How I Exercise

Me this Morning:

4:40 am, damnit I slept in, I'm so tired I don't want to get up.

Well I'm awake now I might as well go, it's   last time this week I'll just suck it up.

My body hurts, I don't want to run.

Just do it one lap at a time, focus on that wall, you can get there once, right?  Don't look at the clock, just find a spot on the wall each time, run for there.  Sweat is running in my eyes, I can't see the wall...the lines on the floor, yup I can still see them..look there.

My legs are so stiff, I don't want to run up these stupid stairs.

Jesus fuck (actually, I said this part out loud).  Oh my God this hurts.......  Holy crap, I told Barry about my shitty day yesterday and I was still running, I can run and talk that's pretty fucking amazing.  Mother fucking son of a bitch (I said this part out loud too).  Half way there?  Is he fucked?  I already did 5 laps, I'm going to die.  Holy shit, I'm going to die.  My legs are on fire.  Fuck you stairs - GO FASTER!!!  Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck (I said this part out loud).

Great, put on my boxing gloves he says but I know he's going to make me run too, bastard and my shoulder hurts.

One-two's?  Shit, which one do I start with again?  I'm so picturing that this bag is his head, don't say that out loud he'll make you do burpee's.  Ow, my nose...I need to stop pushing my glasses up when I'm wearing boxing gloves.  Run faster?  I can't even fucking see I'm gonna hit the wall.  Punch right away?  I can't even breathe!  Faster.  Harder.  My arms are jelly.  Don't slow down he says doesn't he know my arms hurt?  I think my spleen is about to explode.  Is that my spleen?  Oh God, my biceps are gonna rip.  I want to cry.  I want to puke.  What an asshole telling me to push it can't he see I'm dying here?  I'll show you how fast I can go.  When do I get to punch you again?

Squats?  Goddamnit I hate these.

Oh sweet jesus I'm down I don't know if I can get back up.  Okay, I'm up.  Again?  Fuck!  I think I just pulled a groin muscle.  Wow, I can do these without being supported by the wall.  Hey, I made it to the end of the building that was quick.  That fucker is going to make me do this again isn't he?  Of fucking course.  Ohhhhhhh why does this hurt my butt muscles so much?  Since when do I have muscles in my butt?  Wow, I went low on that one.  Ewwwww...ewwwwww...spider.  Right, squat... that one felt pretty good.

Lunges?  What fresh hell is this?

I'm gonna topple over like a weeble.  Weeble?  Weeble's wobble but they don't fall down... is that what those stupid things were called?  I need to google that when I get home.  What in the hell was a weeble anyway?  Fuck these are hard.  Shit, I'm done.

Oh great, he's bringing out the weight bar I so want to beat him with it.

Breathe when I'm pushing up?  Why do I forget how to breathe each time?  I feel like I'm hyperventilating.  I feel like I'm hyperventilating (I said this part out loud).  Ow, I hit my nose.  My arms are gonna fall off like Spongebob's do...god I love that cartoon.  Patrick is my favourite.  Bahahahahahahahahahaha (a la Spongebob).

Yes!  Abs, I get to lay down.

Planks?  Shit.  I can do this.  Just breathe.  Relax.  Oh my god my arms won't stop shaking.  Put your butt down.  Nope.  Don't start thinking about what your butt looks like in this position, don't even go there.  Three more??  Fuck.  I'm gonna fall, I'm gonna fall....I can't hold this, my stomach hurts, my legs hurt.  Shit, my glasses fell off.  Two more, I can do this.  Breathe.  Just breathe.  Just breathe, slower... wow, I can feel every muscle in my body it's kinda cool.  Last one.  The shaking stopped.  Man my body feels strong.

That's it? Where did the hour go?

5 am Monday? (I said that part out loud too).

I am NOT an addict.

On June 28, 2012 I celebrated my one-year surgiversary.  Stunning really that a whole year has passed since this event which has been so life-altering.  It seems like only yesterday that I sat in the waiting room, my friend Sylvie holding my hand while I tiptoed the line of acceptance of the decision and visions of bolting screaming from the room, my considerable bum exposed as I ran as far from the hospital as I could.  But maybe it was the fact that I wouldn't have made it halfway down the hallway without having to stop and catch my breath or it was because I was just tired of running that I stayed put and made the best decision of my life.  So you'd think it would just stop there, right?  I'd have this miraculous surgery, my tiny new stomach would only be able to hold less than a cup full of food at a time, I'd be gorgeous and skinny and all my problems would melt away with the pounds and I'd emerge this beautiful, pristine butterfly with a slammin' new bod, right?

