Ah, it's that time of winter where I've started to realize the sickening extent of my sedentary lifestyle. I'm sitting at work all day, then I come home after dark and sit and watch tv and take out my daily frustrations on a pan of brownies/cookies/chocolate buttercream cake... yes like I said sickening. And it didn't really hit me that any of this was catching up to me, until a few days ago when I was snarfing down a peanut butter cookie while talking on the phone and I walked past a mirror in my kitchen. My face resembled one of those cartoon squirrels that has a cheek full of acorns. To say that it ruined my appetite would be a stretch, however it did slap me with a cold dose of reality to the way I have been eating/not moving pretty much at all since I moved to Green Bay.
I knew I had to take action at once. How very lucky for me that the local Curves was having a sweetheart of a deal (their words not mine) and you could join for a whole month free! I knew this was my get out jail free card.
So in I marched yesterday determined to get my heart beating and my blood pumping... and more importantly make my cheeks look a little less bloated. As a former member of Curves I knew the drill, they were going to do all sorts of unpleasant things involving measuring areas of my body that I usually tighten with spanx, and the dreaded body fat tool that looks like something 8yr boys use for flight simulations, but trust me, is much, much more threatening.
I filled out the required paperwork, had a few pleasantries with my new trainer, and then the dreaded tasks were upon me. I thought, whatever, I'm practically a pro now at uncomfortable situations involving my weight, there's nothing I'm unprepared for.
I was wrong.
I like to believe I am not just paranoid and that some people really do say things they shouldn't, but some of my friends (you know who you are... Emily) would disagree with me. I got the vague impression that my trainer genuinely thought it was long overdue that I'd joined a gym. And frankly, she's right, but she didn't need to make it so obvious. For starters she wasn't even delicate on the scale. Normally people weighing me with those old-fashioned doctor's scales have the common decency to way underestimate my weight and then look all puzzled when they're not getting an accurate reading, before discreetly sliding the heavier weight at the bottom over another notch. If you're a girl, you know what I'm talking about here. So this, coupled with the fact that I was already vastly uncomfortable with her attitude about me joining was making me want to bolt for the nearest fast-food chain. And then the final blow. I got the supreme pleasure of having my body fat measured, every girls fantasy.
So while she explained how this hideous contraption worked I thought about ways to pretend the results weren't really that nauseating. Until my trainer had me hold the stupid thing and said, "now this is going to measure how fat you are." No joke. Not, this measures fat cells, it tells you the percentage of fat on your body, simply: how fat you are. Ouch! That felt like a bloody personal attack. I'm not fat, I'm just big-boned. Curvy. Voluptuous. A smidge heavy-set. Okay, fine, if you want to be cruel, you could say fat, but I wouldn't say fat, and neither should she.
By this point my chubby cheeks were now burning with humiliation. Apparently I had overestimated myself and my ability to handle the cold hard truth, yet again.
Once i scraped up my last shreds of dignity and slipped out the door, I immediately called my sister to vent. She told me what I wanted to hear("how dare she!?" and things along those lines) but also told me never to go back. My roommate said the same. But no, I have been insulted before and I am not one to run away with my tail between my legs. This girl may be big, but she is also bold. And all I have to say is look out Curves, because all you just did for me was make me want to work harder and stick it to you.
I'll show you Curves that you never knew existed.
Bam!
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