Just a Little bit Skinnier

In March this year I was planning my overseas adventure.  It was my job to organise the helicopter flights over the Grand Canyon and not for the first time in my life, I was struck through with horror.  A weight limit applied on the helicopter and I was over it.  Over it by at least ten kilos and if I remained over it, then I would have to pay for what the company called a comfort seat.  Over my years of being a not skinny girl, read fat, I had faced situations like these before.  Normally this would involve me making very convenient excuses not to actually do the activity.  I have gotten out of rock climbing, any activity involving a harness, small boats and any that required me to hold my own body weight.  But not being able to sit in flying craft to see a giant hole in the ground?  That was it.  I was not going to be that girl who had to pay for a comfort seat.  I was once given a seatbelt extension on an aircraft and while that was humiliating, putting those not so little numbers on my helicopter registration form was beyond any nightmare I could reconcile.

On finding the weight limit I fell immediately into old patterns.  First I was really quiet, a mean feat for me, and then I got mad.  I screamed ‘Fuck You’ to the world, inside my head of course, and did what any self respecting fat person does.  I ate.  I ate lots.  In one day I probably consumed the same amount of food for a small African nation.  Then as normally follows us fatties, I felt guilty.  The next day I ate nothing but four rice crackers because the thoughts running through my head made me sick to the gullet.  By the second afternoon, in tears, I made a trip to my local gym.  Lester, the gym manager, was very pragmatic, supportive and optimistic.  Ten kilos, five weeks, no worries.  ‘That can be done’ he said. And it was.  Over the next five weeks I ate green stuff and went to the gym a lot.  I lost 15 kilos in five weeks and made my helicopter flight with no out loud judgement, just a one second hesitation, from the helicopter company.

I continued my holiday and did very little to maintain my pre departure eating habits.  On my return, I weighed in at the gym and had lost another four kilos.  Since my return I have settled into some semblance of a routine and I know on the inside that what some people call a ‘weightloss journey’ to me is simply called my life.  I will always be a little rounder than my friends and I will always have to battle my willpower and the crumbed sausage and chesseburger calling.  I am simply just not one of those people who are lucky enough to lose ten kilos and go back to what they did before.  But there is something I have learnt six months in to a new life and 23 kilos lighter.

1.  Shoe buckles are not a disuader from pretty shoes anymore.

I love pretty shoes.  I love buckles and bows and all sorts of embellishments.  But up until now my shoe choice has always been decided by how long they’ll take me to do up.  Unless you’ve been fat you will never understand this one.  Doing side buckles up on shoes that are situated just below the ankle has always been close to impossible.  I would have to bring my leg up, roll it to the outside and do my buckles up while holding my breath.  It was never a pretty site and normally one that displayed the under side of skirt to any who walked past but this morning I thought I’d just give it a go.  I’ve watched other people sit down, simply lean forward and move their hands to the side of their feet.  Now I don’t know if the Yoga is finally helping or the fact that my gut has reduced in size but without much thought, red facedness, huffing or puffing, my shoes were done up within a matter of seconds.  I sat up quickly and searched the house to tell someone.  My flatmate has always been skinny so it’s not something she’d understand but she has been unfortunate enough to see me struggle with buckles before.  So I am gutted when I remember she’s not home.  I lean down again and slide the back straps off my shoes so they are on the floor in front of me.  They lie there and I look at them in mock suprise.  I lean down again and place the shoes on my feet, slide the straps around my ankle and sit up straight.  I stare into the mirror and see that they are just flapping there in mid air.  The loose ends waiting to be tucked into their buckles.  Again I lean down, reach across my foot and slide the end into the buckle.  I switch to the other foot without coming up for air and again my shoes are on my feet.  It’s a win and while it’s not one I was expecting it’s probably the best so far.

2.  The looks

23 kilos earlier when people looked at me my first response was to check my fly.  Were my undies hanging out? could you see a fat role somewhere?  Was there a giant black hair on my chin?  Never were my first thoughts of anything positive.  23 kilos later and things are a little different.  You’ve read about the smiling boy at the gate of the opera and this morning I caught a man in uniform looking at me.  Two well dressed army men were having coffee at the local coffee shop around the corner.  I had met a friend for an early coffee before we both had some jobs to do.  In our normal inane chatter I was reading various snippets to her from the newspaper.  While she checked her phone I looked up at the street in front of me.  I chanced a glance at the uniformers out of the corner of my eye.  Afterall, I was very rarely noticed by anyone before and I haven’t ever tried to work very hard at hiding my looking.  It just never mattered before, on most occasions there was never a look back so I was rarely caught by anyone.  Until this morning.  As my head turned and my eyes worked over the uniformed body in front, I made my way back to his face to see him looking at my face rather intently. Both caught looking at something we didn’t want to be, both sets of eyes flew back to our present company.  It was nothing and definitely not the beginning of a beautiful romance but this morning for the first time, my initial thought was not of my exposed undies, loose breast or wobbly tuckshop arm.  It was instead, ‘Oh Fuck, busted.’  

3.  The ability to say no

While the ability to say no is not one I am known for I am getting better at it.  I’ve said no to a biscuit, I’ve said no to chocolate.  I said no to the waitress this morning when she checked for the third time if I was sure I didn’t want something to eat.  While I still give in occassionally, the power of no is taking hold.  One of my friend’s once said to me, ‘You’ve invested thirty-two years in the body you’ve got now, did you think it would be easy to just change it in six months?’  With a forlorn expression I realised she was right and that the power of no is something that I should take on in all aspects of my life.  This morning was a small win for it was the first time I said no that I didn’t feel bad about letting down the waitress who was so disappointed in my lack of ordering ability.

All of these are works in progress and I know that I will never be finsihed.  This is my life now.  I will always have a gym membership and I will never look like the people who are plastered on the gym windows.  But I will work to be better at this eating and living thing, and damn it, I want more buckle up shoes and so my so called ‘journey’ will continue.  It won’t be fun all of the time, but you will be able to tell if it’s working if my shoes keep getting prettier and prettier.