Yeah, no, not even fucking close.

Well the first part was true, I did have a tiny new stomach, I could only eat a cup at a time - hell, I lost close to 30 pounds before I even went under the knife...and slowly the weight did melt off.  85 pounds of it to be exact.  So here's the part where I'm supposed to be all normal and shit and not fucked up anymore, because you know only fat people have problems.  It quickly became evident that while yes, less food + more exercise (or ANY exercise) = weight loss.  Easy peasy.  My stomach wouldn't allow me to eat much food, I was petrified of eating sugar, fried food, etc. for the fear of vomiting or other dire consequences (ie: dumping) so my portions were cut and for once, I was putting good food in my body.

I screwed up the courage and asked Barry if he would train me and it was a huge victory for me to be scared shitless and embarassed as hell to go to the gym and expose the depths of how out of shape I was.  Despite sometimes not saying very nice things to him when I'm on the verge of vomiting I will be forever grateful for what the support he has shown me, believing in me when I didn't believe in myself.  For almost a full year at 5:30 am three days a week I ran those fucking stairs, turned my "there's no way I can do that's" to "let's do this!" (and sometimes a - "there's no way this is a real exercise, you're making shit up" thrown in for good measure)and my body started to get shape.  I could run up stairs and not run out of breath.  I had muscles.  I had energy that was almost limitless.  My clothes fit better.  My mind became clearer, stress was reduced.  It was wonderful. I was on track, right?

Nope.

Because from the beginning of it all was this person who sabotaged me at every turn, who whispered taunts in my ear of what a failure I was, how fat, stupid and ugly I was always going to be - that I couldn't do this and that I shouldn't even try.  I have lived with this person my whole life, I don't ever remember not hearing their scathing comments.  And that person, she's me.  (Yeah, didn't see that one coming, did ya?).  Some people talk about this fat version of themselves as someone separate from who they are now.  I don't buy it.  Fat, skinny, it's just me.  And my shit.  The more I tried to distance myself from this "other" Wendy the worst it became, ignoring her made her more loud, more obnoxious, more out of control.  I reached a point where "I" felt out of control and life became too overwhelming - I had a new job working with people who were dying, work that has always been a part of my heart and it was in jeopardy, all my hard work too.    I was in such a dark place that I decided I had to seek professional help and that I couldn't do this alone anymore.  I went "shopping" for a therapist online and knew that I was looking for something around addictions (thinking food at the time), now you're probably thinking I was doing research, looking for who was the best, most recommended, etc. but to be truthful I stumbled upon this website after typing in addictions and Ontario and this website was about sexual addiction.  My immediate reaction was to dismiss this - I wasn't a sexual addict.  Hell, I'm the most stubborn, proud person ever, admitting I had a problem to begin with kinda bit my ass - but an addict????  Hell, even with the food addiction, I was more thinking food "problem"... I don't know why I had such difficulty with the word addiction.  I think in my mind it meant that I was weak, flawed... everything my Dad, the alcoholic is and everything I didn't ever want to be.  Anyway, there was a self-quiz on the site about determining whether a person has a sexual addiction so I took it.
1. Do you frequently fantasize or think about sex?
Not frequently, no.... sure when I'm driving in the car, but that's boring right?  I'm just killing time.  And I'm sure everyone who sees a good-looking man and/or woman thinks about them naked.  Well and when I can't sleep sometimes my mind just drifts there.  But everyone does this, sex is natural, fantasies are natural.  I don't have a problem.

2. Have you made promises to yourself or others to change or stop some of your sexual behaviour, and then broken these promises?
Well yeah, but I mean it wasn't a promise written in stone and it was only to myself, that surely doesn't count.

3. Does your sexual desire cause you to associate with people you wouldn't normally be with or do things you wouldn't normally do?
Hey, I was experimenting in my 20's, sure there may have been some people that I did things with sexually that I may not have done if I wasn't just so damned horny.  Again, I'm sure that everyone has had sex with someone they wouldn't necessarily have done it with when they were desperate.  And really, we were consenting adults there's nothing wrong with my behaviours...sure there were a few times I nearly got caught having sex in public places, but that's part of the thrill, right?

