Sometimes I am upset.
Trapped at 180 pounds. Going nowhere. Not gaining, not losing, just hanging. A lot of this is my fault, for not being willing to stick to a clear diet. I certainly did better this weekend than last, but still, there was a lot of beer last night. At least the last couple days I seem to have gotten off the "exercise bores the shit out of me" kick, and burned the proper amount of calories. I don't need to burn more than a thousand a day, but I want to keep it at over 5000 a week. Something I was not maintaining. I worry that part of the reason I am stuck at the weight I am is that my body is bored, and the kinds of cardio I do need to be varied. This is why people do sports or exercise in groups. I suppose I'd rather do a sport- something fun, with adrenaline and immediate accomplishment or something. Of course, I'm terrible at nearly all sports- beyond being naturally non-athletic and incredibly clumsy and unbalanced, I don't enjoy strategy. When I was learning rugby, I couldn't stay focused, and my short attention span meant everything you told me went straight out of my head after practice.
I'm going back to rugby though. I think it's a great sport, I love the pace, and I'm in a lot better shape now than I was in October- and I've learned from my mistakes and won't fuck up my knee again. I really do have to keep up with sprints and lunges though, or I will be crap come fall. I'm psyched cause I've already checked, and there's a women's rugby club in Asheville. Huzzah.
I'm never going to be in really good shape if I'm not aiming for something. It's not enough to just want a better body. It's incredibly shallow, and it's taken me this long to realize I'm never really going to be thin. I'm wide. My ribcage is wide and my hips match. And not in a curvy hourglass way. I'm really always going to be something of a wall. So all I can hope to be is an athletic wall.
I hate this body. I do, I fucking hate it. It's not entirely without good points. The legs are alright, provided I'm wearing the right pants and heels, and my arms are going to be muscular in a couple months. But there's the stomach that's never going to go away, and might not be so obvious except that I have no hips, so the fat is just THERE and my breasts are awful. It's not that they're too big, although they are, but they have a terrible shape, and the shrinking hasn't helped out any. I only look normal wearing sports bras, which I can't do all the time, and I can't buy normal shirts because what fits at the waist certainly doesn't fit in the chest. There are things I would like to wear of non-stretch material. For the record.
And of course, even if I work my ass off another year and have a quasi-right shape of body, there's still the stretch marks, the sagging, the extra skin, plus the genetic defects- thinning frizzy hair, size 12 flat feet, and a face could be described as equine. Oh and the height, which is only acceptable if you're "willowey." I used to love being tall. I never liked to seem weaker than a man, or need one for anything, up to and including getting something off a top shelf. But there is too much of me in too many ways.
I recognize that i dye my hair purple and add to the scary with excess black. I don't have to wear heels either. But after a point, especially with the hair, you'd rather have someone focus on some other aspect of your appearance besides an out of wack body. Plus I think the color looks good, but I realize I'm in far minority.
I bought a box of brown today, which I'm going to have to use after I get my hair cut. I'm calling Theresa tomorrow and getting a short summer something. And then this will be the last dye for awhile, because the shit is damaged, and just needs to grow out as fast as possible. Yes, I'm sorry to let the color go, but I need to be looking for more jobs, and the fact is, my hair's not holding color very well, and it break if I keep re-applying.
I have to leave Louisville because I feel ugly here. The standards for attractive are so incredibly narrow, and I will never meet them. And yes, it's vitally important to me to feel attractive, at least sometimes. I don't like the body focus that has become so intense and prioritized above everything else. But it's the failing in me, so of course it's what I pick at. Such a chicken and egg scenario. Maybe if other aspects of my life were where I wanted them to be, this part would be easier. But yet, this is all I can think about. If I could just feel comfortable in this body for two seconds, then maybe I could move on to something else.
And yet today I ate chicken salad. How can I think about this bullshit all the time and still eat chicken salad? Mine is not a healthy brain.
In other news beyond the rantings and ravings of an overly insecure individual, you know summer is coming because I bought my first pair of flip-flops today. I expect to go through four or five before summer is out, cause the things aren't exactly well-made, but hey, ten bucks out of my life, and plain black, just the way I like them. I did not buy easter candy. Damn you Cadbury Cream Eggs and your seductive ways!
