The Next Hundred Pounds

STRIPPER STRETCHING: FIVE HOT GIRLS AND ME

Viveca Jenson's Piloxing class (mixture of Pilates and boxing)

Ever noticed how, in photos of people engaged in fitness activities, there are never any fat people? I'm not talking about candid shots, but any sort of marketing or publicity photo. I get regular newsletters from LiveStrong, C25K, various magazines, and all sorts of other fitness organizations, all with lots of colorful pics of people engaged in all sorts of healthful activities, and there is never even one person who is even slightly overweight, unless it's in some sort of rude way, meant to show a lazy slob or a before/after pic. Or if it's a Richard Simmons product, 'cause Richard is not afraid of having the big people in his videos. Yaay, Richard. In fact, most of the people in the pics, especially the women, are oddly matchy-matchy in size and body type. And they usually have a lot of makeup on, and their hair looks bizarrely good for people who are supposedly engaged in sweat-inducing activities. I don't know about you, but when I'm working out, the last thing I want is makeup dripping in my eyes. My hair is in a ponytail and tucked under a bandana, which is not at all attractive but keeps hair and sweat out of my face.

I get why marketers want to do this. They want to present the most attractive people possible in order to 1) make you think this is a hot place/product filled with shiny beautiful people; 2) make you feel bad if you don't look like that, so you'll buy whatever they're selling in order to get yourself looking like that; 3) make you think that you are going to be one of that good-looking, well-groomed club if you buy what they're selling. I mean, if you're really using a gym the way it's supposed to be used, you are going to be disgusting, stinky, and dishevelled, at least til you hit the locker room. But reality don't sell memberships. So, shiny people.

Ironically, feeling out of place, or worrying about what they might look like, or how they'll keep up, actually keeps a lot of people from joining a gym or doing a physical activity. It's a fallacy, by the way. Sure, there are jerks out there, but this isn't your high school gym class anymore. Most athletes are really happy to have anybody join their club, and they admire effort as well as results. They will cheer you on.

Nevertheless, I often experience fish-out-of-water moments at the gym. Last night's new stretching class was a perfect example --- everybody else in there was slender, graceful, lookin' hot in their cute exercise togs, and all seemed to have dance training to match their dancer bodies. I don't begrudge them any of this, BTW. But then there was me, wearing a stained Livestrong T shirt, bike shorts, and a bandana. I did not feel sexy. I felt like a beached elephant seal as we rolled around on the floor. I immediately nicknamed it Stripper Stretching. It didn't help that we did it in the dark, accompanied by sexy music,  in the pole dancing studio. There was a lot of writhing around. If there had been men there, those ladies would have walked out with a lot of cash tucked in their spandex. And they would have deserved it, because they are marvelously athletic with beautiful, toned bodies, and boy are they bendy.

If I tried to protect my ego by never doing anything where people might look at me crossways (not that anybody did; no one at this gym has been anything but friendly and supportive), I'd never do anything at all. I made a decision a long, long time ago, way before I seriously set out to transform my body and fitness level, that I was not going to let being fat stand in my way of doing anything I really wanted to do --- assuming it was safe, affordable, and legal --- and that included dressing nicely. So when I go to the gym, sometimes I feel embarrassed because hell --- *I* don't want to look at myself in cute spandex workout outfits; my workout clothing mantra is "comfortable, cheap, supportive, covers the fat rolls". Or because I can't shake my entire body the way some of those girls in Zumba class do, at least without throwing my hips out  of whack or just looking like I'm having a seizure; or because I'm still really crappy at planks and sure as hell can't do them with my feet through the TRX handles, at an incline (but I can do pike pushups on the floor, and that's by God what I do when everybody else is doing'em with the TRXs).

This philosophy extends to other areas of life, too. The very high probability that I will look like an idiot doing something is not a good enough reason to keep me from trying it, if it interests me.  The very high probability that I will fail, or not be very good at it, at least at first, is a damned lousy reason not to try something. Because the fact is, morons with low self esteem and big mouths aside,  the majority of the people you encounter in any given situation are too worried about how inadequate they may appear to give a second thought to you.

