I’m on this mission to reclaim my body. Somewhere between having my baby (who’s almost 18!) and now, I lost my Brick House, 36-24-36, figure. I can’t tell you where I lost it to or how, just that it’s been long gone and I have a whole attic of clothing that misses it terribly. I mean, really, this baby fat thing has just gotten way out of control. All my mighty mighty has grown creases and crevices that I didn’t know it was humanly possible to have. I’m sure if I were to check I’d find that certain body parts aren't supposed to be stacked where mine seem to be piling up.
I’m recalling this Roseanne episode some years ago where Roseanne has a breast reduction. The closing scene shows her and the hubby about to explore her nether regions for the first time since her operation and she has to guide his hands farther up the launch pad ‘cause the twins were actually sitting much higher on their pedestal than they’d been sitting pre-surgery. The fact that my own girls are dragging so close to my knees at the moment that I am probably just weeks away from my nipples scrapping the floor does not excite me. I can only imagine what the thought is doing for the hubby. After 25 years he doesn’t dare say one word, but hey, what if I should ever have to go looking for hubby #2? You all know there is only so much support a support bra can give you. The thought of being naked in front of someone new gives me a panic attack. Can you just imagine the twins dragging over new carpet, or unfamiliar hardwood flooring? That is just not a pretty thought! Lord, I’d probably never take my clothes off again and that surely wouldn’t help ignite any new relationship fires. For that matter, I don’t see that it’s going to do much for any old relationship flames either.
Now, to complete this mission I know I can’t do it alone. I’m not going to lie to you. I need help because I’ve got a few issues. First, I love me some food. Preferably food with lots of butter and olive oil, pasta and sauces, much, much crusty bread, and decadent, desserts that eat up a week's worth of calories. I also hate to exercise. Exercise is just sheer torture, like pulling teeth without novocaine torture. And, unfortunately I have to exercise. I could eat low-fat, low-carb, low-calorie, no-taste food products and still gain another hundred pounds if I didn’t exercise. Now, I have no shortage of exercise videos. I can tell you things about Billy Blanks and Taebo I bet Billy doesn’t even know, but I’ve got to kick Billy to the curb for some really hard core incentive if I hope to get the twins up off the floor and back down to their fighting weight.
I recently enlisted to participate in a Duke Hospital medical study on exercise and it’s impact on cholesterol, heart disease, and other health related issues that impact folk that might be carrying a little excess body baggage. I figure if I'm going to do this I may as well do it right for the last time and get healthier in the process. I finished my first wave of examinations which included a body scan to look at my arteries, a muscle biopsy for pre and post study observations, and all kinds of body fat, body mass index, and strength tests. I get a short control phase where I don’t do anything, then I have to work with their team of nutritionists and trainers for the next nine months learning how to rethink how I eat and treat my body. And I have to exercise in their gym, five days per week, one hour per day. I’m hoping the trainer is some drop dead gorgeous, real buff, beefcake, eye-candy. That kind of incentive would surely help the twins come to attention at five o’clock in the morning when I have to show up at the gym!
So, wish me luck. Lord knows I’m going to need it. Reclaiming one’s body is surely no easy feat to accomplish, especially when you're on a treadmill and the girls are either skidding over the conveyor or slapping you in the eye!