The Magical Rainbow-Farting Unicorn

Also known as the perfect sports bra.

I haven’t quite found it yet. The technology capable of halting all chestal motion for a woman of my stature might not actually exist, BUT what I did find recently is not too shabby.

It’s a Champion Spot Comfort Full-Support Sport Bra (style no. CH 1602), maximum hold, in size 40DDD. I normally wear a 38DDDD, but since the quad is super difficult to find I’ve discovered that if I go up a band size I can come down a cup size. And a slightly smallish cup size in sports bras isn’t a bad thing since compression helps. I was able to purchase said bra for $26.00 each online – and since any bra under $50.00 is a miraculous find, of course I got excited and purchased three. It’s made of sweat-wicking fabric, has comfy padded gel straps, provides a lot of coverage and feels pretty danged secure when I jump up and down in it. I am happy.

It looks like so:

I never expected to find something this good from Champion. First of all, it has no underwire, and as a general rule I never leave the house without underwire, but this particular contraption is capable of maximum support without it (via some kind of miraculous anti-gravity technology, I’m sure). Secondly, Champion is responsible for the unfortunate incident I had getting almost permanently stuck in a pull-on-over-the-head type bra after going swimming (I now reserve those bras strictly for yoga practice).

They’re also guilty of closing like this in the back with some of their styles:

I actually asked the salesperson in a shop recently if she knew anyone who was capable of getting into such a bra by themselves, and she admitted that she did not.

Bra retailers, seriously, stop making these. It’s not a fat-person thing, human bodies just are not designed to do fine manipulation of hook-and-eye closures at our middle backs while unable to see what we’re doing. Work with me, people.

At any rate, I am tentatively very happy with this purchase. It has yet to stand up to a full Zumba class though, so the true test of its resilience awaits!

That Awkward Moment You Realize Your Dad's in the Illuminati

Just before Christmas my Dad asked me to carry and deliver a trophy for him to someone at the company where I work.

It’s a bronze cup, 103 years old, engraved with the name of the organization and the names of all the previous winners over the past century. There’s a silver and a gold cup too (and possibly others) and the others are worth considerably more than the bronze I’d been asked to deliver.

The organization is called ‘The Mixers Club’, and they consist of the movers and shakers of Philadelphia industry who get together now and again to play golf, eat and drink fine food and drink, and decide how things are going to shake out insofar as local business is concerned.

In short, they’re our local branch of the Illuminati.

And my dad is one of them.

So I did what I thought was the only proper thing having come into possession of one of their holy relics; I captured it pirate-style on behalf of the office grogs of the world. Currently, I’m using it to decorate my cubicle. I had a Santa hat on it for Christmas, which was quite charming.

So far there’s been no backlash on account of my theft, but if you don’t hear from me for an extended period of time then I’ve probably been… grrrk…

Fnord.

Nerd Group Fitness

“One does not simply walk into Mordor…”

This is the basis of the extremely nerdy, Lord of the Rings-based walking challenge a friend of mine proposed at the start of this new year. That we, as a group, collectively try to cover the 1,779 mile distance between Hobbiton and Mount Doom.

He got the idea here.

If we’re doing it in a year it comes out to just under five miles per day (10,000 steps), which is the recommended amount of movement for an adult human anyway. Figuring out where we'd be in Middle Earth as we cover distance is just a fun way of keeping everyone interested and motivated to move. All you need to participate is a movement tracker of some sort and a bit of commitment.

At first we had some confusion over how to keep track of everyone. A Fitbit group would work, but not everyone uses a Fitbit, so we eventually settled on a Google spreadsheet where folks can log in each day and report their daily mileage and steps. It averages us all together so we know where we are as a group as well as individually.

I’m thinking of giving myself a reward at journey’s end for reaching Mount Doom. Technically, it should be a ride on a giant eagle’s back to Minis Tirith but since those are hard to come by I’ll try to think of something indulgent and frivolous that I normally wouldn’t get for myself (that isn’t food).

“Home is behind, the world ahead,

and there are many paths to tread

through shadows to the edge of night,

until the stars are all alight.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Seasonal Defective

The most difficult part of the year for me falls between January 2^nd and whenever spring arrives. The triple-threat festivities of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas are all packed away and there’s nothing to do but wait it out. A two to three month period of lingering cold, dark, and grey is just not my thing.

Snow is pretty, but when it hasn’t freshly fallen everything just looks very dead (I know the trees are just asleep, but they still look dead). Additionally with my long commute a fresh snowfall usually means driving danger, hassle, and long waits in traffic ahead.

It’s hard for me to stay warm during this time. I’m okay when I’m actively wrapped up in a lot of blankets and planted firmly in front of a space heater, but outside of those circumstances it’s not a question of if I’m cold, but rather how cold am I at the moment. I really, really don’t like being cold. It bums me out.

I like to walk outside, but the abovementioned aversion to cold stops me. I also don’t like to walk after the sun is down so since the sun is down all the time in winter there’s precious few outside walks to be had.

When I get home from work, it’s cold and dark. I am having really serious difficulty getting changed into lightweight workout clothes and leaving my house in the cold darkness at 7PM to go to the gym. I really want to, I know it will make me feel better, but in the moment I’m struggling against a profound desire for space heater induced hibernation.

I’m really struggling not to gain more weight, both because of my decreased physical activity and because being cold and huddled under blankets makes me want to eat nonstop. I’ve no need for additional blubber like a bear but my appetite doesn’t seem to want to be convinced.

A friend recently sent me an article about the wonderful Danish concept of hygge (pronounced “hoo-ga”) which means a good deal more than just getting warm and staying warm during a long winter. The Danes know how to not just survive the winter but embrace it with, “a relaxed, cozy time with friends and family, often with coffee, cake or beer.” Hygge, apparently, cannot really be described, it must be felt.