There was a lady in Zumba class today wearing a great t-shirt that read STRONG IS THE NEW SKINNY. I found that inspiring (as did a lot of other women in the class, who clustered around to admire it). This shouldn't be taken as a dig against skinny people; but skinny isn't attainable for everyone, and all things being equal, strong is, if you're willing to work for it. So I approve that message.

The point is, don't let anybody hold you back from your goals. The most important thing is not whether you fit in, whether you look good doing it, whether it takes you five times or five thousand to get it right. The important thing is that you are out there doing it, because you want to, or because you want what it will bring you more than you want to indulge whatever is in your way.

Go out there and get your share.

SENSITIVITY

The wardrobe guy was definitely searching for words. Italian, his hands spoke volumes as they gestured in large circles, indicating my chest, which was busting out of the too-small, too-short jacket the rental house had sent.  Three women also stood around me, pulling at the fabric, moving my arms here and there, inspecting seam allowances, and musing as consultations in English, Italian, and Spanish whizzed by, simutaneously. Nothing the shop had sent fit, and it was their job to make it fit and look good, but the Italian wardrobe master wasn't happy with the design, not for my body.  "This jacket is for a woman who is much smaller!" he said. "It will not look right on one who is not ---" His hands made slenderizing motions  "--- who is so much more ---" His hands rolled to describe the volume of my breasts "--- voluptuous!" he at last exclaimed triumphantly. He had found just the right word, complimentary and inoffensive, one that didn't come right out and say what he was thinking, which was that I am fat. Or at least, too fat for these costumes.

At least, that's what I took him to mean, and I smiled. It's embarrassing, standing there in costumes that are too small, while the wardrobe people talk about adding panels and making new belts. And it could happen to anyone, even if you're not, in fact, fat --- sometimes the stuff the rental house sends just doesn't fit. So perhaps I am just being overly sensitive. I appreciated his diplomacy, but inwardly winced every time he used the word (having discovered it, he was sticking with it) and also when he gallantly exclaimed that we had to find just the right cut and material for "this pretty lady."

Because by that time, I wasn't hearing  the positive associations of "voluptuous", which after all is a perfectly fine and actually quite sexy word. I wasn't hearing "pretty". I was hearing old tapes, as my friend David calls them.

I was hearing "fat".

Here are some things my cool FaceBook friends said in response to my post about being called voluptuous:

"I like to think it means you are proportioned!"

"I think it is a way of saying, 'You don't have the body of a young adolescent boy with fake body parts inserted or sewn on.'"

"In my mind, that word has always gone hand in hand with some drool dripping down my chin."

How strange and disconcerting it is, having lost as much weight as I have (and put some of it back on), to find myself fighting the old battles. It's much worse, this time --- I am much more bothered by body image issues than I ever was when I weighed over 300 pounds. Somehow it's a bigger failure to be fat again --even if it's not as fat --- after having not been fat for a few years.

But only on some days, like today. On other days, I feel strong and beautiful and unfat, and able to focus on my accomplishments. On other days, I can own the word "voluptuous" and not give it negative associations.

I've had a nasty cold for the past several days, and haven't had the energy for the gym. That's been annoying, and probably a great contributor to my crankiness and sensitivity. But tomorrow will be a gym day, even if I can't finish a class. I miss it, I'm really bummed that the roll I was on crashed, and I'm anxious to get back to it. I'm proud that, even if I have gained weight, I'm fitter than ever before. I'm proud that I eat better and know more about nutrition. 

Tomorrow, I will work out. I will eat well. I will concentrate on fitness and health and on putting one foot in front of the other, because I'm not about to give up.

And tomorrow, I will be voluptuous instead of fat.

EMPATHY

Tomorrow's blog will be very special  and a new event for The Next 100 Pounds. I'll be interviewing Kim Witman, the director of Wolf Trap Opera  in Vienna, Virginia, and an inveterate blogger herself.  Kim speaks very frankly about health and fitness as they relate to the young, aspiring opera singers she mentors, and gives us a glimpse into the work these young singers do. If you live close to Washington, DC, you should treat yourself to a trip to Wolf Trap to hear some stars of tomorrow!

