I joined a gym a while back. Ladies only. Sorry, fellas, you can keep your muscly eyeballs off my four asses. I don’t need your weird looks.
After about a month, the frustrating mega-bitch (aka the elliptical trainer) continues to humble me. But it’s okay…because she doesn’t mock me. She waits for me every day after work like a faithful friend and I try my best not to disappoint her, although I haven’t been back to see her since the 7 Dwarfs of the Menstrual Apocalypse packed up and left town last Saturday night.
I’ve just patched my sole remaining pair of Frankenpants again and they’re in the washing machine. I wish I had an Extremely Gentle cycle on the washing machine – or the patience to hand wash them. I don’t. Six months into the new year and I’m still struggling with my goal to make exercise a habit. I still have to make things as simple as possible.
Yes, I’ve tried to purchase new ones. The Avenue doesn’t sell them unless it’s January (because fatties only want to work out after New Years). They’ve also lost my business because they no longer carry “the bigger sizes” in their stores. I would probably forsake that rule if it wasn’t for the aforementioned January thing. Other stores in my area don’t carry my size. Catherine’s only carries cotton and/or terry blends that will do nothing but give me friction sores.
I thought I found a great resource for plus sized workout gear when I found Junonia.com. After shipping, it was $70 for one pair of workout pants…and they never came. Junonia kept updating the shipping date further out. Two weeks later, I called and asked what was going on and they told me that my pants would ship in June. Maybe. I cancelled the order. I’m sure they were disappointed, as it seems they had their entire sweatshop working on my big ass pants.
Likewise, Penningtons seems like a good source – but every time I try to order, there’s a problem with their website. I suck at calling customer service lines to order shit. I’m usually doing about 13 things at once and I can’t seem to stand still and order pants on the phone. I’m going to give it one more shot and then it’s the “three strikes and you’re out” rule. Until then, I continue to patch the Frankenpants.
Slowly, I’m moving forward. I am becoming the master of steering around my own bullshit. If I had to work out in a tube top and a sailor hat, I’d still do it – because, damn it, I’m not going to be the victim of my own excuses anymore.
If you’d told me a year ago that I would belong to a gym right now, I would have laughed one of my four asses off. 2013 seems to be on a mission to humble me in every way possible. But it’s okay…because it’s a lesson that I obviously need to learn or I wouldn’t be here.
I thought this year was just about making a habit, but it turns out that it’s about my own self-acceptance. I thought I might have a hard time for a few weeks, but I’d light a fire under my own ass and get going. That’s not what’s happened. Instead, the demons in my head have risen together and danced a jig all over my plans…but still I move forward. Slowly. The demons are screaming and resisting, but they’re going down all the same. I will grab them by the hair and drag them across the finish line if I have to.
When it comes down to it, though, I have faith. I can feel it deep down inside me. It’s the voice in my head that tells me I can handle one more minute on the elliptical…that I can sew the Frankenpants one more time…that, yes, someday I’m going to ride a rollercoaster with Hot Mess Hubby again. I love that voice. And sometimes, when I have a bad day and I can’t hear it over all the bullshit going on in life, I get home and hear it coming from Hot Mess Hubby or see it in the comments you leave me here on the blog or on my Facebook page.
Yes, you can, HMP…yes, you can.