Today is April 22, 2013. Where has the year gone??!?! To date, I have lost 90lbs total. A couple months ago, I started working out. I hired a trainer, Matt, who is awesome. He holds me accountable. Every time I do cardio (which is four times a week most weeks) I have to text him my stats, as in the distance I went, the calories I burned and the time I spent. Together we do two sessions a week of intense strength training. I find myself creating competition between myself and the other girls at the gym. “How much is she leg pressing? Pssssht—I can do better than that. Try lifting some REAL weight, Jane Fonda.” I always seem to win these little competitions… even if the other party doesn’t know they’re part of it. J I’m feeling great… looking great… clothed, that is.
I have always been a proportionate fat person. Some of you reading this may be quite the opposite. There are those who carry most of their weight in their belly, but their legs and arms are the size of a much thinner person… that was never me. I considered myself lucky in a way. Being proportionate made it slightly easier to conceal the fact that I weighed 405lbs. Many would have never guessed I weighed what I did. The negative side of being proportionate is now that I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight, I’m experiencing saggy skin all over my body.
Before I started this journey, the sagging skin was a concern for me. I chalked it up to “Well, I don’t look good naked fat, so I might as well not look good naked skinny.” This has become a sort of mirror-time mantra for me lately. I feel like I have to keep reminding myself of that. I have never been a patient person. When diets I tried in the past weren’t working quickly enough for me, I just gave up. “You didn’t put it on overnight and you’re not going to take it off overnight,” loved ones would say. It’s true… but that wasn’t helping me any! Needless to say, waiting to lose another hundred pounds so I can finally have plastic surgery is currently my own personal hell.
My best friend is getting married on August 30. I’m in the wedding. For fat people, being in a wedding is a constant source of anxiety until it’s over. What will the dresses look like? Will I look ok in them? Will I have to wear high heels? Will the other girls be skinner than I? Undoubtedly, they will. But will I still be prettier? How will my arms look in a sleeveless dress? Will my legs look bad? Are people going to stare at me? No, they’ll be looking at the bride. No, they’ll clearly be looking at me because I’m kind of hard to miss… Will I have a date for this wedding? Will I have to dance with a groomsman who would much rather dance with a thinner bridesmaid? Will I ruin their wedding photos? Does the dress come in my size? Do I have to buy extra fabric again? Maybe you could consider having us wear long flannel nightgowns in your wedding?
I am already the smallest I’ve ever been in a wedding, so come August I will be even thinner. This makes me happy, but the vulnerability I feel wearing the bridesmaid dress is the worst feeling in the world. The dress is cute. I look good in the dress. It fits well. It makes me look thin in the waist and my “girls” look exceptional, might I add… but that’s about it. My arms are a major source of contention… they used to be large masses attached to my already-broad shoulders. They are now large masses of flab. The skin hangs. It sags. It is ugly. I went to see a plastic surgeon, Dr. Jennifer Butterfield, and she said she could do a surgery on my arms in June and it would be healed in time for the wedding, but that I’d probably want to have it done again when I lost even more weight. As much as I want to do it, I don’t have $5,000+ lying around in a jar labeled “vanity.” I decided I would suffer through one day… And then I saw my legs… My God-awful legs. They have never been attractive. I am short and so are they. They are thick and lumpy and now they are sagging, too. If you look closely, I have knees in there somewhere, but the skin of my thighs is sagging something fierce and starting to fold over my knees.
Yesterday I cried. I cried because sometimes I feel like God hates me. I cried because I want to post a message to Facebook that says, “Being fat is hell. Don’t let your children be fat! Save them now before it’s too late! Save yourself!” The grief I feel over vanity is pathetic. It makes me selfish and controlling. I want everything to be about me. If I don’t, I risk feeling vulnerable… the feeling that everyone is staring at me and examining every little dimple in my thigh and sag in my arm. But there is simply nothing I can do about this. I was discussing this with my mom yesterday as we drove home from the mall. While reading the bumper sticker on an old truck we passed on the expressway, she said, “Jesus is the answer.” I said, “Even Jesus can’t fix my flabby skin, mom.” She wasn’t suggesting, just reading aloud, but regardless, it provided a much-needed laugh. For now, I will do my best to hold my head high. I will keep working out, knowing the flabby skin will get worse. I will pray for a good photographer and no emotional breakdown on the day of the wedding. I will pray for sanity through all of this. This is what I wanted. This is what I signed up for. I still have so much to learn and more than anything, so much to experience.
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