I have wanted to lose eight pounds since this time last year. I have not lost an ounce. I have not gained any weight, either, so there is something to be said for that. Eight pounds is stuck in my head like a vehement preference to Folgers coffee versus Maxwell House; still! My waist and weight have not budged. I can go on Adkins and suddenly there are some slim line abdominals after three days. Never mind I feel like a tumbleweed, as vegetarians famously don’t do well on no carb diets, but with this I can practice yoga in a belly shirt so Dr. Adkins must know something I don’t.
I have not purchased jeans since I decided this time last year I need to lose eight pounds. I have needed jeans. But I dug my heels in. Spitefully, I wear the shrunken Levis and unappealing capris until such a time as the scale moves down eight digits.
I have been trying to figure out what created this particular obsession. My kung fu body was one hundred and twenty-three pounds. I was tiny, boasting plenty of room in a size two. My clavicle cast a shadow across my bony chest like a sundial, but the numbers on the scale were more than acceptable. I was also over-trained with some damage to my hip flexors from weighted kick training. I didn’t have a period for six months. But I looked good.
Come to find out, I did not look so good. Seeing myself in pictures, I look hungry. Starved for self-love, confidence and a nice salad with dressing, that’s how I looked. There was some feeling of worth that came with wearing those size two pants and casting such a lean silhouette. I leveraged the ability to hold my own space against an idealized and warped body image.
For the record, I did not have any better luck with men when I was a size two. I did not have more fun and I was not any wealthier. What I did notice is that my body size, training and what I put into my mouth took up a lot of my time and attention. Ultimately, something had to give, as having a six pack is a full time job. Lately, my perspective is changing. I’ve felt it in the air and I have tentatively started to embrace this reckless self-acceptance.
My yoga friends help – a lot. Yoga hosts some of the most varied figures I have ever seen in one grouping. There is the high and tight little butt I want to have one day. The fifty year old in the group is the one with the high and tight little butt, too, which makes me want to do yoga forever. There is the new mother with the “mommy tummy” who is precious. There are small bodies that reach and strive for poses and there are commanding figures that seem to take up all the space in the room. Chicken legs and thunder thighs, all equally at home in their practice, all equally admirable and beautiful.
My yoga friends seem to have an awe inspiring comfort in their own skin. There is no self-conscious tugging on the too short top when they are folded over their legs. There is no judgment here. Yet I have been the single most difficult judge to please when regarding my own figure. My yoga friends with their super delicious yoga bodies think everyone is perfect however they come. I think everyone but me is perfect how they come.
Tonight I made a big decision. Me and my “extra” eight pounds decided to go to the mall and buy jeans. Yup, I’ve needed jeans for a year and I decide today is the day. I’m willing to suck it up and suck it in and see what size I wear in my state of “big and beautiful”. I don’t even know my size anymore, I’ve been afraid to ask my thighs about those particular digits. So I go into the store blind.
I walk into a jeans store and a smiling dude walks up, “What are we shopping for today?”
I immediately think, Geeze, a dude. What comedy are the fates working on now? I have to get a guy to measure me! Lucky, I’m wearing purple yoga pants and a Halloween shirt my niece gave me, so I’m feeling especially brave; presents from eight year olds are known for bolstering confidence, creativity and general well-being. I am also determined, because I’ve already had a firm talk with myself and I’m not walking out of this store with my tail between my chubby little legs.
I notice there are double digits as sizes, so I think I need to give a certain measurement. “I don’t know what my size translates into, I’m like a thirty-six or so.”
Dude, who was smiling until I tell him my alleged size, cocks his head to the left and looks at me like he has caught a chipmunk trying to make off with his new fall collection. His flamboyant co-worker works a lightening like intervention, “I don’t think so, honey.” He sashays over with a dark wash hipster, “You get started with these and I’ll be in with more.”
The pair he hands me has 28R on the tag and I think he’s trying to be funny. Me and my purple yoga pants slowly walk into the dressing room where I proceed to slide these yummy jeans up my thighs and hips just in time to spin around in front of the mirror. I am cute. And, funny thing, I am not obese.
My sister, Sage, makes it in there just in time to put the smack-down on some god awful skinny jeans and a pair of shoes that would decompose in the bottom of my closet. Let’s just say the sales guy got a little overzealous with my excitement and thought he might make this month’s commission on my newfound body. When he started pulling out Affliction t-shirts I knew it was time to leave.
But I left with a pair of jeans that make me look like I have a scrumptious yoga butt like the ladies I practice with. When I’m leaving the store with the goods, I wonder what got into me that all this time I thought I was too fat for a new pair of jeans. That I’d let myself go shopping if only I would just lose those eight pounds.
Then I decided not to focus on the negative. I’m in process of embracing new things, and this “new” body has actually been with me all along. I looked it up on the internet and it seems that a size 28R runs about a size 6ish. I know, I Googled it. I almost feel sheepish about the whole thing. But really, what I feel is grateful that I didn’t run around for another year needing jeans and unwilling to squeeze into anything less than that ill-fated size 2. That wouldn’t have been very much fun, and really, it seems yoga bodies and yoga hearts and yes, yoga butts, take up a little bit more space.
Holy shit, girl.. you may be a size six, but your 8 feet tall, so it’s all relative.
