I was on my way to Pilates today, wearing my Danskin bootcut pants instead of my capris or shorts due to changing weather (cold front moving in). I had one of my various formish-fitting Old Navy tops for working out: This one a purple racerback that's very comfy. I was used to wearing baggy stuff before I started Pilates. But they recommended form fitting clothing so they can see the muscle contractions, movements, etc. My hair was not so fresh (hadn't washed it in a week), so I clipped it high and back. I cheered myself up a bit by wearing my fave plum lipstick("Craving" by MAC).
Decided to take a pic.
I'm one of those people who SEES herself thinner in mirrors. It's freaky, but I do. My brain tries to ease the pain, I guess. As a result, I'm always shocked when I see pics on a camera phone or a snapshot and am unequivocably confronted with just how BIG BIG BIG I am.
So, I asked hubby, who was off today, to snap a pic of me with my fat arms uncovered and big belly pushing its unattractive roundness in a shameless display.
Yeah. It's hard to look at. I always get that little horrified spasm when I see my pics. You know, I need that shock. I need it to stay on top of REALITY and not the soft focus version my brain wants to see. Reality is that I'm a grossly large lady. Plus gros.
Okay, so, here's the pic, The Princess in her workout wear in the yard (and that's our poor battered gardenia bush behind me,the one that was sheared in half, then sheared again in hurricanes past):
And, angled to display that belly bulge even better:
I'm a roly poly gal, aren't I? And that's after six and a half months of working out hard. Try to imagine the even rolier and polier squishiness prior to Pilates. Yes, shudder at the image.
Anyway, here's some of my accountability. What a soon-to-be 49 year-old woman looks like when she lets herself go way up into the 270's (and even higher previously).
Lots of room for improvement.
And I think I'm in a hormonal surge time. I've been weepy, though not depressed. Things get to me, like sad news or a touching story--been bawling. Was exercising hard today, and I just started burbling in the middle of some leg lifts (with a band tied around my thighs to make it extra challenging). I just lost it. I kept lifting/kicking, funnily enough, concentrating on the core and keeping the ribs in and stomach contracted and upper ribs just so and so much weight on the arm, etc. And burbling. Tears hitting the mat. Trainer is a bit alarmed, and assures me I'm doing great, even better and stronger than a skinny gal half my age who worked out earlier. I say, "But I feel like I'm struggling so hard." She says, "Cause I'm pushing you, working you to your limits. I'm not letting you take breaks. You're supposed to find it really hard."
I kept going. I finished, but I felt a little silly for being a bawling baby. Then I came home and heard a touching story on the radio and started bawling again. Hubby hugs me and says, "Yeah, get it out. You're having one of those emotional days, huh?"
I'm fine. I'm chipper. But I guess getting my period after a five month absence is really making my tear ducts go into overdrive. :)
I have no idea what the point of all that was, except perhaps that working out hard as heck is good, even if you cry about it, and seeing tough-to-look-at pics is good, even if you want to cry about it, because we shouldn't lie to ourselves.
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