Last night while puttering around the kitchen, I had the TV on and caught a bit of the Biggest Loser. They were introducing the new season's contestants, and this involved making them strip down to skintight workout shorts (unflattering bra tops without much support for the women) and weigh in front of a stadium full of people. As I watched one huge man, so large he could barely walk, shuffle towards the scale, tears began to roll down my face. I wept through the rest of the weigh-ins. Some of these people weighed over 500 pounds. Not only did they have to strip down in front of all these people (who, I gathered, were their friends and loved ones), but on discovering their weight had to introduce themselves to the camera and say how much they weighed. One poor woman who had not been on a scale in years burst into tears when she realized that she weighed 264 pounds, and was unable to complete the introduction.

Now, I am not really a Biggest Loser fan (although I did once actually apply to be on the show --- a story I'll tell another time). The contestants are helped, but they are also exploited, and many of the regain the weight once they are out of the limelight and no longer have Jillian Michaels or Bob Harper breathing down their necks. They lose the weight fast, and it's not surprising that it comes back on fast, too, when they aren't starving themselves and working out six hours a day.

But what made me cry for them was the humiliation. Really. Really? I know this is supposed to be entertaining and all, but is it truly necessary to make these people publicly humiliate themselves under the guise of it being for their own good? Is it really necessary to make them strip, show their bodies, step on the scale for the first time in front of the world? And what about the people who get sent home, especially early on --- how must they feel, having gone through all of this and then being sent back to the environment that contributed to their problem, all but empty-handed?

I know they sign on for it. And I know why: hope. They hope to finally beat whatever demon drives them to obesity. They are finally at the point where they will do whatever it takes --- in this case, leaving their families and jobs for six months, doing a lot of very difficult mental and physical labor, educating themselves, and yes, jumping through whatever hoops the producers can concoct. Baring their souls and their bodies, showing in the most public way what many of them have, no doubt, traditionally done all they could to hide. And yes, facing public humiliation.

 I have certainly been there, and I'm willing to bet that if you're reading this blog, chances are you have been, too. We all know what it's like to want so badly to lose that damned weight that we will try crazy things. Insane diets. Ridiculous programs and products. Over-the-top exercise routines. Risky surgeries that we may not be mentally prepared to reap the benefits of. No, I think we all know why they're there.

I also cried for those people because I remember what it feels like to be that big and spend every waking moment wishing I wasn't. Wishing I literally fit in --- fit in the airplane seat, fit in the pretty clothes, fit in the role of someone perceived as beautiful and desirable. And I wasn't particularly unhappy when I was fat. I thought about it all the time but I still had pretty good self-esteem, all things considered, and dressed pretty well and didn't let being fat stop me from whatever I wanted to do. Still, that pain was always there, right under the surface, and I suppose seeing those people just brought it back.

I wish them all the best. I hope the show does what it's supposed to do for them, teaches them how to eat and work out better, how to deal with their food issues. I hope they are successful in losing weight and keeping it off. They are the Biggest Winners, just for trying.

A LITTLE THING, A BIG DIFFERENCE

Maybe it's the Michelle Obama influence, but I am totally into dresses this spring. Much to my husband's delight, I've been wearing them more often. I've always liked dresses and skirts, but when I was heavy, there were always logistics involved in wearing them. There are always more logistics involved in dressing when you're fat and trying to minimize it. (I say that because there are plenty of ladies who are fat and proud and fantastic, and not trying to hide themselves). For me, the chief area of concern in wearing dresses and skirts was Tub Rub, and without going into too much gory detail let me just mention thighs and sweat in the same sentence, and I think you'll get the picture. I always had an assortment of bike shorts to wear under skirts and dresses, and that got tiresome, especially if pantyhose were also involved. The only time I could do without was if I were wearing opaque cotton tights.

But now, FREEDOM! It feels so good. It got me to thinking about the other things I don't have to worry about any more, things that used to take up a considerable amount of brain space as I plotted and manouevered for maximum comfort while avoiding looking awkward. For example, the opera I'm currently rehearsing, Dialogues of the Carmelites, requires a great deal of kneeling (hey, we're all nuns!). Everyone wears these big bike kneepads in rehearsal. I don't have to rummage around to find the largest pair and struggle to get them on over my pants leg, where they cut off my circulation and ensure hours of discomfort. They even fit under my pants, and I can just pull them right on, no struggle.

