As many a fellow human on this planet, around the time of April, with the threat of summer looming, after a lengthly stay in the land of plenty, I looked at myself in the instrument of torture called a full length mirror and thought ‘this will never do’. As I’ve mentioned a few blogs ago, I enjoy exercise, which there seems to be some modern day ironic taboo against but there you go, some people can look damn fine as-are, but as discussed, I am not one of them. So three months and a good tank of sweat later you’ll find me back in front of the full length thinking ‘much better’, averaging about half an hour a day with the love of my life Jillian Michaels, I was happy to think of being confident enough to shower without a t-shirt on once more. That, my friends, was until I got changed.
I have a dress readers, a dress that I have worn but once, an All Saints charcoal-grey silk dress that you look at and think to yourself ‘oh very damn’. This dress is a size 8, which working two jobs and being in a rather stressful patch of my life last year, I had no problem squiggling smugly into. WELL NO MORE! As I inched up the zip, I noticed a certain tightening about the ass and thigh area I had never observed before, a certain ‘strain’ that I was slightly bemused to observe. Basically I was too big for it.
With that I promptly took it off, flung it in a disgusted heap to the side, and began to compose my suicide note. ‘I cannot go on, I have tried, I have failed, it’s all too much’, the general shpeel of one who has lost everything. Months of HIIT training and I have achieved the impossible and actually exercised my way into obesity, slow clap to me.
It was in this depth of despair that my sister, hearing the rumpus, moseyed through the door to find out whether or not I was having a small melt-down, or clubbing a baby seal. Surveying the situation she moseyed back out and returned with her dress. This dress ladies and gentlemen is Banana Republic, bright red with slashes of royal blue, this dress, is a size zero. Sniffling away to myself she bade me put it on and zipped me in, and it fit! She went on to say that, though I may have gained muscle, I looked better. As its been said before, it is a truth universally known, it is better to have the ass of J-lo than the ass of Polly Pocket (non-existent).
Ultimately then it’s not the dress (because the fact a person can not fit into a size 8 and then slip into a 0 shows there’s something wrong there) and its not the scale, because I have neither lost or gained a pound since the start of the whole thing, it’s the mirror, that tells you if you’ve worked hard. It’s also the amount of sweat on your clothes and the smile on your face ‘cheesy thumbs up’. So yeah, I’m a bit bummed out about it, but the Internet says that it can take up to a year and a half to replace fat with lean muscle and then burn up existing excess fat (and when I say excess I mean excess, lets not get all crazy up here) and I’m now four months down. So I thought I’d put it out there and say it, because its a reality check on the ‘get ready for summer in four days’ and ‘be fit for a fortnight’ fad, ultimately it’s a lifestyle, and a shitload of hard work. Has it made me happier? Yes, so that’s where it counts.
As always please tell me what you think and if you have any fitness hints and tips obviously all are welcome!