Lately I’ve been trying to take different routes to work to try and avoid routine and monotony. As soon as that happens, bad habits set in and I am SUNK. On will come the lethargy and out will come the Ben & Jerry’s…Elastic waist pants will soon follow. Mark. My. Words.
It bugs the shizz out of me.
I’m tempted to grab those pants, a pint of cheesecake brownie and those comfy pants, let me tell you.
This sign does nothing to motivate me into a gym.
It only reinforces my hatred/embarrassment/shame/whatever of the apron that hangs off of my lower abdomen. I think about all of the time and effort that I’ve put into the gym and running over the last four years, all of the healthy choices I’ve made diet-wise (yes, I know there’s been some bad choices too) and all of the growing up as well as “wising-up” that I’ve done in terms of being healthy and staying healthy.
But will I ever TRULY feel good naked?
I highly doubt it.
It’s taken me time to learn to love bits of my body and its strange proportions. My top will always be smaller than my bottom. My arms will never tone as much as I want them and my legs will always look like tree trunks. But they’re mine and my legs are strong and carry me across finish lines and my arms can lift up my nieces & nephew into giant, squishy bear hugs. But I can’t get over that stupid flap. Can’t. Do. It.
In fact, I had a conversation a few months ago with a former flame about plastic surgery and the dreaded apron came up.
He assumed if I ever had the opportunity to get “work done,” I’d opt for face work, a boob job or something along those lines. He was shocked to find how happy I was with my appearance, how apathetic I am about the size of my breasts, but how focused I am about removing that flap of skin if I ever had the chance.
He knows I’m self conscious about it. It was always an issue. But he never truly understood how deeply it affected me until that very moment.
But don’t get me wrong. I can be a confident woman all I want to be. I feel good all of the freakin’ time. Just fully clothed, thank you very much.
So, I hate to break it to you, stupid gym in a hidden little laneway, you aren’t going to help me much.
Unless you’re providing free abdominoplasty upon registration.
Then I’ll be walking around with your frickin’ board strapped to me.