In addition to kneeling, we have to lie face down on the floor in the position of obedience, sometimes for long periods of time, and of course you have to get up and down gracefully. Thanks to my time spent doing planks and yoga, this is quite easy for me; it wouldn't have been at one time!

There is a scene in the opera in which I must be lifted and carried, on a bed no less; and later on a stretcher, by six women. At my old weight, this would have been an impossibility, not to mention completely humiliating. But when we rehearsed it, there was no issue, none.

Trying on clothing, I no longer have to look for the biggest size. I can always find something. And my humongous feet are also smaller. I don't always have to have a wide-width shoe any more, which opens up more possibilities.

When I'm getting dressed, I don't have to arrange every outfit around how well it hides my stomach. I'm far from perfect, but I just don't worry about a little sag and bag here and there. I figure that if I am confident and if I think I look great, no one is going to notice the flaws. I refuse to wear anything baggy, though. All my shirts are body-skimming; partially because that's what looks good on me, but also because let's face it, I want to show off!

This post may seem like it's nothing but bragging. It's not intended that way. Every day, I need new inspiration to keep me on track; and one of the most inspiring things for me personally is to look at where I've been and where I am now, to encourage myself to keep going. Especially now, when the weight loss has slowed down so drastically, and I am too busy in my professional life to exercise like I should, I need to find ways to keep going. And also, I hope it will inspire others to think about the little, everyday ways your life can improve when you improve your health and your body. Sometimes the smallest things make the biggest difference in your everyday quality of life, and this is really what I'm marvelling over: all the little things that are no longer even an issue, thanks to my weight loss.

AN INVITATION TO FLY

This afternoon, back home in Austin, I went for a much-needed jog. I was very happy not to have gained any weight on my trip (especially since I ate more desserts than were perhaps necessary or prudent), but thanks to the horrid weather I didn't get to do much exercise while there, though I did walk as much as possible.

The jog felt great. This time, I didn't suffer much in the first couple of minutes, except that almost immediately I got a slight stitch under my top left rib. It eventually went away, but not before reminding me of why I have spent much of my adolescent-to-adult life hating running. When I was heavy, I almost always got stitches right away. Also, I hated feeling all sweaty and out of breath. As a fat person, I did not want to be seen huffing and puffing and sweating and miserable because then, THEN, dear readers, people might think I was fat.

Yeah, let that logic sink in a little.

Like many fat people, I had an elaborate psychological mechanism in place to help me avoid dealing with my fatness. Part of that was pretending not to be fat, in the hopes that others a) would not notice that I was fat or b) wouldn't think I was all that fat because, ya know, I could still do stuff and dress well and so on, just like a real, non-fat person.

The thinking is a mess on so many levels. Fact: plenty of fat people are plenty active. Fact: plenty of fat people dress beautifully. Fact: plenty of people have no problem with their fatness.

But I did, whether I acknowledged it or not; and if I hadn't, I wouldn't ultimately have taken steps to change. I would not have been led to a healthier relationship with food and exercise, and my body would not now be whispering to me, "We can move a little faster. We can work a little harder. It would feel good."

This is what the jogging is about, I think. A number of years ago, when I was still in training to be a singer, I spent a summer in North Carolina at an opera workshop. It was located in a somewhat remote location outside a small town. One day, my roommate and I decided to go for a hike in the mountains. It was a beautiful, sunny, fresh day, and as we crested one of the trails I looked down and felt like I could fly. I wanted to run down that trail. It was steep and narrow and rough and I was fat and out of shape, but something in me called for me to run. My roommate thought I was crazy, but I did it. I ran joyously down the mountain, taking great leaping strides, and I did feel like I was flying. I felt as if any moment, my feet would not come back to earth, and I would merely sail into the air; and I was vaguely disappointed that this magic did not actually happen. When I reached the bottom of the trail, exhilarated and barely out of breath, I was also sad that I was no longer flying. I have never forgotten that delicious bouyancy, that freedom.