4. Has frequenting sex sites on the internet for sexual stimulation become a habit for you?
Habit?  No.  I mean sometimes when my imagination isn't doing the trick, sure but it's not a habit.

5. Is masturbation a frequent activity for you?
Oh come on now, everyone masturbates!  And what is deemed as frequent?  What kind of question is this?

6. Do you frequent, or have you frequented X-rated movie theaters?
Once.  Fuck, I mean what the hell?  It was a dare, it was just something that was a thrill at the time.  This fucking quiz is ridiculous.

7. Do you frequent other sexually oriented businesses?
Well do porn shops count?  I've been to them before, of course.  It's natural, right?   Right?!?!?!?

8. Are you especially excited by sexual behaviour that includes the risk of being caught?
Well not especially excited, but sure I mean it does up the thrill quite a bit and there was that time in the park... but surely I'm not the only person who is into that.

9.Is anonymous sex with others a frequent indulgence you seek, or one you periodically return to?
Look, I was lonely.  We  were consenting adults.  It wasn't an indulgence, it was a physical necessity.  Why am I even doing this stupid quiz?  I do NOT have a problem.  

10. Does some of your sexual activity cause you to have a secret life that is hidden from others?
Fuck.

And there it was.   That secret activity.  That secret life.  Like eating next to nothing when people were around and then gorging myself to the point of pain - that was my 20's... fucking recklessly, numbing out in every way possible.  Being so fucking sad and empty inside that I just wanted something to fill me (yes, that pun was intended), something to make the pain stop even for a little bit.  Someone called me "tough" today and when they said that I laughed because I feel like such a ball of insecurities and fear some days that thinking of myself as tough is just ridiculous.  But I see it now, how I try and come off as nothing bothers me. Really I don't know who I was trying to convince though...probably myself.  I didn't want to face my problems.  Admitting to my destructive behaviours meant taking responsibility for the consequences and as a recovering fat girl that is something I wanted to avoid at all costs.  When I was fat I could eat whatever I wanted, I didn't ever have to exercise, because I was already fat...why not just be fatter. But I'm off track... I was talking about sex.

Me and sex, well that's a fucked up thing, always has been.  Without going into detail I had some things happen to me when I was a kid and during those times I remember leaving my body.  I looked down on myself while those things were being done to her, "the other"....because it wasn't me.  All through high school I never dated, I purposely made fun of the guy who was going to ask me out to prom so that he wouldn't ask me out....and after growing out my hair after that disasterous head shaving incident in grade 9 I basically hid behind my hair as I walked through the hallways, just trying to disappear, to make myself as small as I possibly could.  I remember the first time I ever drank, it was probably in grade 10 and I blacked out... I hit on my brother's girlfriend's Dad apparently...and a few other people that thankfully I didn't remember.  Luckily my friends were so kind as to share the details of my shameful behaviour as I technicolor vomited up the Southern Comfort I'd drank.  I learned two things from that night: Alcohol was not my friend (specifically Southern Comfort) and the other was that me having those needs was shameful and led me to just pull even further inside myself.  I masturbated.  A lot.  I worked two jobs, went to school and had no social life, of course I masturbated.  It comforted me when I was upset, I could zone out...and it helped me chase away the demons that made sleep so elusive.  In college my first consensual sexual experience was with a man who was 35 years my senior.  He was sweet.  He told me I was beautiful and sent me roses.  I'm sure he was an adequate lover... looked that way anyway as I floated above my body.  When I was finished college I moved to Toronto and discovered a new "family" at my new job - a bunch of gay men who took me under their wing.  I guess this is where my addict's black and white thinking comes from because I saw these men go to bath houses and have what I thought were these glorious sex lives where there were no inhibitions and everyone just got laid lots and had fun.  Well I decided to do the same.  I hooked up with random men on chat lines... lots of men and a few women.  I had told myself that I was being uninhibited and sexually forward in my thinking... it was such a lie.  I could go weeks, months without a hook-up and then when the stress and the loneliness got too much I'd reel another one in (seriously, men are way too easy) and get my "fix."  Not once did I remain in my body during any of these encounters.  I never orgasmed.  I never felt a connection - hell it's hard to feel a connection with someone who you haven't given your real name to.  I believed in my heart that I was only good for sex, that no one would ever want to know me, to love me.

