245…
240…
220…
205…
200…
196…
191…
191…
191…
194…
197…
205…
205…
205…
199…
199…
201…
210…
220…
225…
230+?
There was that time frame a few years ago where I lost a lot of weight over the course of several months, and large shirts turned into tents, or felt that way anyway. I remember one day I realized that one of the great ways of feeling good about myself, of emphasizing the success of my weight loss, was by wearing the very shirt which once fit snugly, on my frame which was by then up to two sizes smaller. It was loose and relaxing, and reminded me of how big I had used to be. That was the ticket, and the inspiration to remind me of how much more I wanted to lose. I had dropped, not overnight but over several months of drinking lots of water and eating better, from slightly over 240 pounds all the way down to 191. My ultimate goal was 180 but while I hovered in the low 90’s for a while, breaking the 89/90 barrier was a lot harder than I expected. Since then I have gained a lot of weight back. Not all of it mind you, but enough to force me to acknowledge that my laziness and procrastination are getting the better of me, and letting the worst of me spill over.
Jump forward to Tuesday. I needed to do a laundry—three loads at least—and had few clean options left to wear. I’d been sick for days and hadn’t felt up to it. What to wear, what to wear? Oh yes, the big shirt. I’d gained some weight back over the last year and the Big shirst wasn’t quite as oversized as it had been, but it was still big on me nevertheless. I wore it to work and reminded myself not just of how big I used to be, but to do a laundry—or three—that night or face nothing to wear but a dirty laundry pile and one clean but much too tight shirt the next day.
Of course, I forgot to do the laundry that night. Idiot!
Wednesday I had but one clean shirt to wear, a long sleeve button-down shirt, that I barely managed to button closed over my big belly. Every other part of me is thin, but my midsection, and that belly, that belly be big. I went to work with the buttons stretched, and throughout the day I risked popping them with any sneeze, too much lunch, and every cough—which I’ve been doing a lot of. I felt big and bloated, fat and frumpy; desperate to get home because I looked so dumpy. Holy God, was I uncomfortable! It was like I had gone from skinny yesterday in the over-big shirt, to fat today in a shirt I barely fit into. Wake up call! I got fat in one day!
My supervisor made a point to poke me Pillsbury Dough-Boy style and make a comment about my gut. We don’t know each other that well—I’ve known him for a year actually but he only became my supervisor recently. He talked to me about my health—he knows I am Type 2 diabetic—and about the need for better weight control. He feels comfortable with me in that regard and I found that I appreciated that rather than feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable. Besides which, at work I am friendly and witty and I don’t think that anyone feels they have to tread carefully around me in conversation. I was careful to turn away when I coughed however; I didn’t want to pop a button and have it fire through his eyeball or anything.
It was a slow sales day and the Floor Manager started sending people home early. I was more than relieved when he asked me, an hour and a half early, if I wanted to take off. I looked at the bus schedule from my pocket: Three minutes till the pickup at the stop across from where I work! What timing! See ya! I logged out, closed out, clocked out, and ran out the door, at great risk of popping buttons and tearing fabric as I hurried down the stairs. There was the bus approaching, running early! Oy vey! No worries though. Fortunately I made it across the street in time, thanks to the red light, and got to the stop before it did.
Fast forward: Sitting at the second bustop, waiting on my second bus to take me the rest of the way home. Sitting bloated and bulged, crimped cramped and uncomfortable, I greeted a woman I knew from the bus. We’d talked a few times before. She was single and had a young son. She had some time to wait before walking a few blocks to pick him up from school. I wondered if I looked in her eyes, amid my bloatedness, as lousy as I felt sitting there stretched out. Then along came a young man she knew, jogging in shorts and a bare chest. He was muscular and toned, well cut and shaped, and tanned dark, his sweat glistening on finely sculpted abs and other muscular male curves. It was the type of body I have never worn as my own, a level of healthy appearance that I had never quite achieved. I’ll say this secure in my hetero self, he was impressive, impressive indeed.
After they talked for a bit and he went back to his jogging, running off with her eyes still attached, she turned to me and ever so bluntly but casually told me matter-of-factly, “What I wouldn’t do to bang him!”
Thank you! I am once again inspired!
No shit. I really, really do need to lose this belly of mine.
