It’s Almost Friday

by

It’s almost time to dance.

Oh Jesus.

I am ready.

I am ready.

I need to shake it out and shake it hard and let my hair down, and probably put it back up because I will get hot, then let it all go.

I am going to tear it up.

At least that’s what it feels like right now.  Tomorrow, well tomorrow, I could be punked out and my energy may be low and maybe, it’s been known to happen, I won’t be feeling it.

But I will go anyway.

Because I bought tickets.

I was ruminating earlier that sometimes I have to purchase something to go and the guilt of having paid for it will be the motivation.

What?

I paid $18.05 to go dancing (tax, etc.) online.

I better go.

I want to go and that should be enough impetus, but sometimes it is not.

I was talking about not riding my bicycle as much when I get my licence and how that has played out in my head as an anxiety producing thing about not getting enough exercise and the person I was checking in with asked what kind of exercising I like and  I said swimming.

Then she told me about a friend of hers who pays to be in a league and shows up for swim practise.

Swim practise!

Can you imagine at the age of 41?

Maybe.

I am a good swimmer and I do enjoy it and that’s an option, especially with having a vehicle to get me there and back.

Sometimes I am loath to go do something physical because I know afterward I am going to be on my bicycle and I am not up for the commute.

Though, truth be told, I have noticed that I am faster, quicker, and more agile on my bike of late.

I have dropped a pound or two and I can feel the lightness in my body and I can see more muscle tone in my legs and in my upper waist, my lower waist is never going to be what I want it to be, unless I get surgery, which should the money ever happen I might.

I will always, as long as I do what I am doing today, just for today, have loose skin on my body.

And instead of wishing it away I can be profoundly grateful for the visual evidence of what I used to weigh and how hard it was to get through the day.

How stressful it was to hike up Bascom Hill in Madison.

I hike up a great deal of hills in San Francisco, once a week a really steep one, pushing my bicycle up ahead of me–why I will get to climb it tomorrow–up Noe to 19th, and I don’t need to pause for breath three or four times.

I had an old friend tag me in some photographs from days gone by when I used to work at the Angelic Brewing Company, where I hit my top weight, maybe 282 lbs, maybe more.  I didn’t get on a scale for a long time after that and I believe I could have been heavier, but I wasn’t about to find out.

I know that a few years later I had dropped down to 250 lbs.

I know that because I weighed myself at my black belt test.

I was a 250 lb 29-year-old woman getting her black belt in Shaolin.

No wonder I wasn’t fucked with.

Well not much, I remember one of the bartenders, Kurt, joking about how we should turn off all the lights and jump out at me to see how I responded in the dark brewery.

Ah, no thanks, friend, no one needs to die.

Then I managed to get down to 214/215 lbs when I moved here to San Francisco.

Courtesy of a little dietary aid.

Er, I mean, a little bag, or two, of cocaine.

I remember a dear, dear friend asking me if I was using coke to lose weight.

Well, sort of, I admitted, I loved that I wasn’t hungry, but I couldn’t, at that time, admit that I was just plain old addicted to the shit.

Then I stopped.

And wow did the weight come back.

I ate to stuff all those feelings and stuff myself I did.

I bounced back up to 275 lbs, maybe more.

After that I did a lot of restricting and white knuckling, then one day someone suggested I try something else and after a couple of false starts I found a solution that works for me.

And I got right sized.

Which is not to say that I got to the size that I want to be at.

Nope.

Not at all.

What I got was a certain kind of freedom from obsessing about what that certain size should be.  I got a perspective that allowed me to see that every day, no matter how heavy or light, I was exactly how I should be and that change was going to happen and I might get bigger or smaller depending.

But I would always be right sized.

I believe that’s called humility.

So, when the brain beats me up and says my body is not as attractive as it could be, I get grateful for all the evidence to the contrary, I worked really hard to be the woman I am today and I am gorgeous.

I am not photoshopped, I have wrinkles, I have laugh lines, I have saggy upper arm skin and loose skin on my tummy, but I also have that as evidence I can look at every day and see what an amazing woman I am, how much effort I have put in, in small little steps, to be where I am at.

And where I am at is wearing a sleeveless size medium dress to go dancing in tomorrow night with a pair of leggings and some Converse.

Because although you might not think that my upper arms are sexy.

I do.

And flaunt them I shall while I get my groove on the dance floor.

Because being content in my body is the sexiest statement I can make.

And I am hella sexy.

Just watch me break it off tomorrow.

Because, it’s on.

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