Because I can't make a post without talking about stupid boys, I will say that the stupid fucking trainer and I are back to some semblance of normality, and actually talking and making jokes and faces at each other again. It makes me sad that he won't feel comfortable opening up to me for a long time, if such a thing as a "long time" will exist in our friendship, but at least we're not in total avoidance mode. We have yet to return to eating together, but I am hopeful that that will change. We ate at the same time today and sat at different tables, but I preemptively had my headphones and a book because I was too hungover to want to feel uncomfortable and awkward on top of queasy.
The percentage of the day in which I consider his dumb butt is considerably lessened, and thank goodness. I might have come up with a cure for cancer in the time wasted over the last six months.
Life is not nearly as depressing as I make it sound in this post. For the record.
I'm going back to rugby though. I think it's a great sport, I love the pace, and I'm in a lot better shape now than I was in October- and I've learned from my mistakes and won't fuck up my knee again. I really do have to keep up with sprints and lunges though, or I will be crap come fall. I'm psyched cause I've already checked, and there's a women's rugby club in Asheville. Huzzah.
I'm never going to be in really good shape if I'm not aiming for something. It's not enough to just want a better body. It's incredibly shallow, and it's taken me this long to realize I'm never really going to be thin. I'm wide. My ribcage is wide and my hips match. And not in a curvy hourglass way. I'm really always going to be something of a wall. So all I can hope to be is an athletic wall.
I hate this body. I do, I fucking hate it. It's not entirely without good points. The legs are alright, provided I'm wearing the right pants and heels, and my arms are going to be muscular in a couple months. But there's the stomach that's never going to go away, and might not be so obvious except that I have no hips, so the fat is just THERE and my breasts are awful. It's not that they're too big, although they are, but they have a terrible shape, and the shrinking hasn't helped out any. I only look normal wearing sports bras, which I can't do all the time, and I can't buy normal shirts because what fits at the waist certainly doesn't fit in the chest. There are things I would like to wear of non-stretch material. For the record.
And of course, even if I work my ass off another year and have a quasi-right shape of body, there's still the stretch marks, the sagging, the extra skin, plus the genetic defects- thinning frizzy hair, size 12 flat feet, and a face could be described as equine. Oh and the height, which is only acceptable if you're "willowey." I used to love being tall. I never liked to seem weaker than a man, or need one for anything, up to and including getting something off a top shelf. But there is too much of me in too many ways.
I recognize that i dye my hair purple and add to the scary with excess black. I don't have to wear heels either. But after a point, especially with the hair, you'd rather have someone focus on some other aspect of your appearance besides an out of wack body. Plus I think the color looks good, but I realize I'm in far minority.
I bought a box of brown today, which I'm going to have to use after I get my hair cut. I'm calling Theresa tomorrow and getting a short summer something. And then this will be the last dye for awhile, because the shit is damaged, and just needs to grow out as fast as possible. Yes, I'm sorry to let the color go, but I need to be looking for more jobs, and the fact is, my hair's not holding color very well, and it break if I keep re-applying.
I have to leave Louisville because I feel ugly here. The standards for attractive are so incredibly narrow, and I will never meet them. And yes, it's vitally important to me to feel attractive, at least sometimes. I don't like the body focus that has become so intense and prioritized above everything else. But it's the failing in me, so of course it's what I pick at. Such a chicken and egg scenario. Maybe if other aspects of my life were where I wanted them to be, this part would be easier. But yet, this is all I can think about. If I could just feel comfortable in this body for two seconds, then maybe I could move on to something else.
And yet today I ate chicken salad. How can I think about this bullshit all the time and still eat chicken salad? Mine is not a healthy brain.
In other news beyond the rantings and ravings of an overly insecure individual, you know summer is coming because I bought my first pair of flip-flops today. I expect to go through four or five before summer is out, cause the things aren't exactly well-made, but hey, ten bucks out of my life, and plain black, just the way I like them. I did not buy easter candy. Damn you Cadbury Cream Eggs and your seductive ways!
Because I can't make a post without talking about stupid boys, I will say that the stupid fucking trainer and I are back to some semblance of normality, and actually talking and making jokes and faces at each other again. It makes me sad that he won't feel comfortable opening up to me for a long time, if such a thing as a "long time" will exist in our friendship, but at least we're not in total avoidance mode. We have yet to return to eating together, but I am hopeful that that will change. We ate at the same time today and sat at different tables, but I preemptively had my headphones and a book because I was too hungover to want to feel uncomfortable and awkward on top of queasy.
The percentage of the day in which I consider his dumb butt is considerably lessened, and thank goodness. I might have come up with a cure for cancer in the time wasted over the last six months.
Life is not nearly as depressing as I make it sound in this post. For the record.