god, I'm so fat

05-02-00

Think I died?

Don't know what came over me, but I really flaked this time, huh? Four days, no entries, no excuses. I've been tired in the evenings.

I've gotten myself into a nice schedule of working out every other day. I'm not sure how it happened, but I'm afraid if I break the pattern I won't go back. So I'm not breaking it. It might take some trickery in the middle of the week, going two days in a row to avoid the dreaded Thursday-Friday combination. Those days suck—I work all day Thursday and come home drained, then Friday I teach in the afternoon and I tend to go out and drink in the evenings instead of working out. I won't fuck this up, I feel good. Once the working out thing is under control, I have to do the same thing with my practicing. I'm better about that now, and I try to get time on the horn every day, but I'm still erratic. One thing at a time.

And I'll tell you, one look at the fatass bicep of my racquet arm and you'd understand why I feel good. Damn, I'm the shit.

I'm going on 25. Lately I've been eavesdropping on women my age and younger, either reading their journals or being a peripheral member of a conversation on this particular topic: the negative body image. I listen for hours to women who bargain with themselves; their tummy's too big for this two-piece suit, their arms are too floppy for tank tops, their thighs too jiggly for mini-skirts. Naturally, these women have nothing to complain about.

And I know each of them, when they read this, will say "She's not talking about me, my arms really are too flabby for a sleeveless dress."

I used to be hot. I'm not saying I'm not still hot, but I've gained some weight, mostly from drinking too much and falling off the veggie wagon. When I was in college I was about 5'8" and weighed 160. Don't go looking at your Cosmo chart—those dimensions were perfect for me, with wide hips and large breasts and smooth, pale skin. I was not overweight; I'm slightly overweight now. I'm comfortable with the weight, it's being in good physical shape that concerns me.

The thing is, back then I thought I was hideous. My arms were too round, my breasts too big, my stomach not flat enough. I hid my body under mesh sweaters and granny skirts. For some reason, I never let anyone see my feet. I wore my long hair loose so it fell around my "fat" shoulders and plain face. My jeans were at least two sizes too large, and I never, ever wore a swimsuit. I told myself that my body was wrong for bikinis, and "if I just firm up my triceps, I can wear tank tops."

Now, as I near 25, I regret hiding myself like that. The early twenties are the best time for bikinis. The older I get, the less likely I am to wear teeny t-shirts and eye glitter. I have the benefit of hindsight, showing me (like it always does,) that I was hot enough to wear a skimpy sundress.

It makes me sad to hear younger women I know refuse to wear shorts or bathing suits in public, women who have no reason to be ashamed of what they look like. Many overweight women find that behavior offensive. Some days, I fall into that trap. (See—not only do the complaining women destroy their own self esteem, they wreak havoc on the women around them.) Mostly, though, I think about the time they're wasting by hiding and worrying. I know there's no use in arguing with self-deprecation, so I rarely try. Does that make me insensitive?

"It's different for me. I really am too fat for a swimsuit."

Don't even send me that mail. Make the excuses to yourself, not to me.

Spent an hour talking to my therapist about the excessive kitten euthanasia we're doing at work now. Not only did she understand the depression I've had lately, but I think I made her depressed as well. Now that's irony.

She's a member of the volunteer group at the city shelter, so she knows the problems they have out there, with sick animals making other animals sick, and so on. Also the problem we have locally, with too many ignorant people not getting their animals spayed and neutered. She pretty much convinced me to start working for the shelter. Good thing, I think. I hope I don't end up with more pets.

Aaaaanyway, I played tennis today with John, Becky, and Anna, then we hung around the pool at Becky and Anna's. I'm sunburned. Cooked like a loaf of fried raw cookie dough. I'm extremely fair, and my sensitive Northern skin has always burned easily. Should have known better.

And thanks to my recent re-conversion to contact lenses, I have a fat white line where my sunglasses were. Man, I look like a jag. Even my tattoo is pinker.