I need to learn to feel it. But I also need to feel my way off of my butt and back to the gym before I become permanently hygged by my couch.

The Forbidden Question

My husband and I started going to a new church a while back. We like it, and we plan to stay.

During the morning greeting a few weeks ago, a kindly older gentleman (I would estimate between 80 and 90 years of age) in a very sharp suit greeted me enthusiastically and after Ted and I introduced ourselves he asked me a question.

“Are you expecting?”

Yes, the question. The forbidden question. The one that should not be asked of a woman unless she actively has a baby coming out of her body at that exact moment in time. And even then, probably not.

Despite a lifetime of obesity this was, in fact, the very first time I’d been asked the forbidden question.

My response was to give a short laugh and reply, “oh no – I’m just fat.”

He was mortified. He apologized profusely, wandered off, and then came back to apologize again. On one hand he was really old enough to know better than to guess at such a thing, and on the other hand I felt really bad for him.

I also felt bad for myself. I went home and took the expected long, unhappy look at my round, saggy stomach. I also acknowledged that the real reason for the query was probably because I’d been wearing  a pair of jeans that were two sizes too large for me, and were thus creating a fabric pooch over a belly that really doesn’t need extra emphasis.

I know, wearing too-big clothes is a bad idea. And no, I’m not going to stop doing it.

That being said, it happened. It was uncomfortable for everyone involved, but I moved on.

Also, something occurred to me. What had the gentleman really been thinking about me? Not that I was fat, or that fat was a bad thing. He’d been thinking that I was young and vital enough for childbearing and that I looked like I was full of life.

Is that really an insult? Should it be?

We view “looking pregnant” as a bad thing. But it isn’t, and it shouldn’t be. There are people out there who would give almost anything to look pregnant. I have a round, soft, womanly belly. It’s not flat. Barring surgery it will never be flat. Flat is not its natural state. Flat is not, I would guess, the natural state of most women’s bellies.

I looked young, healthy, and full of life. I choose to take that as a compliment.

Thanks Under Armor

Disclaimer: I don’t work for Under Armor nor do I receive any sort of reward for promoting them. These are just my opinions based on companies I like to promote because they make me happy.

So I work out a lot. Or, at least more than the average American. I’ve learned over the past few years of upping my workout game that proper gear is extremely important, particularly with my physique. Compression leggings and sports bras with proper support make the difference between feeling good while jumping up and down and feeling as though parts of my body are moving in totally different directions in a distinctly uncomfortable fashion. “Sweat wicking” fabric is a MUST. I used to do cardio in ordinary cotton shirts. As I sweat, these shirts would become wetter, bigger, and heavier, until I was working out in a shirt that felt as though I’d jumped into a pool wearing it. Not comfy. I don’t know what the technology is that keeps certain fabrics dry despite copious amounts of sweating, but I’m grateful to whoever invented it.

Under Armor makes really great (and great looking) stuff both for staying warm in the cold and staying comfortable during a workout. I have a long sleeved thermal shirt from them and it’s made from a snuggly, remarkably thin material considering its purpose and how well it keeps me warm.

Their stuff doesn’t come cheap, but it does go on sale. I got the entire outfit pictured below for about $38.00 – which is not bad at all for quality workout gear.

Best of all? Size XS through size 2XL cost the exact same price. They have no fat fees!

So cheers to Under Armor, both for making quality workout and cold weather gear that fits a wide range of sizes and for treating me exactly the same as my slimmer athletic counterparts – you give me what I want, so I give you my thanks!

Post-workout RHAR!

Holiday Disordered Eating

On Halloween night I went out trick or treating with my friend’s daughter. Since she’s ten, she’s still young enough to want to do a stiff-limbed Frankenstein run up and down the street with me and would dutifully holler out, “Exterminate!” when I called after her to remember her catch phrase (she was dressed as a Dalek).

Ten year olds these days are hard to scare though. One house had gone all out with a full cemetery in the front yard, strobe lights, and creeping ghouls one had to dodge past in order to earn candy. She calmly explained to the ghoul that after playing Five Nights at Freddy’s nothing much scared her anymore. The ghoul just looked at me and shrugged.

It was a great time, and my Halloween loving neighborhood did not disappoint.

The next morning, I perused this article over my morning coffee. It details the cost (in jumping jacks) of each piece of “fun sized” candy consumed with the expectation that repentant post-Halloween dieters will be killing ourselves over the next few days frantically trying to burn off the extra chocolate. God forbid we all enjoy a silly holiday without feeling extreme guilt over the consumption of treat food.

I shrugged and made myself a bowl of oatmeal.

I ate candy on Halloween night, dipping into my stash for the visiting kids enough times that I probably need to do jumping jacks straight through the rest of the week non-stop as supposed penance, but I really don’t care. I’ll go back to the gym as usual, and go about my normal non-chocolate consuming life. I'm not interested in using physical activity as punishment for enjoying tasty food. My Zumba and Yoga classes are for physical fitness, relaxation and fun.

I remember being in weight loss support groups and garnering applause for suffering through Halloween without eating a single piece of candy, but I’m done with that all or nothing thinking now. I don’t consume candy most days, having it perhaps once every couple of months. Neither am I going to self-flagellate for my supposed ‘badness’ on days that I do. I will enjoy Halloween, and Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and Easter, and not spend those days stressing over whether I’ve managed to create a calorie deficit while celebrating. Nor am I plotting and planning a week in advance for how to at least break calorically even.

In our calorie dense environment restraint is necessary to think about, but holidays come only a few times a year, and they are to be enjoyed. Life is too precious to do otherwise.

Happy Halloween!