When I met Steve the sexual addiction became under control, but eating went completely out of control, spending money stupidly - it was just a never ending cycle of abuse.  I feel sad that I brought that fucked-up ness to my marriage but in my defense I can say I wasn't even aware of how fucked up I was, I was just in so much denial.  I forgive myself for that for truly I didn't know better.

Anyway, as the weight started to fall off a new horror started.  I started to "feel" my body.  My dear friend Ben hugged me a few months after my surgery, I had maybe lost about 50 pounds by then, it was a huge bear hug, the sweetest, most non-sexual hug ever and I freaked inside.  There wasn't a layer of protection against me and the world.  Parts of my body that had never touched another person's body became exposed and I wanted to cry... I still don't know if it was in fear or relief.....relief that for once I had an intimacy I had denied myself for so long.

Over the past few months I have been posting and sharing my innermost thoughts, sharing my homework that my fucking therapist has given me and it has been painful.  So fucking painful that sometimes I don't know what to do with the pain that I have inside but I ride the wave and hold on for dear life and it gets better, day by day it gets better.  That inner voice, that one that berated and defiled and belittled, its still there some days and I listen to it, I honor it because at one point it was true and I know that behind all the hate filled words is fear and shame and to ignore it means that I will never be set free.  So day-by-day and step-by-step that voice gets quieter and it is being replaced with something new - a feeling of peace, of purpose, of me.  I'm gonna fall down, I'm gonna mess up and I know that this is not something that is going to be fixed overnight but I'm committed to me.  I'm committed to being well and whole and happy and yeah, I'm still going to be sarcastic and quirky and sometimes inappropriate because that is part of my charm.  So every morning I will wake up and make a commitment to myself - to make good choices, to be gentle with myself, to take responsibility and to make this life the best I can make it.

<3 to you all.

Random thoughts that when I'm feeling less lazy I will turn into an actual post.

Don't Look Back
I used to like that message about not looking back, only moving forward but I think I needed to look back, to find my perspective and to see how very far I've traveled. And it doesn't mean that I have to be sad all the time or dwell in what was, but on these days where I'm struggling and feeling like I am a failure I stop myself. I reassess what is truth. Yeah, this shit is hard and I'm stumbling but there are always going to be times in this life when I'll be knocked down and dragged through hell and I'm gonna mess up and I just have to learn the hardest thing ever, kindness to myself. Humility. And the choice to pick myself up and dust myself off, pick up my sword and fight again or go back to my half life and die a little inside every day. And my strength, it isn't in acting like nothing is wrong... it is in letting the people I know who love me how I really feel and letting them see me scared, grieving, weak....and vulnerable. The sword it has to be used to fight the monsters, to battle for the life I want, not to hold at bay the people who care because I might get hurt. So it's time to recommit to creating this life I want for myself....and enough self-sabotaging and fucking up and feeling sorry for myself. I WILL make this happen. And I will do it because of you wonderful, beautiful people that I have been blessed to have in my life.


The Fireflies Showed me the Way Home
I took the dog out for a walk tonight - it was late, pretty much completely dark except for the few pink streaks across the sky. It's been a rough few weeks, lots of stress (not to mention polyester-clad trolls who need to be stabbed in the eye), indecision....and yes, fear and I've gotten off track. Fallen into old patterns of avoiding issues, eating stupid shit, not moving my body and more importantly, not taking the time to listen, to remember who I am and what I want my life to be.

I really needed this time to just stop and breathe and listen - look for the path. I remember when I was a kid and things were sometimes scary and confusing I would walk alone at night and I lived in the country, there were no street lights then. I just remember feeling this sense of peace then....looking at all of the stars and feeling so connected. The howling wolves never scared me even though they sounded like they were just over my shoulder because there were monsters in real life more scary than anything nature could throw my way. I just remember the smell of the earth, the sweetness of the breeze....the stillness, the quiet... and the fireflies. When it was so dark that I couldn't see my way in front of me on those moonless nights they lit my way. I felt so safe then, almost part of the night, invisible and it was then that I found clarity, untangled my mind and felt in my heart that the Infinite Being (call it God if you will) who created me made the fireflies shine for me, that I was special and I was loved.

There are monsters in this world, people whose actions are deplorable and it is a choice I have to make, to stand and fight for what I know to be right or back down and let the monsters rule. I remember in Grade 10 a quote that stuck with me, "the inhumanity of one is the inhumanity of all." And tonight, with the fireflies dancing at my feet I realize again, I am loved and I choose love and I'm going to stand for what's right, backing down isn't an option - and whatever the consequences are I'll take them.