That invitation to fly, as I have come to recognize, is what I feel at the beginning of each jog. I think that it's what got me flirting with jogging, and that delicate flirtation has turned into the very tender beginning of a romance. Today I ran for 38 minutes without stopping, a personal record; I also went further than I ever have before. I got to the spot in the trail where I'd intended to turn around, and realized that I didn't want to retrace my steps. I wanted to go forward, into new (new to jogging, anyway) territory. After that, it was simply a matter of inhabiting my motto --- keep doing it until you can't.

There's a lovely metaphor in all of that. But again, what it comes down to, is listening to your body. Mine, freed from its one hundred and thirty pound burden, given the liberty to move as it pleases, has begun to whisper to me  again of flying. And I am listening.

UNWRAP THE PRESENT

I'm doing it, guys.

Slowly but surely, I'm moving out of my old, baggy workout clothes into things that are more form-fitting. It feels great, and I highly recommend it.

It feels great psychologically, of course; you're ABLE to wear a smaller, more body-skimming garment without feeling self-conscious. You're able to wear cute athletic outfits, just like the real athletes and gym bunnies do. Oh. Wait a minute. Maybe you now ARE a gym bunny. Maybe you now ARE an athlete of some sort. What a strange idea. I mean, Lance Armstrong has nothing to fear from you, but still. You're out there movin' the butt on a regular basis. There's a strange hard substance under your skin which possibly could be identified as MUSCLE. You're thinking about taking an actual aerobics class because hey, this time you would not even suck at it.

It feels even better physically. A  nice, close-fitting garment in some lovely breathable stretchy material helps contain the jiggle. It smooths the lumps, to some degree. And yet you can move so easily. It also allows you to see what you are doing when you're working out. (A word of caution: beware the shiny. One of my new pairs of capris has a slight sheen, which attracted unwelcome trainer attention/censure when my booty was not low enough while holding plank position. Damn you, shiny pants! Damn you)!

Now, we who have lived as fat people know that it's all about the camouflauge. We are experts at covering up, usually under lots of extra fabric ---which, BTW, makes you look fatter and doesn't fool anyone --- and when you start losing, it can be very hard to let go of that comforting layer of protection between yourself and the cold, cruel world. But it's time to come out from under the camo, and to own who you are. Clothes that fit, whether they are workout togs or daywear, will make you look and feel better. Don't keep those too-big items hanging around; donate them and get yourself some new, flattering outfits. (I have a group of online friends who regularly circulate clothes. I have been on the giving AND the receiving end!) Also, you may need to get some expert help to find clothing that really fits, especially when you start going into smaller sizes. I remember reading one of Jenette Fulda's posts over at PastaQueen; she posted pics of her brand new duds and her jeans were at least two sizes too big! At the time, she just couldn't picture herself in anything smaller. I also recall when a certain Beck buddy came to visit and was invited to shop my closet; how surprised she was when I gently suggested that the reason some things weren't fitting as they should was because she needed new foundation garments.

A lot of fat people don't practice looking in the mirror or at photos of themselves(I know I didn't --- I always looked a lot better in my mind's eye than anywhere else). Do yourself a favor, and take some photos of yourself right now. Do it at least once a month, and take your measurements too. It will be an invaluable tool for tracking the changes, and even though you won't see a lot of difference at first, eventually, you'll see BIG differences.

And remember ... you deserve to look and feel good right now, not 5 or 10 or 50 pounds from now. Life is what is happening right now, not a certain number of pounds from now. Don't be afraid to live it in fabulous clothes.

DEFENDING OPERA, DEFENDING THE FAT

Over at the Wolf Trap Opera blog, blogger Kim recently posted about a disturbing trend in which some opera companies are writing weigh-in clauses into their contracts: if a singer gains a certain amount of weight before the contract begins, he or she may be fired. This is one outcome of another disturbing trend in opera (and in society at large), of valuing people who fit into a narrowly defined ideal of beauty over others. This ideal, of course, excludes fat people.

It may seem hypocritical of me, engaged in major weight loss, to find fault with this kind of thinking. I have chosen to lose weight for many reasons. A chance at improving my singing career is certainly one of them, but it is hardly the primary reason; in fact, it’s more like a fringe benefit. After all, I’ve been “singing fat” for many years now.

