Way Up Firm And High

I weighed myself on Friday and I weighed in at 135.5 lbs. I measured myself on Sunday night and I've lost 1 inch on my hips, waist and chest and a 1/2 inch on my thighs. I've gained a 1/2 inch around my biceps and calves.

Boo yah!

I'm a petite lady at 5' 0" but (other than in high school when I was thisbigaround) as I've matured I've developed into what I call barrel-shaped. Thank my German ancestors for that. Thicker middle, stick arms and stick legs. And yes, I'm also stacked. Thanks for nothing in that department, maternal German ancestry!

I've always wanted to reduce the "girls." I hate bras and it's the first thing I get rid of when I get home in the evening. I should have started wearing a bra in the sixth grade but it was the eighth before I finally started doing so. I just wore big jackets. I've wondered if I did some connective tissue damage since I was by no means small-busted. I say that because frankly, I look like a bushwoman when I don't wear a bra. Flat and to my navel. Bleh.

Anyway, I'd tried here and there over the years to look for something to give me a more rounded, perky look to no avail. I jiggle like a bowl of jello, I don't stay in the silly things when I lean over....you name it. No matter what I bought I'd constantly have to pull it down in the back because it rode up. To me, that translated into "it's not supportive enough to hold the weight" so I'd buy a bigger cup size to counter that problem. Nothing seemed to work, though, and finally I'd just given up and settled into wearing the matronly styles. Plus, I hated the idea of spending any more than $20 on a bra. Especially if they'd ride up and be a general pain in the ass. No way I was spending good money on that!

Over the past month my workout partner/co-worker BK kept telling me over and over that I wasn't wearing the right size bra. She told me that instead of the 36C/40D size range (depending on brand) that I'd been wearing for most of the last 20 years, I should be wearing a much smaller size, relatively speaking. She pegged me for a 32DDD. I admit I didn't buy it. I didn't buy it at all. ME? A 32? Come on! No way.

However, she did look great in her bras. So I turned myself over to her -- if for no other reason than to shut her up and prove her wrong -- and she and I spent this past weekend on a mission. We went to a big girl's store and the lady measured me. Now I've been measured before, and at Victoria's Secret no less! -- but not like this lady did. Talk about a thorough job. Anyway, she measured me at a......yes. A 32.

Um. Aw, bloody hell. BK's eyes were triumphant.

I hate being proved wrong.

So.......we went looking for a bra and exhausted all possibilities save for Dillard's since it was the only place that carried my size. As I was trying them on I heard BK in conversation with the salesladies saying that it was freakish, how such a small lady could be so severely stacked. She meant for me to hear it, evil woman. I chuckled wryly. Whatever. I told her she was just jealous.

So yeah, I bought one. $63! Holy crap, I haven't spent that much money on one article of clothing since 1998. Turns out I'm going to have to special order my size. Yeah, get ready for it. 32I. Not D or E or even G. An I. Sheeeeeeeesh.

But holy smokes, I look good in my shirts. I don't jiggle or bounce. I feel like I'm in a vise, so maybe that's why. Too many years of wearing bras that didn't fit have spoiled me. I'll get used to it, I'm sure. The thing doesn't ride up in the back, the straps don't move, the support is phenomenal. And I love the way I look in it both in AND out of shirts. Like I'm 20 again!

Who knew you could buy 20 years back for 60 bucks?


((Song: "Night Moves" by Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band. Lyrics here:
http://mysite.verizon.net/silverbulletfan/Nghtmvs-Nghtmvs.html ))

I've Got A Lot Of Catching Up To Do

Ergh. Still on decongestants and guaifensin. Still a bit coughy and a bit stuffy without them. I swear, if these last two weeks are anything like what I can expect from allergies I'll just save myself the trouble and the expense and cut my nose off now. I can always breathe through my mouth.

Still working out and still cursing it with every last breath, although this morning in spinning class I started telling myself that half my problem is mental -- I "convince" myself into thinking my body won't do something that it is actually able to do if I'd just let it. So instead of thinking, "Only seven more minutes of hell," I started repeating, "You CAN do it, let yourself." And finally, after a time.....I did. And I found that I was smiling halfway through.

Now if only I can find that mental place all the time.

I've been a little down lately. I learned about a month ago that a cousin of mine -- a woman that I've only actually met face-to-face once but who has been working side-by-side with me on our family genealogy for the last fifteen years -- has been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. She's in her mid-70's and she says she's accepted her fate and that she's had a good life with good family and friends. She and I corresponded regularly after she told me this until last week, when she abruptly stopped emailing. I started getting worried and tried to call but the phone number she gave me wasn't working. I sat and silently stewed until yesterday, when she emailed me again. She didn't tell me where she was, but it ended up that she didn't have to. She sent me a copy of an email she sent the company that hosts her family web site; she and I have been trying to get the reins of the site handed over to me but have had little success because her messages have went unanswered. In the email she mentioned her stint in the hospital and her urgency for resolution because she had little time left.

Funny. Even though I know that this is happening, seeing it hit me hard. I had asked her about a time frame and she told me less than a year. I think she was being generous. I think she has less time left than she wants me to know. She's such a wonderful lady, and I love her. I'm going to miss her when she's gone.

Death is such a specter to me. It terrifies me. I can't imagine my own death or dealing with its nearness with anything resembling the grace that my cousin is managing. I'd gladly become a vampire if I could. I've suffered panic attacks since my brush with death in a post-operative mishap (I was given demerol, which I'd used before but apparently it didn't mix well with my other anesthesia and I stopped breathing.) Now I simply don't handle anything related to side effects or possible problems well at all. "Going under" and using anesthesia petrifies me. I feel like such a wimp, since before that post-op reaction I wasn't scared of anything....

I can't escape death. It will get me. I know it. I hate it.

It's beyond my control.



Song: "The Night Is Still Young" by Billy Joel. Lyrics here:
http://www.billyjoel.com/music/12-gardens-live/careless-talk-0 ))

Hup, One, Two, Three......

So I joined this gym.

Starting on the 13th of January I worked out an hour each day up until this Tuesday, when I came down with strep. I went to the doc on Wednesday, got antibiotics on Thursday, and spent my weekend recovering while busying myself scanning in all my old family pictures and genealogical documents.

I've now recovered from the strep and am back at work. I went to work out today for an hour and plan on getting up at fuck-thirty (read: 4:30 am) in the morning to do it again. I am working out with this girl in my office who's lost about 60 lbs so far and plans to continue her weight loss. She attends school in the evenings after work so we have to make it before work at 7 am if we want to get any workout time in and believe me, she does. She's a drill sergeant, I tell you, a sadistic freaking drill sergeant! Damn her hide, she won't let me skate or wiggle out of workouts. I've done more physical activity in the last two weeks than I've done for the past two years.

She just might be my savior.

Hee!