I’d bet you look amazing. I’d kill or die to fit into a 28R. I’ll take a bite out of that amazing yoga butt, too, if you’ll let me!
By: Stacy on October 27, 2010
at 2:16 am
Lucky for you it’s Halloween time and my yoga butt will have a nice candy coating, like an apple! Ha! You’re so cute and sweet Stacy! Love you sister! And on being eight feet tall, as I’ve aged I’ve shrunk…now I’m only seven feet nine and a half inches, but that’s still walking tall.
By: Lavender Blue on October 27, 2010
at 10:53 am
Good for you! I was thinking this very thing this morning. I’m washing the same 2 pair of pants over and over every week for goodness knows how long because I refuse to buy the size that I am.
For me though, accepting this size is accepting the unhealthy because I’m not eating right, not exercising, and not doing yoga. I’m kicking off 2011 (my year of doing) a little early in November, and your post today is an added inspiration. Great self acceptance and great writing. Thanks!
By: Jacque on October 27, 2010
at 9:48 am
Hey Jacque, good luck!!! Let me know how your progress goes. It’s not an easy process but I can feel your resolve. Thank you for sharing this with me, I’ll be cheering for you!!! And of course, thank you for reading
By: Lavender Blue on October 27, 2010
at 10:51 am
size 2 is so over rated:-) Thanks for a great description of a yoga class and group of yoga bodies. I instruct and am always in awe of my surprise packages…my far larger than a size 6 woman who can do the splits and my willow wand in the corner with her foot behind her head. Enjoy your size 6 freedom and your gorgeous yoga butt!
By: natallan on October 27, 2010
at 5:59 pm
You SO made me smile. And yes, I’m enjoying this particular brand of liberation so much! XOXO
By: Lavender Blue on October 27, 2010
at 9:29 pm
Wanna know what size -I- wear? NO YOU DON’T! HAHAHAHAHAHA…..
By: The Coalition on October 27, 2010
at 11:53 pm
LOVE the new pic! Very becoming angle in that photo, shows your good side to be sure
You know, I thought you’d be happy I was off Adkins. Remember the times – good times!
By: Lavender Blue on October 28, 2010
at 2:07 am
Adkins is the Devil. I’m surprized we didn’t have to give you Omi’s third kidney.
By: The Coalition on October 28, 2010
at 4:52 am
You know I was very lucky where that is concerned, but it was nice having that little safety net, wasn’t it? That third kidney just made me reckless.
By: Lavender Blue on October 28, 2010
at 10:08 am
Great post. I’ve always struggled with my self-perception. I graduated high school a skeletal 90 pounds, but gained 2o pounds by my second year in college. Now, 2 kids (and I’m not going to tell you how many years) later, I sport a not-so-cute C-section (X2) tummy and about seven extra pounds. But the lack of tone bothers me more than the number on the scale.
I’ve started gathering toning exercises from my Health magazines…your post makes me want to give them a shot
By: jannatwrites on October 28, 2010
at 10:11 pm
You know, what I have enjoyed the most about this post is the women who have either posted here on the blog or emailed me about their own self-perception and how far off the mark it is. You being 90 pounds is about on par with me being a size 2. Those were not good days, but we were meeting some weird ideal we came up with in our mind. I’m not against rocking out some cardio – I love cardio – or toning with bands or balls or weights. Yoga makes me feel long and strong, some people prefer pilates. It’s exciting to be comfortable in our own skin. When we enjoy being in our bodies, that’s when working out can be fun again. I hope if you pull out those exercises you have a hell of a good time, I hope you feel strong and I hope you tone whatever bothers you. You know, between you and me I want guns for arms. I want super muscsley arms, with round hard muscles. Until such a time as you and I reach our goals, let’s enjoy the forms we’re in. I love your comment! XOXO
By: Lavender Blue on October 29, 2010
at 12:14 am
I always wanted toned arms, too. I have a feeling yours would be far more impressive than mine, so I definitely wouldn’t take you on in an arm wrestling match
Somehow, I think you’ll get there! Keep us posted…
By: jannatwrites on October 29, 2010
at 10:27 pm
You keep me posted as well. If I’ve figured anything out, it’s that we’re all in this together. Happy Halloween weekend.
By: Lavender Blue on October 30, 2010
at 12:29 am
You keep me posted as well. If I’ve figured anything out, it’s that we’re all in this together. Happy Halloween weekend.
By: Lavender Blue on October 30, 2010
at 12:29 am
I grew up thinking that a size 6 was the perfect size. I’m not sure where I heard or saw that.
I think that we’ve just been fed too many images of super skinny models over the years. They seep into our subconscious even when we aren’t actively looking.
I’m glad that you have departed from size 2. Self confidence is way more important than size and it’s so much more attractive!
By: Meagan on October 30, 2010
at 1:15 pm
I vaguely remember thinking that 6 was good, when I was little and I’d hear my mom and grandma talking while shopping (they shopped a lot when I was little, at least that’s how it seemed). But that goes away and as adults we don’t know how we’re supposed to look, but that somehow it’s never right or good enough. That’s not very fair, I don’t think. Meagan, you hit the nail on the head, though. We are fed too many images. Then they creep. I appreciate your comment. XOXO
By: Lavender Blue on October 30, 2010
at 1:35 pm