Losing it

So, if you've been around these parts before, you'll possibly remember me saying something about getting healthier, blah blah blah, and that was the gist of it at the time.

Well, cue to this past Friday morning when I briefly honked my horn at the person in front of me who was holding up me and two other cars behind me at a McD's drive-thru (and let the record show that I stopped in for a medium Diet C0ke as I was parched). The parking lot was being paved and so half of it was roped off--thereby giving cars coming out of the drive-thru lane only that drive-thru space to exit the lot. The woman in front of me had pulled up about 8 feet to go through her bag and, I assume, check her order. So I tapped on my horn lightly as I had no way to go around her, nor did the people behind me. (I mean, hello, if you're going to take a while, maybe pull into one of the empty spaces in front of you while you go over your order; I'm just sayin.')

She moved forward then stopped at a stop sign just up ahead, giving me room on the right for me to pull alongside her and prepare to make a right turn (she was going left)...but not before rolling down her window and calling me a 'fat little bitch.' Oh yes, she did.

Now, okay, I realize I am not (nor have I ever been) a skinny minny. And I also realize that the words "fat" and "little" kinda cancel one another out. Not only that, but she can't tell how tall I am from me being seated in my SUV (yes, yes, I fit that suburban mom stereotype) but, for the record, I am 5'5." Not so little. Alas, as for the 'fat' part, how to justify that one?

Have I put on weight these past few years, what with the infertility and the two babies in 19 months' time? Why yes, I have. But fat? IDK. Chubby, yes...and with a giant chest (38G) that does not get smaller even when I lose weight. I think the chest may even make me look bigger than I actually am, but I digress :)

But to hear a stranger call me such a name...well, it hurt. So I started talking to myself (in my head) about how they're just words and only I can give words the power to hurt me--the same thing my husband and I tell Juliana when she tells us how someone at school said this or that, i.e., Dylan says I'm not a smart cookie. So there I was, 40 years old, and couldn't even take my own advice. Nice.

After I got over the hurt, I got angry. So angry, in fact, that later that same day, I paid a visit to the local gym near my daughter's dance school and promptly signed up for a membership. For several months I'd been considering joining and meant to stop in and check it out but just hadn't made the time to do it. That all changed on Friday. Making the time is my new #1 priority.

Anyhoo, I'm now an official gym-goer. I met with a trainer on Friday and set up a plan for me, providing for 5 days a week of workouts, alternating weekly between 3 days of weight training and cardio and 2 days of organized classes (gyrokinesis, zumba, etc.).

I'm proud to say that I've gone every day since joining and I'm even--dare I say it--enjoying it. My body is sore but in a good way. I haven't belonged to a gym since my college years and I've missed it. It's a little 'me' time that I've needed for a while now.

So, long story short, last Friday I took a definitive step to reclaim my girlish figure :) and I feel great.

To think--I owe it all to one 'skinny big bitch' in a Honda for lighting my fire. Thanks, you inconsiderate twit, whoever you were.