The Bucket List
Bucket list is slowly getting ticked off. Today was Cedar Park with my girl Julie Bonsell-Kimmett and her awesome kids.
1) Jumped off the diving board. To be honest, I went up once, chicken shitted out and climbed back down. Went back up the second time, said "fuck it" and jumped screaming my fool head off - with my sunglasses on which gently floated to the bottom. Luckily some kid dove down and got them for me.
2) I went down the water slides - okay only number one and 2, 3 was scary ass... but I ran up those stairs a dozen times. I would have won in the race against Julie's son except for he forgot to mention that he was a track and field star. I'm pretty sure he was on performance enhancing drugs too. I screamed my head off there too...but I was also laughing.


Fear
In 11 days it will be my one year surgiversary where even though I was scared shitless and right up till the last second nearly turned and walked out the door I made the best decision of my life. Yeah, I've lost a shit load of weight, but more importantly I've lost fear. A year ago I wouldn't have went on that slide because I would be afraid I'd get stuck and be embarassed. I wouldn't have got on the diving board because I'd be ashamed of how hideous I looked in my bathing suit. And you know what, I still don't look perfect in a bathing suit....but I still rocked that shit because in the end, I'm alive. 10000%, balls to the wall alive and that is all that matters in the end. :)


Tag and Release
Hard to believe that I met one of the most crazy, perverted, beautiful woman who I am so proud to call friend Sylvie while working at a christian agency. If this isn't scary she asks me for advice on life, men, etc.... I told her about the tag and release program. That's where you sleep with men who are far too attractive to date then release them back into the wild....after you tag them. I am thinking some sort of system where you "tag" them so that you can identify them later in case you meet them and they were so forgettable that you didn't remember sleeping with or dating them. I'm thinking like a permanent marker dot under their balls (God knows most don't wash there), and a colour system:
Blue: Hung like a smurf (I'm guessing smurfs have small penises)
Red: Stop, into some freaky shit that you're not into
Green: Go get you some of that again.
Black: This one is risky because this may not even be a marker it could just be dirty balls...I'd steer clear of this one.
Yellow: Again, there are too many other stains that could make it look like marker... I'd just go with green.

Stand by my grave and weep...

Went to a workshop today put on by basicfunerals.ca - it was pretty cool. The premise of being able to plan your funeral online and not having to go into one of those creepy funeral homes seems pretty cool to me. Anyway, their "icebreaker" was to have each person go around the room and tell what they envisioned their own funeral to be. Well I have went to way more funerals/memorial services, etc. than any human being ever should be and have put a lot of thought into this.

First, if I am at the point where I need a memorial service/funeral - I'm dead. Sure, I may be a ghost at this point but in general dead and have way cooler shit to be doing such as hanging out with Johnny Cash and scaring random people....maybe doing one of those "Ghost" scenes with someone who is doing pottery just to creep them out. Second, I know that I am not one of those people who doesn't want to upset people. I hear that a lot from clients, etc...they don't want people to be upset at their funeral, so they have a closed casket or they don't even have a service. Fuck that. That poem "Do not stand by my grave and weep..." that does not apply to me at all - I want the people in my life to stand by my grave and weep, I want them to fall on the casket in hysterics and be overwhelmed with sadness that I'm not around anymore. For most of my life I've been surrounded by people who don't show emotion and I've always been left to wonder if I mattered to them so when I die I want that big show of emotion because I want to know that I was loved and that I mattered. No, fuck it - I want that now, I don't want to wait until I'm dead.

My ideal life

So my fucking therapist (it's okay, he knows I call him this, I think he gets a kick out of it) gave me some homework to do.  I've been struggling a lot lately and needed to get re-focused and back on track so what it was is asking the question: "My life would be ideal if....." in the following areas of my life: Relationships, Money, Emotional/Spiritual & Job/Work.  I struggled with this homework, I avoided it for 2 weeks - I don't know why it was so hard - I've never been shy to say what I think but then I really thought about this.  My whole life I have spent reacting, surviving....flying by the seat of my pants in the midst of chaos and never once has there been a safe place for me to really think about what I WANT.  What I want my life to look like.  And the other piece was that I've hoped before, I've secretly wanted in my heart and I've had those hopes shattered.  Well you know what I'm gonna hope and yes, some of these things are not going to happen but to not put my intention out into the world and work as hard as I can to create and shape the life I want is bullshit and I might as well give up now.  So here it goes....


