Is it possible? Can it happen? More to the point: Can it happen to me?
I’m not optimistic, but I’m not letting that stop me.
I have some nice legs. I do. People even tell me that, so it’s not all in my head. I like my neck and the way my clavicle bones delicately peak out. I have small, delicate wrists and ankles. No cankles here!
But despite some pretty decent muscles in my arms, they just appear large and flabby. At least to me.
I don’t want body-builder’s arms. I don’t want veins sticking out all over the place or to look like I could take on Mr. T and win. But I would like them to at least look toned. And I’m not very good at pushups.
So … my strategy, should I choose to accept the challenge (and remember to do it) is to do yoga a few times a week and do pushups against the wall every day — at least three sets of 30, which is 90 pushups a week. Against the wall is easier than on the floor, but I can still feel the muscle strain, so I’m sure it’s working. I recommitted to Weight Watchers three weeks ago, after gaining back 10 of the 36 pounds I lost. I gained five of those back in a single week. Sad, isn’t it? Sometimes, I wish food didn’t taste good.
On top of that, Chris and I went with friends last weekend to sing karaoke and there were pictures taken. I bought some cute new boots on Saturday and wore them with opaque brown tights, a brown denim mini skirt and a cute sweater with a tank top underneath. I put on makeup and did my hair all cute. I thought I looked pretty good. Even Chris couldn’t stop telling me how great I looked, and he rarely says anything about that.
And then, the pictures …
Now, I think I probably looked better than the pictures showed, but seeing them made me very unhappy. Mostly, it’s my face. I always will have a double chin. I had one when I was in high school and weighed 110 pounds and wore a size 3 and everyone thought I was anorexic because I didn’t like school lunches, so I didn’t eat them. But it wasn’t as bad as it’s been the last few years.
I wear a size 6 right now, quite comfortably. I look pretty good, I think. But to look the way I really and truly want to look (and shallow as it is, this is important to me), I need to be smaller. I have a small frame. I hide the places where fat congregates on my body with clothing. But I’m not happy.
I want to be able to wear a tube dress again without being self-conscious about the fact that my butt is flat and square and it shows in clothing like that. I want to look in the mirror and see pretty arms. I want to be able to buy a bikini without having to worry about whether it rises high enough to cover my belly flab.
I know. I know. Be glad I can wear a bikini at all, right? But I’m a woman. In America. My body is my temple and I’m self-conscious about it. I always have been. I probably always will be. As I age, though, it’s not as bad as it was when I was younger. I’m OK with the stretch marks on my tummy from when I was pregnant. This in spite of an ex-boyfriend once asking me if they would ever go away. This same ex liked to tell me how tiny all his ex-girlfriends were, apparently in an effort to make me think I was too fat for him. I was, at the time, much smaller than I am now. But he’s a subject for another blog another day.
I just want toned arms, a round rear end and a belly that doesn’t jiggle like jelly.
Is that too much to ask?