I posted a comment saying that opera should be defended against the sort of homogenization and plasticization that Hollywood has fallen prey to. (Look at the stars of yesteryear; while there were certainly very many “beautiful people”, there were just as many who weren’t physically gorgeous, but were all the more interesting because of it: Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn, just to name two).

An anonymous poster who very much wishes she could sing responded with a very typical anti-fat response: the world is image-conscious, that’s just the way it is, you’re lucky to be able to sing so quit whining and hit the gym. She reiterated these sentiments in a second post.

There is just so much logically wrong with this that it’s hard to know where to begin, and I’m hesitant to address it in the Wolf Trap blog because I’m not sure Kim wants this kind of back-and-forth which may not be on topic for her blog. However, as a singer, a lifelong fatty, and a person who is fighting to lose weight, I feel I have to respond to this kind of thinking.

First, I’d like to say to Anon: you and I share the same wish! I certainly wish that all I had to do to be able to sing was go to the gym every day! Boy, that would be a lot easier (and cheaper!) than spending so much time training my voice, studying languages, translating scores, researching roles, staying on top of my agent, traveling for auditions, networking, job hunting, and oh yes --- going to the gym seven days a week on top of all that. Yes, that would be an excellent trade.

Secondly, I’d like to say that as a professional, managed, working singer who has had a career as a fat person for many years; and as someone who in fact travels the country educating young singers about how to get into the business; I have a pretty good handle on what the realities of that business are. I know all about how image conscious it is. The opinion of the general director whom Anon quoted is not news to me.

Thirdly, while I am a firm believer in dealing with the reality that is, attempting to change an unfair or undesireable reality is not mutually exclusive. We are not constrained to “accept the world we live in and move on”. If that advice were to be universally accepted, there would be no progress; certainly society would be still mired in the Dark Ages. And while we’re on the subject, please do note (an acknowledgement would be nice, but is unhoped for) that criticism of a situation does not necessarily equal “whining and crying”. It’s always interesting to me that the moment someone protests against bigotry against fat people, however reasonable their argument, they are accused of whining.

Fifth, while I don’t dispute that the bottom line for weight loss is fewer calories, more exercise, successful long term weight loss is in reality a great deal more complicated, involving many psychological and physical factors that differ according to the individual. The attempt to reduce such a complicated process to a simple formula indicates a lack of understanding and certainly a lack of empathy. Discipline or the lack thereof has very little to do with successful weight loss. The fact that I can apply discipline in one area of my life does not mean that I can apply it equally successfully in another. If that were truly possible, then I could do anything I set my mind to; but the reality is that every human being has certain limitations. Anon wishes she could sing. Injury or deformity notwithstanding, there is no physical reason why she couldn’t learn to sing. Perhaps she merely lacks the discipline.

Sixth, Anon made an enormous and unfounded assumption that my criticism of the opera world’s emerging image consciousness somehow equals making excuses for being fat. My argument is that human beings come in all shapes, sizes, and colors; and people who are not “beautiful” fall in love and have drama in their lives and are interesting, exciting, and accomplished just like beautiful people are. I believe, and wish that, art would continue to reflect this. This is not excuse-making; nor is it whining. It is a valid opinion. I have no interest in homogeneity; and as an artist, I don’t think it has a place in the kind of art I personally am interested in hearing, seeing, and making.

Seventh, whether or not I am “lucky” and “blessed” to be able to sing has no bearing on this argument. I work very hard for my career and the fact that I am by nature inclined towards this work does not make up for any inequities that might exist in the business.

Nor does the fact that Anon wishes she could sing and thinks that daily trips to the gym are an easy trade for a career have any bearing on the argument. It might be an easy trade for her, but it might be a very difficult one for someone else. Further, it’s fallacious, because in fact there are a very great many more factors that go into making a successful singing career than merely being attractive.

It probably will do no good to address these issues point by point; fat is a hot-button issue for many people and once they hear the dread word mentioned, it’s very difficult to get them to think about it and discuss it outside the box. The assumptions start to pile up and pretty soon there’s a wall no logic can penetrate. Still, I feel compelled to try. The fact that I am successfully losing a great deal of weight doesn’t change the years I have spent as a fat person, dealing with the peculiar forms of bigotry directed towards the fat. I will always see that, and I hope I will always struggle against it. I also hope I will always defend my beloved art form against what I see as the boring, mundane, and conventional.

