After about a year and a half of diet reform and exercise, I have reached my goal waist measurement. There's still enough subcutaneous junk happening to throw up a gentle blob on either side of that tightly-pulled tape measure, but fuck it- I'm calling it. A year ago I deemed 10cm thicker than my skinny-minny partner ideal-ish, and I'm sick to death of taking my damn clothes in all the time.
It's an odd feeling, attainment; a surprisingly passé sort of thing given the level of emphasis our society places on the somatic, underscoring the banality of our own private bodily struggles and the smeary halo of false attribution that surrounds being smaller. No one rushes up to you with a magnum of Cristal and complimentary jewelled thong once you hit size whatever. You're still not the especial seckssay. No trumpets sound.
But I'm shitting all over something hard-won and positive like that's some sort of reflexive action :) I made a highly ironic pizza to celebrate, because I wanted to queen all those delicious empty carbs hard. According to the stats, I deserved that cheesy fucker, even though it's giving me a headache, bloat and facial flush (because empty carbs aren't that delicious after all); less than 5% of the people who embark on this degree of shrinkage either achieve or maintain it for more than a year. My resting heart rate is 56 bpm. So I'll take no-trumpet tumbleweeds over the stabby pangs of sludgy stasis and self-excoriation.
Not sure how much further I'll go. I'd like to keep my hip-to-tittay equilibrium (the top's bigger than the bottom now which is freaking me out) and a decent portion of pantsmeat (Dad's side veers dangerously close to arselessness). I'm going to write more on the effort itself some time soon, in the hope it might help or encourage someone else; if I can do it, virtually anyone can, and more people need to believe that.
This week in blogging: I think a bunch of especially concise film reviews. Because brevity is the soul of... something, and most of the films we've sat through lately deserve a fucking short shrift. Looking at you, American Sniper.
You sucked.
There is an exceedingly beautiful moth, like a flake of powdery birch bark on the dark wall by my bedside lamp. It will never have to worry about its waist to hip ratio.
to lepidoptera,
beauty is perfume tendered
to filamentous
antennae.
Taiko- the opposite of moth.
This is Kodo Taiko, in honour of physical awesomeness everywhere. Enjoy.
It's an odd feeling, attainment; a surprisingly passé sort of thing given the level of emphasis our society places on the somatic, underscoring the banality of our own private bodily struggles and the smeary halo of false attribution that surrounds being smaller. No one rushes up to you with a magnum of Cristal and complimentary jewelled thong once you hit size whatever. You're still not the especial seckssay. No trumpets sound.
But I'm shitting all over something hard-won and positive like that's some sort of reflexive action :) I made a highly ironic pizza to celebrate, because I wanted to queen all those delicious empty carbs hard. According to the stats, I deserved that cheesy fucker, even though it's giving me a headache, bloat and facial flush (because empty carbs aren't that delicious after all); less than 5% of the people who embark on this degree of shrinkage either achieve or maintain it for more than a year. My resting heart rate is 56 bpm. So I'll take no-trumpet tumbleweeds over the stabby pangs of sludgy stasis and self-excoriation.
Not sure how much further I'll go. I'd like to keep my hip-to-tittay equilibrium (the top's bigger than the bottom now which is freaking me out) and a decent portion of pantsmeat (Dad's side veers dangerously close to arselessness). I'm going to write more on the effort itself some time soon, in the hope it might help or encourage someone else; if I can do it, virtually anyone can, and more people need to believe that.
This week in blogging: I think a bunch of especially concise film reviews. Because brevity is the soul of... something, and most of the films we've sat through lately deserve a fucking short shrift. Looking at you, American Sniper.
You sucked.
There is an exceedingly beautiful moth, like a flake of powdery birch bark on the dark wall by my bedside lamp. It will never have to worry about its waist to hip ratio.
to lepidoptera,
beauty is perfume tendered
to filamentous
antennae.
Taiko- the opposite of moth.
This is Kodo Taiko, in honour of physical awesomeness everywhere. Enjoy.
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