240…
220…
205…
200…
196…
191…
191…
191…
194…
197…
205…
205…
205…
199…
199…
201…
210…
220…
225…
230+?
There was that time frame a few years ago where I lost a lot of weight over the course of several months, and large shirts turned into tents, or felt that way anyway. I remember one day I realized that one of the great ways of feeling good about myself, of emphasizing the success of my weight loss, was by wearing the very shirt which once fit snugly, on my frame which was by then up to two sizes smaller. It was loose and relaxing, and reminded me of how big I had used to be. That was the ticket, and the inspiration to remind me of how much more I wanted to lose. I had dropped, not overnight but over several months of drinking lots of water and eating better, from slightly over 240 pounds all the way down to 191. My ultimate goal was 180 but while I hovered in the low 90’s for a while, breaking the 89/90 barrier was a lot harder than I expected. Since then I have gained a lot of weight back. Not all of it mind you, but enough to force me to acknowledge that my laziness and procrastination are getting the better of me, and letting the worst of me spill over.
Jump forward to Tuesday. I needed to do a laundry—three loads at least—and had few clean options left to wear. I’d been sick for days and hadn’t felt up to it. What to wear, what to wear? Oh yes, the big shirt. I’d gained some weight back over the last year and the Big shirst wasn’t quite as oversized as it had been, but it was still big on me nevertheless. I wore it to work and reminded myself not just of how big I used to be, but to do a laundry—or three—that night or face nothing to wear but a dirty laundry pile and one clean but much too tight shirt the next day.
Of course, I forgot to do the laundry that night. Idiot!
Wednesday I had but one clean shirt to wear, a long sleeve button-down shirt, that I barely managed to button closed over my big belly. Every other part of me is thin, but my midsection, and that belly, that belly be big. I went to work with the buttons stretched, and throughout the day I risked popping them with any sneeze, too much lunch, and every cough—which I’ve been doing a lot of. I felt big and bloated, fat and frumpy; desperate to get home because I looked so dumpy. Holy God, was I uncomfortable! It was like I had gone from skinny yesterday in the over-big shirt, to fat today in a shirt I barely fit into. Wake up call! I got fat in one day!
My supervisor made a point to poke me Pillsbury Dough-Boy style and make a comment about my gut. We don’t know each other that well—I’ve known him for a year actually but he only became my supervisor recently. He talked to me about my health—he knows I am Type 2 diabetic—and about the need for better weight control. He feels comfortable with me in that regard and I found that I appreciated that rather than feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable. Besides which, at work I am friendly and witty and I don’t think that anyone feels they have to tread carefully around me in conversation. I was careful to turn away when I coughed however; I didn’t want to pop a button and have it fire through his eyeball or anything.
It was a slow sales day and the Floor Manager started sending people home early. I was more than relieved when he asked me, an hour and a half early, if I wanted to take off. I looked at the bus schedule from my pocket: Three minutes till the pickup at the stop across from where I work! What timing! See ya! I logged out, closed out, clocked out, and ran out the door, at great risk of popping buttons and tearing fabric as I hurried down the stairs. There was the bus approaching, running early! Oy vey! No worries though. Fortunately I made it across the street in time, thanks to the red light, and got to the stop before it did.
Fast forward: Sitting at the second bustop, waiting on my second bus to take me the rest of the way home. Sitting bloated and bulged, crimped cramped and uncomfortable, I greeted a woman I knew from the bus. We’d talked a few times before. She was single and had a young son. She had some time to wait before walking a few blocks to pick him up from school. I wondered if I looked in her eyes, amid my bloatedness, as lousy as I felt sitting there stretched out. Then along came a young man she knew, jogging in shorts and a bare chest. He was muscular and toned, well cut and shaped, and tanned dark, his sweat glistening on finely sculpted abs and other muscular male curves. It was the type of body I have never worn as my own, a level of healthy appearance that I had never quite achieved. I’ll say this secure in my hetero self, he was impressive, impressive indeed.
After they talked for a bit and he went back to his jogging, running off with her eyes still attached, she turned to me and ever so bluntly but casually told me matter-of-factly, “What I wouldn’t do to bang him!”
Thank you! I am once again inspired!
No shit. I really, really do need to lose this belly of mine.
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