

A motivated, still fat wannabe Yogi.

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Bread….Warm Buttery Bread


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Growing up, I was never allowed to touch the bread at restaurants. You know the delicious hot bread that comes with butter at the beginning of most meals? It’s the bread that comes to the table, when you’re at your hungriest. As a child…well from eight years old, until today, I was always taught that bread was the enemy, and even looking at it would make me gain weight. I would watch with envy, and with drool coming out of my mouth , while my petite brother (sorry D) would chomp away at the tasty bread…with butter. Even before it hit the table, Ronnie Ginger would give me the eyes, making me aware that she was watching me, and that bread was MY enemy. When I became older and started going to restaurants with friends, I began to eat the free bread because no one was watching or judging. Little did I know that with each bite, I’d be blowing up a little more each time. On Donald’s first encounter with Ronnie Ginger, when he was just an innocent little boyfriend, taking his new girlfriend on dates, she nicely warned him that when he takes me out to restaurants, that I was not permitted, under any circumstances to eat the bread. She said this because I loved it so much…so she thought! Just to be clear, I don’t even like bread, I find bread to be dry, and boring and really just a waste of space. If I’m going to eat bread, I’m going to make it worth it- like a grilled cheese or French toast, but just plain bread doesn’t do it for me. The reason I became so aggressive as a child when I was refused the free bread at the table, was only because I was never allowed to have it. People always want what they can’t have, right? (I wasn’t allowed a lot of things apparently).

The thing with me and bread though, is that, bread is free, and it comes with most meals in America, and some parts of Canada. If it’s free, I like it, because I like good value. On the other hand, the whole reason why we’re going to a restaurant is because we’re hungry. If the polite waiter asks if I would like some free hot bread, and I’m hungry, and he places it right in front of me-then I’ll have a bite. I’m not going to eat an entire freaking basket of bread… this is because

1) I’m not an animal

and

2) I physically can’t keep in an entire load of bread

The moral of the story is, don’t deprive yourself. If you deprive yourself for your entire life, then one day you’ll eat an entire basket of bread, and wake up 50 pounds heavier.

Go ahead, have a bite, just a little bite.

To My Grandma


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On November 5th 2014,  I suffered a great loss. My wonderful, amazing, beautiful grandmother passed away. My grandmother,  was my best friend, and someone who I spoke to everyday. Being the oldest grandchild, I knew I was lucky to have both my grandparents at 26, so I made sure to speak to her everyday, sometimes even twice a day. I knew that I wouldn’t have them forever, so I made sure to speak to them as much as I could. She would never let me speak to my grandfather, because she wanted me all to herself. My Grammy made it a point to judge, criticize, and comment when necessary, and she really had no filter; but I loved every moment of it! It feels so weird not to be able to call her anymore, this is the longest we’ve gone without speaking.

In the end, my grammy had a very weak heart, and she was in so much pain, but was too proud to say anything. Grammy was such a fighter and really wanted to live forever. Her heart was too weak and was not able to handle all the love she had for all her kids, grandkids and her soulmate- my Papakins!

Aside from Donald, and Mommy Ginger, my Grammy was the one person who really helped me stay on track with my weight loss and who pushed me to succeed. She knew as well as anyone, that my biggest fight was to get under 200 pounds. This is something that  I have been struggling with for the last 15 years of my life. For the last 6 months I have bounced near ONEDERLAND, but was never able to actually make it. My weight loss for the last two months has gone from 215.3 to 205.7 to 202.4 to 201.3 to 200.6 to 200.3. On the morning of November 5 2014, the day my grandma left us, I suffered not only one great loss, but two.  I got on the scale, because I felt a change within myself… to my surprise, the scale had shown me something I haven’t seen in a decade and a half… a ONE, on the scale. I got on and weighed 199.2….WITH CLOTHES! This may be so little to most people, this is something extremely huge for me, and is such a milestone in my life.

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While I know my Grammy is no longer with us in person, she is definitely with me in spirit. I don’t think I could have ever done this without her. I think that was her way of telling me that she is still here and watching over me. I never believed in that kind of stuff, but to me, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence.

Grandma, wherever you are, know that I love you, and I think about you everyday. Thank you for helping me succeed, and making me who I am today. I couldn’t have done it without you. I will never stop thinking about you, and I thank you for watching over us.

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First Dates: How I Developed My Pet Name


First dates are both interesting and intimidating. You really need to make a good impression the first time you’re out with a complete stranger. First dates are extremely frightening, especially if you’re going for dinner to a fancy restaurant with a stranger you hardly know. Luckily, I haven’t had to worry about any first dates in a long time, but the last time I went on one, it was quite special.

