I'm wearing the dreaded fat pants. Worse, I've taken fat pants to an all new high, er… wide.
I've gone up three sizes. Three! It happened so fast that I didn't have time to react. There was barely enough time to put down the cheeseburger before I realized what was happening.
I'm sure it must be due to some mutant gene that would qualify me to join the X-Men. What powers are associated with this "gift," I have yet to discover. The ability to hold two large cats in my lap at one time probably doesn't qualify.
If Wolverine is available, perhaps he could take my new powers, uh, in hand and help me learn to use them. All for the good of man(and mutant)kind, of course. I'd make that sacrifice.
The cute clothes I wore last summer are gathering dust in my closet while I'm wearing out the inner thighs of the few pants I saved from my "Lumpy" period. It's so depressing to put those clothes back on - and have them be a little snug. Is there no limit to the expansion of my derrière?
I know I'm eating more than I did last summer. And I'm not putting in the miles of walking like I used to do. But does losing weight always have to involve portion control and exercise? Why can't it just be reading and napping? If that were the case, I'd be a size 2 for sure. (OK, maybe a size 8, but I'd be willing to read or nap more if necessary.)
It's not like I'm doing nothing to keep the bulges at bay. I'm attending a body sculpting class twice a week because, well, obviously this body needs some sculpting. There's a 2-liter where my six-pack should be and I have buns of sponge instead of steel.
So I'm lifting weights and doing lunges, crunches, squats and even push ups! I hate it and I love it at the same time. Getting through an hour of this torture twice a week is agony, but I feel so much better and stronger that it's worth it.
Granted, my body is currently in the lump of clay stage and I am no artist, but I hope to eventually sculpt myself into some semblance of buffness. I'm not going for Venus di Milo status, but I'd like to at least be walking around without anything blooming out over the top of my jeans. After all, I'm going to need to fit into that cool X-Men uniform.
I'm also hoping that by building more muscle mass I'll increase my metabolism and will naturally burn more calories. Then maybe I won't have to worry quite so much about that portion control thing that seems so difficult for me. More muscle = more cake! My kind of math!
Some day I hope to be able to control my mutant powers and say goodbye to the fat pants forever- except as needed to save the universe, of course. Then I can walk amongst the humans and not feel self-conscious about my dreaded derriere.
Wolverine, I'm waiting!
P.S. What do you think of Cheeks as my X-Men name?
Have a question or comment for Claire?
e-Mail her at Claire@ClevelandWomen.com
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