I stepped on the scale, and I am down to 135.0. Not bad, considering I had gained after my initial weigh-in. That's almost 3 pounds in a relatively short amount of time. I'm sure a lot of it was due to the stress of the last week, but I'll take it.
I'm still trying to come up with a good schedule for swinging. I have the strong urge to do it daily - alternating a lighter day with a heavier day, maybe 5 days a week, but I can't find any literature that says if that's ok, or if it's overdoing it. I've been the total slacker with aerobics, I feel like I get more out of the KBs in a far shorter amount of time. The kids miss it, though, they like to go play with their friends, so I think I need to get back into that routine, at least 2 days a week.
I have had a million posts rolling around in my head, but not any time to write. So today, I am committing to one. And given my obsessive and self deprecating posts about weight, food, and warped self body image, I think I have to go with this:
"Where I reveal the dark shameful secret that I should, I guess, feel bad about but really, I don't. I think it's kind of a hoot. "
or, "Where I talk about the last time I had a rockin' body"
Anyway, cast your mind. It's the winter of 1998, and I am trapped in a bad marriage. The husband wasn't a mean man, he didn't beat me or cheat, but he suffered from mental illness and a bad case of liking men ifyaknowwhatImean. I wanted out, desperately, but with no college degree, and experience only in retail and childcare, there was no way to raise enough money for a lawyer. Not to mention that we were deeply in debt. He had this charming habit of withdrawing all the money out of our account after I had sent off bills, therefor, everything would bounce. It was a bad, dark time. Tyler was still very little, and I felt like I was at a dead end. So, I decided to nut up and do what so many single moms have done before me: I got a job as a stripper.
I laugh whenever I see movies that portray the stripper lifestyle as fun, madcap, and a big adventure (are you listening to me, Demi Moore?) let's make no bones about it: it is the absolute seedy fucking underbelly of the world. Sure, I met a few nice girls, and I had a few regulars that gave me lots of money, just to sit and talk to them. But all in all, it sucked. With one exception. I was in the best shape of my life. Walking around for 8 hours in six inch heels, climbing and swinging around the pole, it was all the most unreal workout. I was all muscle and I was tiny. I weighed 117, the smallest since I was a teenager. I still have a few of my costumes that a part of me can't bear to get rid of, and I look at them and think, how the hell did I fit in that?
The saddest part of all this? I didn't appreciate what I had. As small as I was, I was considered one of the 'big' girls. Bouncers would talk about my 'big ass' and how I need to lose a few. And for every regular who tossed 50 dollar bills on stage, there were 20 other guys who would reject my offers of dances in the most unbelievably cruel ways. What little self esteem I had going into this, crumbled away to nothing.
Then, one night, we had a visit from the vice squad. Making sure everything was legal (it was a no touch club). I struck up a conversation with the detectives, mostly because I was interested in law enforcement, and I recall one of them said "why are you working here? You seem way to intelligent to be in a place like this." I went home that night, with my wad of cash, and decided that it wasn't worth it. I never went back. Two weeks later, I met Bryan. And my self esteem has been slowly on the mend ever since I met him. When a man who has videotaped you giving birth and really looking your worst still tells you you're beautiful, you know he means it.
So there it is, and unabashed, soul bearing look into my issues with my body. It was not the best of times, but it made me who I am today, and all in all, that's a good thing.
Paleo Bailey: I Knew This Couldn’t Be How My Life Was Meant To Be Lived - It’s Friday, everyone! And that means another Primal Blueprint Real Life Story from a Mark’s Daily Apple reader. If you have your own success story and w...