Let’s just say, Donald has been calling me “Miss I’ll Just Have A Salad Please” since our first date together, which was just over three and a half years ago. Now, there are many reasons why he gave me this nickname. Firstly, on our first date, he took me to a super nice restaurant, one that I would normally only be able to afford while on a Groupon. Let’s just start off by saying, I loved bread and butter. This warm, delicious, smoking bread came to the table with soft butter, and all I wanted to do was shove my face in it and devour it all. I know that first dates really are the first impression, so I didn’t want to come off as a ravenous animal who has never seen bread before. I watched Donald eat the bread, and the while salivating watching him with each bite he took. When it came time to ordering the meal, I undoubtedly did just have a salad. A warm spinach salad to be exact… BARF! What the hell was I thinking? Obviously I didn’t want to go on a date with this guy and be like “Oh hey, I’ll have a AAA Angus Steak with mashed potatoes, and extra melted cheese on top, Oh, and of course a shrimp cocktail to start”. Although, it really was what I wanted, I couldn’t afford an $80 meal, and didn’t want him to think that I was a fat cow. I ate only half of my warm spinach salad, while getting more and more squeamish with each bite. I watched him eat his sausage pasta and was jealous that I made the wrong choice. (Is it normal that I remember what he ate? I must have been starving myself) As soon as I got home, I made myself a nice box of Kraft Dinner, because I was starving… (please keep in mind this was pre-surgery). Thinking back, I wasn’t the skinniest of girls, why would a fat girl go to a nice restaurant and order a warm spinach salad? Obviously he knew the kind of food I was into.. I mean after all, he isn’t stupid! I guess I also ordered the warm leaves because what if he didn’t like me, and walked out, and made up some story like he had to go take his blood sugar and left me with the bill? I had to order the cheapest thing on the menu; especially after he ordered BOTTLED WATER! Who orders bottled water? Not that I’m cheap or anything, actually I am- but tap water is just fine with me and I don’t feel poor asking for it! I know it’s not nice to assume that he was paying for the meal, I guess I’m just old fashioned like that.

Anyway, two months later, or some time after that, he finally asked me if I wanted to be his official girlfriend. I said yes, and then decided it was alright to eat normally. Once he saw me scarf down my first steak, I adopted the name “Miss I’ll Just Have A Salad Please” I told you he was smart!

Now, it’s okay to eat normal in front of each other. With three and a half years of dating, comes comfort. We still haven’t gotten comfortable with going to the bathroom with the door open, but we’re taking baby steps!

It’s Called A DIE(t) For A Reason


The hardest part about being on a strict diet, is knowing you can’t have anything you want. I’ve been on a strict diet for the last seven days, twelve hours, nineteen minutes and twenty seconds (which realistically I should have been on for the last twenty years, but whatevs) and all I can think about is fried food, fat food, sugary food- anything. I don’t even like chicken nuggets, but today, it’s all I can think about. You know those chicken nuggets that say “lightly battered:” on the menu, but then you get them and they’re breaded with an entire loaf of white bread and cooked in an entire tub of extra grease? It’s those that I’m thinking about. Also, pizza. Pizza is a triangular form of deliciousness that can be made in so many delicious ways, and is just so magnificently delicious. I also really like this super weird thing that I don’t mind sharing with the world. Get ready because it is so delicious that you just might eat your computer screen. Ok, so you know when you microwave day old pasta and there’s cheese on top?  When the cheese and pasta gets really crunchy, I enjoy that… like REALLY enjoy. Sometimes I try to burn my food in the microwave because I want the cheese and noodle chips. 

Speaking of delicious can we take a moment to talk about pickles? Pickles are amazing sodium stuffed cucumbers. They’re so crunchy, and really bother the people around you, because you smell like garlic and you’re crunching like a horse. I personally don’t mind hearing myself chew like a horse, but if someone else does it, they will have their fingers chopped off, and I will steal their pickle, just saying. 

Anyway, it’s funny just to say it out loud what I’m thinking about, because in the real world I would never actually eat pizza or deep fried chicken… never ever! It’s like I’m  a teenager who can’t have her little high school crush, they always want what they can’t have. 

Sorry Mr. Nugget, I’m better off without you. 

 

Hillary, The Someday Olympian!


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I absolutely ADORE the Olympics! I like to watch the skiing, and the finger skaters, and all the pretty costumes. Sometimes I wish I had the ability to do any kind of physical activity. At time, I envision my face on the Olympians face and pretend that it’s me doing all that funky twirling in the air kind of stuff! I tried to do Olympic skiing on the Wii once, but that failed tremendously when I fell head first into my fireplace. I still have scars. Maybe that’s why I don’t like working out, I’m afraid of being hurt and then falling! I don’t know what it is, but no matter what I do, I’m unable to move around properly. I have no balance, no rhythm,  no grace. I’m a special kind.

If I could do any kind of sport in the Olympics, I think I would do interpretive dancing. You know, the ones with the ribbon wands! I’ve always wanted to hop around like a bunny and feel like a pretty elegant princess. Somehow though, no matter what I do, I always end up tripping on something, and looking like a buffoon. I swear, it can be standing on something so flawless, and still trip and break my face. My mommy always told me that I was clumsy and not very girl-like. She always told me to be graceful, but being graceful is just boring. I can do it on the weekends, and to go to special classy events, but to be graceful all day, every day just wouldn’t work for me.

For now, I think it’s best to stick to walking. To the bus. Because I really can’t go wrong there.

Stop Saying Nice Things


People keep telling me how good I look, and how much has face has swelled down. STOP! The more you tell me I look good, the more I think I can eat more and think I look fine as it is. I want to have one of those crazy dramatic weight losses where no one can recognize me. I want my reveal to be something like on The Biggest Loser.

It’s crazy to think that a fat girl wouldn’t want someone complimenting them telling them how great they looked. I must have some sort of chemical imbalance in my head, but maybe I’m also just being realistic.

I checked the scale today, news flash– I’m still fat. What’s craziest is that I don’t even see any change in me, aside from my awesome collar bones. I don’t see myself shrinking, I don’t see my face de-plumping- nothing.

No more compliments until you can’t recognize me. Capeche?