Desperate Moments Call For Desperate Measures

I've had it. Enough is enough. My new motto is just say no - to chocolate/birthday-cake/pie/chips/and everything else I've been eating with reckless abandon. And to prove how serious I actually am, I would like to make an announcement:

I HAVE STARTED EXERCISING.

As in this morning. And it's for real this time, too - as opposed to all those other times I've threatened to begin a workout regimen, only to give it up after a week or two. You may doubt me, you may wonder why I think this time will be any different from the last several attempts, but I can assure you it is. I know. I can feel it.

Does this ever happen to anyone else? You go along stuffing your face, laying around, taking a long bath, sleeping in, reading a book, or blogging with those few precious moments of personal time you get everyday. Meanwhile, you feel your muscles atrophying, your clothes get a little tighter, and you move from your cute, I-can-wear-everything-in-my-closet wardrobe, to the irritating, and much more limited I-can-only-wear-these-few-items-strategically-put-together-in-certain-ways-to-hide-the-fat-around-the-middle-that's-been-accumulating-since-Christmas wardrobe.

It's so irritating.

And if those of you who know me are tempted to leave a comment saying how I don't look any different to you, you're forgetting one important detail:

I'M ONLY WEARING A FEW ITEMS STRATEGICALLY PUT TOGETHER TO HIDE THE EXCESS FAT AROUND THE MIDDLE THAT HAS BEEN ACCUMULATING SINCE CHRISTMAS!!!!

And you want to hear the sad part? A couple more pounds and I won't be able to hide it. My secret will be out, everyone will know.

So, back to how I know this time is different. Once I go through all of the above, (and once I realize just how close swimsuit season actually is), I start having thoughts. These thoughts remind me of the time in fourth grade when my friend Miriam and jumped on my bed while eating out of a box of Grapenuts. Have you ever had Grapenuts in your bed? It's very uncomfortable. Like my thoughts. Thoughts like, "So what if I never do get back into those clothes?" and "If I never work out ever again, will I still be able to make it up the stairs when I'm fifty?" and "Just how far down my leg can my buttocks fall?"

These thoughts make me feel squirmy. They bother me. Apparently, they drive me straight toward the drawer where I keep my amazing library of workout tapes. (And yes, I said tapes. As in VHS. There are several DVD's in there as well, but somehow in my moments of desperation it always goes back to the tapes).

At first, I only think about it. I start thinking about how good it actually feels to have leg muscles. And about how nice it would be to get my backside back up where it belongs.

Then I start thinking about how I really don't like the answers to any of those Grape-nuts-in-the-bed questions, and I take a few pathetic stabs at working out. You know, the ones where you aren't really working out, but you kind of hope it will be enough anyway? But it isn't, so it doesn't work, and you give up a week or two later feeling discouraged?

Then something like Easter comes around, and I'm slapped in the face by my complete and total lack of control. Seriously. It didn't help that L and N both had birthday parties, and after L's I sat down and ate an entire bag of Doritos. And that was after the cake, the pizza, and the bowl of BBQ potato chips. I can't even talk about Easter - or that bag of Reese's PBCups I bought for "the kids".

And so it's begun. The official I'm-excited-to-work-out-and-feel-immediately-panicky-if-I-don't feeling has arrived. And it comes with an important little perk I always forget about - I'm just lazy enough that I can't stand to eat junk after sweating and suffering along with some over-zealous work out Diva.

I ACTUALLY PASSED UP M'S FORGOTTEN CHOCOLATE EASTER BUNNY THIS MORNING! THIS IS HUGE!

And so I'm off. I'm back in control, I'm exercising, and I'm headed back to all those cute clothes hanging in my closet. Okay, I lied. I have no closet. Most of these clothes are strategically "draped" around my room. Sad, isn't it? But I'll be wearing them, and that's the important part.

Fat-Around-The-Middle

So, I'm a fat-around-the-middle girl. This classification has no bearing on how much fat I have, it simply refers to where my fat likes to accumulate. I have spent almost two decades trying to decide if I am grateful for this fact, or if I hate it.

First let me explain what it means to be a fat-around-the-middle-girl (aka FATMG). It means I have skinny legs. And no hips. And a little butt. I have friends who try to tell me that I don't have a butt, but I do. It's just not very big. Meaning, it really could stand to be bigger. This is one of the downsides of being a FATMG. Another downside is never having that elusive flat stomach the fat-around-the-hips/butt/thighs (FATHBTG's) ALWAYS have. Or their tiny little waists, or their nice shapely/thin-at-the-top arms.

It also means that 90% of the time I must wear a belt. This is because there is not enough in the hips/buttage area to hold up my pants. Ever try to belt something around a phone pole? Yep, that's me. I rarely have to button or unbutton any of my pants. Undo the belt, wriggle and pull, and they slide right down. (Let's not even talk about the falling-off joke that is maternity pants). The most unfortunate part of this arrangement is that in order to be effective, the belt has to be pretty snug, showcasing the "fat around the middle" by squishing it out over the tops of my jeans.

There are other small irritations, like always having to pull the front of my pants up over my eternal "tummy roll" when I sit down to keep it under control. Holding a pillow/book/purse/anything strategically in front of said roll is equally effective.

Then there's the weight gain vs size issue. I have several friends who fall into the very desirable fat-all-over-girl (FAOG) category. These lucky girls gain their weight everywhere, which gives them so much leeway. I always hear them saying things like, "I gained ten pounds last month." Yet when you look at them, you can hardly tell. Someone once told me to compare a pound of fat to a pound of butter. Every time you gain a pound of fat, it's like taking that pound of butter and spreading it on your body. Can you imagine what it's like for us FATMG's to put ten pounds in one spot? Five pounds (depending on the current weight zone) can grow FATMG's right out of their clothes. This is depressing.

There is, however, an upside.

1. Jackets hide a multitude of sins.

2. When pregnant, our butts don't get bigger.

3. When all else fails, there are those skinny legs.

4. When five pounds means growing out of your clothes, you can't ignore the issue. Let's just say it keeps you on your toes.

But I still think you FAOG's have it made.

So here's to all you FATMG's, FATHBTG's, and even you FAOG's. Hope I didn't miss anyone:)