BODY DYSMORPHIA

One hears a lot of talk these days about body dysmorphia, a psychiatric disorder in which the sufferer is fixated on a real (usually minor) or imagined physical defect to the point where his or her social interactions are severely affected. However the term is often used to describe a sort of general, negatively inaccurate view of one’s body, specifically, weight. The latter definition is frequently used by women, especially among people who suffer from eating disorders, who are struggling to accept themselves as beautiful and worthy as they are. They feel that society’s image of beauty is so distorted and so narrowly defined, and many of them have, for years, tried to force themselves into that tight little mold, sometimes doing themselves a great deal of damage in the process.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I have body dysmorphia according to either definition, but I am discovering in myself an odd inability to reconcile what I really look like, especially compared to other people.  As previously mentioned, sometimes when we’re walking, I’ll ask my husband whether a woman we see is bigger or smaller than me. I can’t tell. I am so accustomed, from years of practice, to simply assuming that I am the biggest woman in the room. Now, even as I watch the numbers on the scale and on my clothing dwindle, my brain still thinks I’m fat.

That’s not to say I don’t like how I look now, or don’t recognize the bone structure emerging under my skin. But when I look in the mirror, I still see a fat person. This picture on the left is from my opera workshop this weekend, and prompted a friend to tell me, “You look skinny!”. I've also recently heard “You’re hardly recognizable!”. One person told me, “You finally have a shape.”  I revel in these compliments, but inside I wonder … when will I really be slender, and will I recognize when I am? How will I know when enough is enough? I don’t really have a goal weight. There are numbers that sound good to me, but I know better than to fixate on a silly number --- my body will tell me when it’s time. I just don’t know if my mind will hear it.

I know that I want to be in a lot better shape than I am now, and I am so happy to be training again. When I look around the gym, I notice that my trainer is in better shape than anyone else there. She has a great body, muscular and yet still very feminine. I don’t think I could ever get myself to look like her, or if I’d even want to take it that far, but I would like to see how far I could go. I’d be happy to get rid of all the jiggly bits (except the ones that are supposed to be there).

My dear friend and diet coach is here for a visit; it’s our mutual vacation. Yesterday we spent an afternoon lounging at the Oasis, drinking margaritas and soaking up the beautiful view of the lake. We ate chips and guacamole and queso for dinner, and then we came home and did a good two-hour walk. I did the same thing to her I do to my husband, pointing out women and making her tell me whether they were bigger or smaller than me. She pointed out a woman who, unprompted, I would have said was “average”, not exactly slender but not fat, either. That woman, she said, is the same size you are.

Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be “average”.

CRUNCH TIME!

It’s crunch time, folks, and I mean that both figuratively and literally. The opera workshop which I am administering and directing is in its final week, with two performances next weekend. If you’re in the neighborhood, please come! It’s free, and there are two completely different programs, one on Saturday, July 26 at 1 p.m., and the other on Sunday, July 27 at 3. Both are in Jones Hall in the Ragsdale Center, at St. Edward’s University in Austin.

Also, on Monday I get to start training again! It seems like it’s been forever, and I confess to being a bit apprehensive. I’m sure I’ll be back to square one (if not further) as far as strength goes, and I do still have to be careful. But I’m excited to get back to my training schedule.

As for the weight loss, I’m back where I was two weeks ago, which is down from the Horrid Six Pound Travel Gain, but two above my lowest point this month. July is turning out to be a lot like March in that regard; March was the six-month mark and a big struggle. The scale was all over the place and I only lost four pounds.

Although it’s frustrating not to keep losing at the steady pace, or lose as much as I’d like as quickly as I’d like, I am not particularly upset about this rough spot. Perhaps it’s because I’m so busy; but I rather think it’s because I’ve been here before and now recognize it as merely a rough patch, a natural setback in the overall process which will be remedied soon if I just keep eating right and exercising. (Which I am doing --- over two hours on the trail today, with a wildlife count of 7 deer including two bucks and one fawn; four bunnies; and an armadillo).

