I eat one naughty treat because I ‘deserve it’, then that leads to another and before I know it I’m like a hoover inhaling every sweet thing I see. Then my clothes feel a bit tight and soon I can’t button my pants. It’s like it sneaks up on me. Like my body didn’t see me sneaking all those sweets and it’s not my fault that I can’t hide my muffin top anymore. Do you know what I’m saying?
My fatty boomba stage ALWAYS seems to happen after the holidays and the start of the cool season.
Christmas is bad but we do Febfast every year and it helps us to get back on track. Febfast is giving up either sugar, coffee, alcohol and/or technology for the whole month of February. My husband and I always give up sugar. I tell everyone I’m giving up sugar, coffee and alcohol. The people who know me well laugh and call me a cheater because they know I don’t drink alcohol or coffee anyway. But giving up sugar is a challenge. I don’t know how you give up technology for a month? Maybe you just give up social media or something.
So Easter is the worst for me. We have so much chocolate in the house and the only way to get rid of it is to eat it, right? And so we do, I do. I overindulge. I sneak it when the kids are not looking. It calls my name from the pantry. It’s also the end of the warm weather here in Melbourne, so I feel like my body has this animal instinct to put on an extra layer. Anyway, it’s hard to fight it with all that chocolate in the house. This is when my ‘Fat pants’ get a run.
After I had my son it was really had to lose the weight I gained during the pregnancy. I didn’t want to buy myself anything new because I was determined to lose the weight and reward myself with a new outfit. Well, when my son turned three, I decided I needed to buy some fat pants. You know what I mean, jeans that look good but when you bend over to tie your shoes it doesn’t cut off your air supply.
When I was home for Thanksgiving one year, my sister-in-law and I went shopping for Black Friday. We walked past Lucky Jeans and they had a big sale sign in the window. We went in. I asked the lady who greeted us if she had any fatty boomba pants. She laughed and asked me to repeat myself. After explaining my situation, she had me try on a few different pairs of jeans. Stretchy jeans but still looked cool. I spent more money on my fatty boomba jeans than I spend on normal jeans. I figured that maybe I could cut them off into shorts and wear them with a belt or something when I lost the weight. Those fatty boomba pants have been my saving grace over the last 6 years. I hate that I can’t stay slim but I like my food. Food makes me happy especially sugar!
So I’m at the gym. My last visit was six months ago. My doctor advised me to put my gym membership on hold after a hernia operation. A 36-year-old hernia, removed. Seriously. I remember going to the doctor when I was 10-years-old for it. They gave me a pamphlet titled ‘Your Hernia and You’. The ‘R’ in Hernia was pushing out like a hernia. That is the only reason I remember it.
As hubby and I were getting ready for bed last night, he asks if I’m going to the gym in the morning. I set my alarm but still hadn’t decided. The alarm goes off and I surprise myself when I get out of bed and throw my gym clothes on. It’s freezing but I get there in time for the 6.15am spin class.
Some of the usual suspects are there and recognize me. I smile. I’ve never had a conversation with them but I know them by the imaginary life I’ve made up for them. There’s the empty-nester who’s unnoticed by her husband and has nothing better to do but exercise. The divorced dad, who’s trying his best to jump back into the dating scene. Two mums that pretend to like each other but secretly compete and the bazaar trio, I can’t figure out which one is married to the guy they come with. This keeps my mind occupied rather than listening to my brain who’s telling me ok, you can stop now.
I was shocked I remembered how to adjust the bike let alone remember the settings that fit me. I get on, strap my feet in and yep, it’s like riding a bike. I start to peddle, check out the new faces and make up stories for them; Pretty girl, that’s crushing on the instructor judging from her full face of makeup, did I mention its a 6.15am class? Sisters who come with mum, the older one desperately trying to fit into that formal dress and the guy that seriously needs a haircut. He’s going to put his neck out by jerking his head left trying to get it out of his face. All is going well except I forgot about the mental checklist I use to go through. It came flooding back to me ten minutes after class started–too late to do anything about it now…
√ Don’t choose a bike next to waterfall man. (sweats so much it waterfalls down his bike–I know and he’s next to me).
√ Check the bike for any clunks before you strap in (I’m feeling a clunk each time my left foot hits the bottom–distracting and annoying).
√ Choose a bike near the fans (It’s freezing at the start but soon I’m dying of heat and ‘visor girl’ who always turns the fans on and then points them to herself, just turned the fans on and pointed them to herself–I don’t know why she always wears a visor, I can assure her the sun will not be getting in her eyes).
√ Don’t choose a bike right in front of the speaker (I’m being blasted out by the instructor who feels he must talk-shout the lyrics from the song to fill in the space-Urgh!).
√ Don’t overextend your left knee (I forgot about that old war injury. I don’t know why I have it or where it came from but it hurts whenever I overextend it and takes a few days to come good again).
√ GOAL: 18K (I try my best not to look at the other person’s screen but I have a competitive edge that comes out. I. Must. Ride. Further.)
At 6:40am (only 5 mins to go) my brain wins. Remember not to overdo it on your first day back, Kaylynn, you’ve done enough and my feet listen, the peddling slows to a stop. I get off the bike with a sore bum. I stretch then limp over to get a paper towel and spray it with cleaning product trying not to make eye contact with the instructor, if he talks to me it will blare out of the speakers, I then limp back and start cleaning the bike except I notice my water bottle is missing. What did I do with it? Nothing. I’m cleaning the wrong bike. What stories they must make up about me.
I get home to find hubby still laying in bed looking at his phone.
“How come you’re home so early?”
It was then I realized I left class 15 mins early. Oh well. I’ll try again after my bum and knee are not so sore anymore.
To anyone who’s in the fatty boomba stage:
Take back your power! Before you put anything in your mouth ask yourself…
- Am I hungry?
- Am I bored?
- Why am I eating this?
- Will this help me fit back into my skinny jeans?
Have a big drink of water and look at the time. Have you missed a meal? Or how close you are to your next meal? Think healthy! Buy fresh salads, fruit and nuts.
Let’s make better choices for our immediate health, our future and the example we are setting to those that look up to us. Let’s make sure we are burning more calories then we are putting in…
Let us all avoid becoming this…