Tight Pants - Mystery Gains.

My pants are tight. And I don't mean snug—I mean tight. Tight like I just finished a deep dive into five pounds of crab legs drenched in butter which is dripping from my elbows and I'm unsure what day it is.    You know the scene ladies, from Dazed and Confused, where the girls are laying flat on their backs on the bed, while a friend uses a pair of pliers to pull up that zipper? TIGHT.

Here's the kicker: it happened in two weeks. I went from 109 to 121. In case math isn't your thing, that’s 12 pounds. A whole dozen. And it’s not like I've been binging on gut bombers from McDonald's or diving headfirst into pins of Ben & Jerry's. My diet hasn’t changed at all. In fact, it's spring, which means I’m outside more, moving more, doing more. So, someone please explain to me how 12 random, uninvited pounds decided to take up permanent residence on my gut in a matter of days.

Is it stress? Hormones? The universe? I don’t know. But I do know I'm over here trying to figure out just how business-like my leggings can be.

Now, let me say, I do NOT think that 121 pounds is by ANY means "big, large, heavy, too much, disgusting...." NONE OF THOSE THINGS.  It IS however, 12 pounds from my typical weight and for someone that has had to TRY and gain weight all my life, ya'll this is nuts and totally out of left field.  

I was born little, grew up little, have always been little and weighed a solid 86 when I graduated high school.  I cried every year my Mom took me shopping because nothing that looked my age, fit. I wore a size 16 in little girls for many of my teenage years.

There was no "freshman 15" for me, which was a little upsetting because I really thought I might start to look less like a skeleton and more like a human.  NOPE.  Not the case.  As I got into my 30s, I was around 90-95 pounds, and when I met my husband, I was about 89-92.  I remember telling my mom, "I do NOT want to look like a skeleton in my wedding dress.  And if I hear the words 'adorable, cute, precious, or darling,' I'm gonna go sideways." 

Fast forward to me finding one of those boot camps —one of the best finds of my life.  While I no longer frequent a place like this (due to neurological issues), I made some amazing friends, and for the first time EVER, I felt like NO ONE was watching.  I shared with that group why I was there, and what was pretty incredible was that they treated me just like everyone else.  My goal was just as important as theirs.  One person lost, and I gained.  We all won. 

When I got married, I weighed 113, it was not a short journey, but I made it!  I felt, for the first time, confident in my own skin.  This is one of my all-time favorite pictures.  Welcome to the gun show.

Since getting married nine years ago, my weight has fluctuated a little but only a few pounds.  As with any woman, my body seems to have settled—almost like an old house.  It doesn't really change in size... but it changes.  Nothing that has been a big deal until now.

I shared with two close friends that what REALLY has me bent back like a paperclip is that I don't want to buy new clothes.  Loft recently had a sale on dress pants, which I purchased at 113 lbs.  I honestly cannot remember the last time I bought clothes (OK - other than Duluth bibbs), but I loved them, ordered more, and by the time they were delivered, they were too tight!  WHAT IN THE....  I know it could be a number of things that cause "bloating," but ya'll, these are straight "L-B's."  Again, I'm fine with weighing 120... 121, heck, I'd go to 125 and be okay with it... BUT I DO NOT WANT TO BUY NEW CLOTHES.  You know how many vegetable plants you can buy in lieu of a pair of dress pants??? I got priorities people and pants ain't one!

One possible reason I think this could be happening is because I lost my sidekick, Kada (my shadow of a dog) in July of last year. We used to walk through the neighborhood together every day—at least 1.5 miles. Rain, snow, sleet—pretty much any weather that SHE wanted to go, we went. When Kada crossed over, I stopped walking. I've only made one pass through the hood since, and it just doesn't feel right. It's a little empty and a little like cheating on her. I miss my shadow.

So now, what to do? Do I count calories, get a new dog and start walking the hood every day?  Go on a diet?  If someone says I need to give up my cheese, I'll take you to the mat. I ain't doin' it.

My friend Alison S (a fellow Velvet Hammer - stay tuned for more on that fun group) said it only takes 1. Think about it—one minute, one hour, one time, one day... just one. So this morning, I got up ONE hour early and hopped on that super expensive clothes hanger we have called an elliptical. The SAME elliptical that I bought my husband before we got married and hasn't been used in 2+ years. It's also the same oversized, awkward pile of metal (TOTALLY throwing off the bright and airy vibe of my sunroom) that I've had for sale on Facebook since before Christmas. Not one taker. SHOCKER.

So here I am, eating my words (which tastes like vinegar) and working out on the very piece of equipment I have BEGGED to get rid of for years.  I was on that thing for 30 minutes. 2.0 miles and apparently 190 calories burnt. According to a Google search, that's like a cup of grapes and 1 ounce of cheese. Stay tuned on how this all shakes out, sounds like I've got a lot more miles to go before these pants zip... If nothing else, I did enjoy watching the sun come up while 'Taking a Walk in the Park' and listening to my Jesus music. 

I've shared with you all when I started this blog that my business coach H. Faye told me, 'Just write about what you know.' So what I know is this: I gained weight, and it's really not a crisis situation. I can buy new pants if I absolutely have to. I know the power of one and it will be interesting to see how many sunrises I take in on the 'ol elliptical. I told my husband that I hate that thing because you just stay in one place. I'm not going anywhere. Or am I? Maybe I am going places and I just don't see it yet. I'm certain there are worst things than spending 30 extra minutes a day rockin' out to my Jesus music. Maybe I'll start listening to a podcast, heck, maybe I'll start thinking about my OWN podcast. If only ONE person listens, I will consider that a win. Because it only takes one, right Alison?

So, here I am—12 pounds heavier, pants tighter than a drum, and having life reminding me that change comes in all shapes and sizes—even in the form of surprise L-B’s. If nothing else, I’ve got a front-row seat to more sunrises, a playlist of Jesus jams to keep me company, and a whole new appreciation for the durability of stretchy fabric. Thanks Joseph Shivers for paving the way - everyone needs a little Lycra in their life.

Love & Light,

EB