After I wrote my first #weighthate post, I was kind of lost on how to continue. I felt like I really put it all out there and wasn’t sure how to come back from that. I mean, according to you people I was all inspiring and shit.
That’s just not natural. I’m the girl who falls up the stairs. I’m the drunkard who buys a 6 pack of wine because it’s 10% cheaper that way. I’m the mom who hides in the pantry to eat a fun size Twix bar so she doesn’t have to share with her 2 year old. [Kids know things, so I don’t get away with it very often.] I’m a girl who curses like a gawdamn sailor and loves every minute of it. I don’t feel inspiring. But I can be truthful.
But should I start with my relationship with food. [Food gives, I take happily] Or do I talk about gaining a shit-ton of weight when you’re pregnant? [It’s not as fun as it sounds.] Like I said in the first post, I have a lot to share - I’m just having a hard time figuring out how to do that in a way that won’t cause you to go - “Fuck, shut up already” or assume I’m looking for sympathy. Because I’m not. Everything I’ve gone through has allowed me to get to this point. The point of “Dudes, I gots this.” And I’m not ashamed of that.
Which leads me to tell you about something else I “gots”.
Do you not know what this is? Well, let me enlighten you, my dear friends.
It’s when your fat rubs together and you get all rashy. Sexy, am I right?
I’ve heard people talk about it being the reason they don’t go workout and I’m here to say, that’s a load of shit. Oh, Tam, you’re so insensitive! But I’m not, because in addition to what you read above, I’m also the girl who could host a Bill Nye science experiment on friction. These thighs weren’t made for running. Or at least that’s what I thought a year ago.
Sometime after my dreadful 5k last year in January when I was walking/running on the track above the gym I decided that I needed to wear shorts. The cotton Wal-Mart capris were just hot. And filled with sweat. So, one day, I pulled out a pair of shorts to wear while I ran.
It did not go well.
I stopped after a few rounds because the ol’ thighs were acting like teenagers making out behind the bleachers – all over each other. I was embarrassed,this had never happened before. I felt discouraged. I mean, why bother working out if I can’t even wear shorts. This is Texas. We have two seasons – hot & hotter.
I’ve worn Capri's to work out in since then [although, not the cotton Wal-mart ones. I invested in a few pairs of nice ‘real workout’ ones]. And it’s not bothered me one bit. Instead of using chub rub as an excuse to not work-out, I punched it in it’s chubby face and found a way around it. Capri pants = perfect solution. [Also, there’s this thing called body glide. It’s like lube for your teenage love making thighs]
But then, not everything can be perfect forever.
Because this past Sunday came, you know, the one where I ran in the rain for 13 miles? You see, I’ve never ran in the rain. In the wind, sure. In the cold, absolutely. In the rain, fuck that. So, I wasn’t prepared for the aftermath.
The first thing I did when we got back to my aunt’s house was hop into the shower. I was so looking forward to it’s gloriousness. That is until water ran down my backside and I started jumping around like a cat with a firecracker attached to her tail. It had hit me. And it had hit me hard.
I didn’t just have chub rub. I had one helluva chapped ass.
The 3 hour ride home, not nearly as comfortable as it should have been. You know how I pulled out Desitin in my vlüg yesterday? Yeah, uh, that wasn’t just for my small child. That was for my large ass.
So, stop making excuses. Stop blaming everything else for why you’re not ‘getting out there’.
Because if I can chap my ass in the name of running, and still love it, surely you can too.