My life would be ideal if….
RELATIONSHIPS
My life would be ideal if I had a relationship where we both treated each other with respect.  Where my partner and I supported each other emotionally and could talk, not yell when we had disagreements.  We shared some common goals and wanted the same things from life.  He would stand by me as I saved myself and he would be my biggest cheerleaders and I would do the same for him.  We would both want what was best for the other and be happy when good things happened for the other.  We would trust each other, with no jealousy and it would be safe.  My partner called me on my shit and didn’t let me away with crap but was also my safe place to land – and I could be his.  My partner would show interest in some of my activities and mine in theirs – but also to have separate interests and time apart.  We would spend time with each other’s families and friends – my partner would like my family and understand that they are important to me.  My friends and family would like my partner and his family and friends would love the fuck out of me.   Sex would be an important part of our relationship and it would be creative and often.  There would be a lot of hugging, cuddling, non-sexual touching and kissing.  We would sleep in the same bed and never lose that attraction for each other.  We would be committed to making our relationship work no matter what.  He would be my best friend and I would be his.

MONEY
I had control over my spending, that money was not yet another way to place myself into chaos to punish myself, a drug to numb out the pain, or something to spend recklessly before it is taken away from me – but that it was just a tool to create the life I wanted.  In the perfect world money wouldn’t be so emotional to me.  I would have a job that compensated me well for what I did – so I was comfortable.  I would have an emergency fund so that I would never be placed in a situation where I panicked.  I would have savings so that I could build a retirement fund.  I would have a budget that I followed religiously, not just sporadically and then “binged” and got out of control.  I would be able to always take care of myself financially and provide for myself – the basics and more.

EMOTIONALLY/SPIRITUALLY
I had a system in place to deal with stresses when they arose that didn’t involve me eating my way through a fridge, having sex when I don’t really want to or spending money stupidly.  I would be able to be truthful and speak my mind so that I don’t carry and hold onto anger and resentment.  I would have a physical outlet for my stresses that wasn’t sex.  I would be able to respond appropriately to emotions/situations – like crying when I’m sad.  Being so sure of myself, proud of myself, aware of myself that I only attract goodness to me and don’t accept that which doesn’t fulfill me and promote the good.   I would have a support system in place, a network of people, friends and family who could kick my ass when I need it and be a shoulder to cry on.  Spiritually I would have regular time in nature where I could be in the presence of the divine.  I would feel an inner peace and acceptance of myself.

JOB/WORK
My life would be ideal if I had a job where I had regular, meaningful interaction with people – the messiness of human life – to walk alongside people in their journeys.  Where there was a commitment to equitable treatment and a commitment to promoting the wellness of everyone involved including staff, volunteers and clients – that it wasn’t just lip service.  I would feel challenged and had a cause/issue that I really believed in with all of my heart.  I would have a close, family-like relationship with my coworkers where we were each other’s support system and all worked for the common good.  My boss would respect me and my abilities and give me free reign but also temper it with constructive criticism – and would be a mentor, someone whose beliefs and core values matched mine – and they were backed up by action.  I would be paid a decent wage.  I would not work more than a 40 hour work week so that I had a balance of work and fun.

Pretty in Pink

PRETTY IN PINK
(Bear with me on this one, it has been bubbling at the edges of my brain for the past week and I just need to get it out. Fuck and here I thought I should have bought stock in Duracell to be a millionaire, turns out Kleenex would have been a good bet too).

So last weekend I went to the cottage with my best bud Patricia Jones. We met these older dudes from the cottage next door and after making fun of them (they were from Oshawa, it was almost too easy) for their girlie pina colada drinks and well, just about everything they invited us over for a campfire that night. Well that night Trish and I had a great meal and a little bit of alcohol (by a little bit I mean she drank a bottle of wine and I had a few beers), we had reminisced and caught up and just reconnected again. This girl, she's the best friend I have ever had....and when I called her a cunt stain when we were playing cards I said it with love. We giggled, we laughed....it was exactly as it is every time we are together. So around 11 we headed over to the neighbours for the bonfire - turns out they were far drunker than we were so the fire was going by they were all on the porch of the cottage shooting the shit. We had the best time ever, we laughed so hard especially after Patricia told them I had called her a cunt stain earlier in the evening. That was like any semblance of class was completely doused by then and we just all let loose. I called one guy a pussy because he kept complaining that the mosquitos were biting his butt and it was itchy....and I said what butt? So he dropped trou and showed us. We teased the living hell out of each other - trash talking, and Roman (the owner of the cottage) kept threatening to kill someone. As in, "if someone doesn't clean up these beer bottles I'm gonna kill someone." I dunno guess you had to be there. I felt so relaxed, comfortable in my skin and entirely, completely me. Anyway, the one guy called me Pretty in Pink.... because I was wearing this pink shirt. That and I'm pretty sure he couldn't remember my name because of his girl drink buzz. It was innocent, it was sweet, it was genuine... and it fucked with me.

