Not only did I take a Pilates class and not die (though kind of, I wanted to), I am going to take a yoga class, and I fully expect to not die there, either (though I might want to). My gym has lots of classes at lots of hours, and I’ve spent a lot of time busily downloading class schedules and drawing up plans and figuring out my own schedule into which I will work my new impulse towards bettering my physical fitness. I liked Pilates very much (even though I wanted to die); when I noticed that they also have double handfuls of yoga classes of every flavor every single day, I thought: Well, why wouldn’t I like yoga? It will be a yoga/Pilates death match! I thought. May the better exercise class win! Or–maybe I will go crazy, and take both.

Maybe I have gone crazy. There are worse ways to be crazy. I could be buying a lot of drugs, or spending a lot of time at the bottom of a whiskey glass, or spending all my money on loose women with questionable morals, and shoes. Maybe I should stop spending so much money on shoes. Exercise, that is a good thing to spend a lot of time thinking about and planning for and actually doing, sometimes to the detriment of a decent night’s sleep and sometimes at ungodly hours of the morning that should not exist. Though to be fair, I would sleep 12 hours a day, by preference, and rise around noon and not get dressed until around, say, 2:00, and only then because I want to go get a latte. So I am exaggerating. A bit. Which is so unlike me. But it still very weird to be giving up sleep in favor of doing something I used to be terrified of doing.

And I love it. I love doing these things that used to scare the shit
out of me, that used to make me panic at the very idea, that seemed
hard and impossible and even a little ridiculous for me to try. This, I
think, this sense of adventure I have discovered behind the couch
cushion, a little bit dusty and covered in cat hair, is my very very
favorite thing about losing the weight. For instance, this new job,
with the 500 new and mostly friendly people by whom I am
surrounded, would have been a nightmare 11 months ago. But now I am not
afraid to meet people–I might even, occasionally, be the first one to
say hello while waiting for the elevator, or out back where people
smoke and make cell phone calls. I chat. I never used to chat.

For instance: the running. I would have felt like I was up on stage, ridiculous
and sloshing all over the place. I ran three times a week; this week,
if I’m not careful, it’ll be up to four times and wouldn’t that be
crazy and aerobic of me? It would be madness. It feels wonderful.
Walking into a group exercise class and feeling like I won’t
immediately fail feels wonderful instead of agonizing. Wearing colors
other than black! And, er–well, I felt a lot more adventurous than it
turns out I am. Which means I was pretty tragic for a while there,
wasn’t I?

And this is one of the things I hate so much about having lost the
weight–realizing what a coward I used to be. Why the fuck did I ever
let being fat stop me? Why did I give up? I am angry that I spent so
much time hiding from people, wearing all black as an apology instead
of a fashion statement, and not
bellydancing, or skydiving, or climbing volcanoes and riding mopeds. I
am glad, and grateful, that I escaped that place where even normal
activities–going to a party, or clothes shopping, or looking for a new
job–seemed impossibly hard and not worth bothering with. I fully
realize that beating myself up now, for falling prey to that stupid,
ridiculous, and incredibly persuasive mindset, is not in any way
productive. And it makes me incredibly sad that I did. It also makes me
sad that I can say, “Don’t do it! Don’t stop yourself from doing the
things you want to do because you think your body is all wrong!” and I
am a hypocrite. But seriously–don’t, okay? Don’t wait.

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3 Replies to “procrastination”

  1. Yes!!! This is so awesome! My sister is a belly dancer in Oklahoma with an MBA in International Business. But she just belly dances, that’s all she does. That’s the life, huh?!?

  2. I am proud of you–even now, all these pounds later, I still feel too shy and awkward and inflexible and ungraceful to try those group classes. But I do get my ass out the door and run (in broad daylight! Like, where people see me!) and years ago I never would have thought that day would come. It’s liberating, no?

    I too spent much time wasted, both because of weight and other things, but these days I do try not to look back too much. I mean, reflection is good, absolutely, but look forward now.

    I spent a good amount of time after my divorce lamenting how many years it took me to leave an abusive relationship, how it was my fault for not standing up for myself, how they were wasted years I’d never get back, yada yada yada.

    Then I gave that up, because it was taking too much energy (and all the hairshirt-wearing and self-flagellation was getting to be a pain; and who has the time for it?) and decided that I was wasting time that I now DID have to move on, look forward, find a healthy realtionship, etc. (Which I did. Yay me.)

    Enjoy those classes and keep trying new things. Be glad and proud that you did it now, and think of all the wonderful things ahead. Life will just keep getting better. Trust me.

  3. This past weekend, I took part in a plus-sized MODEL SEARCH. A model search. In front of an entire mall in Orlando. In front of 500 other plus-sized girls.

    Fifty pounds ago, this would’ve been one of those, “Ha! You’ll never get my fat ass up on stage anywhere!” moments though I’d go and envy all of the girls who had the confidence and gusto to put their curves up for scrutiny.

    And not only did I go on stage, I had to do a little strut on the red carpet before getting my picture taken. And not only did I strut, I smiled and smirked and looked fantastic and confident, and I wasn’t the LEAST BIT nervous.

    Even though I’m still 50 pounds away from what is considered “ideal” of my five-foot-ten-inch frame, I have given up the “wait til I’m thin” notion for good. Yes, I was freaking out these past few weeks in preparation for the model search because I didn’t know how to pose or walk in my heels, and I had no idea how I was going to impress the judges or the crowd or anything.

    But I made up my mind, no more waiting around, and fucking did it. Me, the girl who was always lurking in the shadows, never being noticed, never feeling pretty enough to be worthy of anything I wanted, the girl who dreamed of having the confidence and feel beautiful, but never imagined it’d be possible. I did it.

    And not only did the photo turn out fantastic, but I have had confidence out the wazoo ever since. I felt sexy, confident, gorgeous, and it reflected from me. I was complimented so much for my photo.

    And I never would’ve known what that was like had I put that event on the back burner just like every other thing I’ve always determined I was just “too fat” or not pretty enough to do.

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