While I am working on having the body of a fit almost-40 year old, I am proud to say that at 39, I have the body of a slightly overweight 20 year old. Where my skin—skin conditions, no wrinkles yet—and hair genes failed me, my body genes took over and gave Mother Nature a big ol’ “What Cee Lo said!”
My breasts are as perky as they ever were, pointing straight ahead as they should—the result of the average-sized boobs my more endowed friends with now sagging boobs liked to make fun of—and because of weight gain have had a pretty nice, surgical-free, enhancement.
My butt, oh my big ol’ butt. Though it is narrowing as the weight falls off, it is still wider than I would like BUT it is just as high and round as it ever was. It still stops men in their tracks and according to some, rivals Kim K’s and J Lo’s—when I’m slimmer, of course.
So, you may be wondering why I am talking about such seemingly private matters on a public forum. The answer is as simple as it is complicated…
I was looking at some pictures from just a few years ago—pictures I hadn’t seen in a while—and all I could think of was “Wow, I looked hot!” I did too; I was fit, slim, and toned with a flat belly I would die for now.
Sadly, I was also on weight watchers and every, and any, other diet program you can think of. No, those diet programs weren’t what helped me to be fit and slim—back then I had no ideas I was those things—they were meant to help me get fit and slim; I thought I was fat.
Like a lot of women, and even men, I invested a whole lot of money on self-loathing. I denied myself food, yet constantly thought about it. At breakfast, I was already thinking about what I would eat for lunch, and at lunch I’d be contemplating dinner. Food was never far from my thoughts.
With such careful thought to everything I put in my mouth, it would stand to reason that I would have stayed thin, but that was far from the truth. My obsession coupled with a stressful job helped me to gain over 50 lbs in four years. I tried to curtail it with a few successful diet moments, but it was always two steps forward on the scale, to every one step back.
About a year ago, extremely tired of it all, I decided to stop. I got back to the workouts I had always enjoyed—choreographed dancing, no boring machines at the gym—and just ate what I wanted when I wanted. If I was destined to be overweight, then I would deal with that fact.
A few things happened. I found…
- that when I wasn’t denying myself what I wanted, the urge to have it wasn’t as strong.
- that I could feel what hunger and fullness felt like.
- that workouts were more fun when I got off the boring elliptical and just danced in my room.
- that I could look in the mirror and like my body.
- the weight slowly coming off!
- that I can look at old pictures and see just how fit I was.
It’s been a slow process to get to a point where I can write a post extolling the virtues of my boobs and my butt; a journey of sorts. I don’t know if age and maturity had anything to do with it, since that age thing is something I’m still working on accepting, but I know that I am much happier for it. It’s nice to stand in front of a full length mirror and think, “Damn, I’m freakin’ sexy!”