So I have been wondering why this week that line has messed with my head so much and today I figured it out as I was driving home from the gym - it's funny how you have the clearest mental moments when your body is so completely spent. When I was in grade 8 I went through what could only be called an awkward stage (one that lasted approximately 23 years).... my Mom had made me get my hair cut super short and permed, I had these huge glasses than 80-year old wouldn't be caught dead in and I was about 230 pounds. Well my Mom bought me this outfit, it was light pink pants and a pink sweater (fuck you, it was the 80's and yes my Mom dressed me!). She kept telling me pink looked great with my skin tone and red hair. Anyway, I wore it to school one day and I remember after lunch they rang the bell which signaled us to line up and get ready to go into the school. As I walked by this group of guys one of them said "look at the baby pink elephant." Loud enough so I and the other people in line could hear. I was so embarrased, my cheeks went bright red, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. He and his friends laughed. I had tears in my eyes but I wouldn't cry. They would never fucking see me cry. I walked away...and I tortured myself for days after thinking of clever retorts I could have made. Bad names I could have called him. How I could have made him cry with my words (because trust me, I have that super power). But what really happened that day was that a part of my heart got shut down. The walls came up. I became that Wendy that no one would ever see cry or hurt or vulnerable. I always had a smile, a joke....most times at my own expense. I would make you laugh at me so you never had the power to hurt me first. I became an expert at that, hurting myself. Putting myself down. I'm going to be 40 in three months....thirty nine years on this earth and today, today I feel pretty. I no longer look in the mirror and see that pink elephant. I see a beautiful woman who has been scarred and damaged - but I look past that and in my eyes I see wisdom. Tenderness. Vulnerability.

I have never, in my whole life told that story to anyone.... it was my shame that I have held in my heart...for far too fucking long. I now know what people mean by the elephant in the room. It has been mine. Well guess what? I was fat (wow, it's funny how fat used to almost be a swear word up there with puppy killer), morbidly obese....but I was beautiful then and I'm beautiful now. That is not my shame anymore. Today, I forgive myself... not him, he's a dick.... I forgive myself for walking away from me. I forgive myself for shutting down... and doing things that harmed me.... I won't let that happen anymore. Finally, today, I have me.

Hot Yoga

So in my efforts to break this stupid weight loss stall and really get my shit together I decided to try Hot Yoga with some coworkers after they peer pressured me into it (which seriously why couldn't they peer pressure me into doing drugs or something fun)...anyway I have serious misgivings about Hot Yoga. One, I sweat like a hooker at church to begin with when I exercise but add heat on purpose - wtf? Second, I'm more into the kicking, punching kinda exercise so while all the people around me are being all calm and serene trees I just wanna kick them over. So tonight for some reason this place didn't have hot yoga until much later so I ended up doing this class called Fat Blaster. Holy. Fuck. I thought i was in shape, but no, no I am not. It really wasn't helpful because the a/c at this place wasn't working so I literally probably sweated out 20 pounds right there. The instructor was this young girl who wasn't paying attention to the participants to see if they were doing the exercises correctly and didn't appear to notice the fact that as she demonstrated (and I use this term loosely) the exercise that most of the class was looking at her like she was explaining quantum mechanics. Clueless I tell ya. To make matters worse since I'm trying to combine my efforts to be more comfortable with my body in combination with having something that isn't so damned hot as a t-shirt to work out in I had on my new Old Navy tank top with the built-in bra.......which apparently I should have got a size smaller since I was burstin' out all over the place. I literally felt like dying by the end of the hour, I was drenched in sweat, could barely lift my arms above my head but I swear if I had the chance I would have found the energy to chuck that medicine ball at Workout Barbie's head. Yeah, can't wait for Hot Yoga next week. Kill me now.