It also helps to keep perspective. Although I haven’t lost more, I could swear my body looks different. I’ve been doing some experimental shopping when possible, meaning that I try on a lot of stuff to see what sizes and styles fit the new me. It’s sometimes surprising, and frequently hard not to buy everything that fits (or almost fits) just because the number on the tag is, for me, freakishly low. (I operated on that system for many years, buying pieces because they were the right size and fit rather than because I really liked them. Fat people do that, sometimes. You never know if you’ll luck into the perfect thing or even the acceptable thing in your size; so you tend to grab whatever will more or less do). I’m trying to be more selective, now. However, I did manage to come home from the last trip with several goodies and a nice little ego boost.

Audition season is coming, and I’m fantasizing about a fabulous dress (not to mention making all the general directors who haven’t seen me for 110-plus pounds doing a doubletake). But first, I have to live through all the crunches. Literal and figurative.

SINGIN' IN THE RAIN

Someone asked me a while back whether I thought my friends would treat me differently once I’d lost weight. I immediately said no; my friends are cool. I don’t expect them to think of me any differently. They liked me fat; why shouldn’t they like me slender? I am the same person; I just look different. One of my voice students who hadn’t had a lesson in months came in the other day. She said casually, “Wow, you look great. Of course, I thought you looked great before, too.” Happily, this is my husband’s attitude as well. The chorus of support has been overwhelming, not to mention very much instrumental in my success.

Perhaps because I’ve made such a public spectacle of my weight loss journey, however, a few folks have felt free to make some odd little comments. I honestly don’t think they mean to be rude; they may even think they 're helpful --- like the ones who have feel compelled to warn me about how haaaaaarrrrrrd it is to keep that weight off (after all, they weren’t successful in doing so, after their diets ended);   someone even remarked on how unbelievably fat I was before (not in so many words, but that was the gist).

I try to take such comments in the spirit in which they seem to be intended, which I honestly don't feel to be malice. There may be a little subconscious envy at work there;  or as my friend H.T. said, people who failed to keep the weight off might feel on some level that my own weight loss somehow invalidates them; but most likely, people just don’t quite know what to say beyond “Congratulations.”

For the record, “congratulations” is quite sufficient. Comments about how fat I used to be, on the other hand, are not welcome, appropriate, or necessary. Honestly, would you go up to a friend who’d had plastic surgery and say, “Thank God you finally got that nose job; it really needed some work!” ?  Would you say to a couple who’s finally been successful in getting pregnant, “Congratulations! I hope you can carry it to term --- statistics are against you.”?  "Wow, you were really huge! You look so much better now!" is exactly the same sort of comment.  If you're the type of person who goes around saying such things, I can promise you that however people respond to your face, they are not saying nice things about you once the doorknob grazes your backside.

If you want to talk to me about diets,  that’s fine --- but just so you know, I am not dieting. I eat what I want to eat, though admittedly in smaller portions than I did before, but believe me, if I want a cheeseburger, I am going to have a cheeseburger. The next day, I will probably eat nothing but yogurt and salads, but I happen to like yogurt and salads, so there is no deprivation. The difference between what I am doing and a diet is that a diet is temporary and involves eating certain prescribed things and banning others. And this does not work. It’s been proven over and over again.

I consider that I have made a lifestyle change. It is not always easy. Sometimes I would like nothing better than to return to my old habits, even just for a couple of hours. Sometimes I get really tired of having to be vigilant. Other days, food and eating are the last things on my mind. I’m much more concerned about getting in an extra workout than a slice of pie. That’s what feels good to me now, most of the time. I acknowledge that I will have to be on guard against my old habits for the rest of my life. I’m okay with that.

Besides, it’s a little early to start raining on my parade. I am far from being done losing weight. Heck, if you believe those BMI charts, I still qualify as “obese”.   One hundred pounds was just a milestone, although it was an important one, and one I am not through celebrating, thank you very much.

I didn’t let a plateau derail me; neither the difficulty of eating well while traveling nor nearly nine months of hard work nor a freaking broken wrist have managed to wrench me off this path I have set for myself. I’ve got my wellies on and my giant industrial strength golf umbrella in hand, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be discouraged by a little rain.