Confessions of a (very) curvy girl: My width has reached new heights

Part Twenty-three: My width has reached new heights

I regret to say that it was not with surprise that I greeted the fact this morning that my hips are the exact width across as the distance between the tables at Sweetwater’s. I’ve been getting myself in the habit of waking up early every morning and going there to either read, write or both before I start my work day. It helps me be more productive and focus more attention on my writing, and it also provides me with a somewhat gauzy buffer between myself and the potentially jaw-clenching, teeth grinding aspects of the day to come.

I usually get a muffin of some sort from the Taste Our Goods girls in Sparrow’s Market, and then order a double decaf Americano with lots of room at the top. Once the drink is served, I promptly fill in the gap with half & half and, depending on the quality of the shots, one to four packets of raw sugar. If I wanted to analyze it, I could find many things wrong with this drink, this daily muffin and espresso pilgrimage - but I’d rather do nothing of the kind. To invoke a Kinky Friedman-ism, I am sometimes “a creature of narrow habit”, but not all habits are horrible.

When I lived in Chicago, I used to walk home from work (which I calculated out to be almost six miles) a few times a week. Taking those walks was how I learned the city. My route started at Daley Center Plaza downtown, down by the intersection of Washington and Dearborn Streets. I would usually cut down Dearborn and move south until I hit Jackson Street, then I would turn right and proceed west until I hit Halsted. My route varied a bit from day to day, but the main goal was to get myself down on Halsted, walking through Greektown at lunchtime. I would end up in the Artopolis restaurant and bakery more often than not. I would sit, order the soup of the day and a Greek Island salad and just savor it. It was peace and quiet well deserved after having to rouse myself from bed every morning at 4:15 a.m. just to take a cab in to work at the Starbucks on the concourse level of the Daley Center. All my tips each week went to that cab fare, but without a car and being a lone woman just five feet tall, taking the Red Line into work from the Southside at that time in the day just was not the safest idea.

On the couple of days I had off, I would vary the routine a little bit. I would take the El into town and walk to the Manadnock Building. On the ground level of the Manadnock Building was a Jacobs Brothers Bagels (they are now sadly closed). They had some warm, delicious bagels I’ll tell you, and very yummy veggie cream cheese. I’d order a bagel and a large coffee. While the bagel was being prepared, I would walk over to the coffee counter and fill my cup with decaf hazelnut coffee (with lots of room), milk and I believe at that time, Splenda. I had certain shops I frequented, and people knew me at the bank where I held an account. I had found it very easy for the most part to retain some small town feel in a big urban jungle. Of course it wasn’t all perfect. Walking through someone’s pee every day on my way to school, stressing about each penny I spent on those bagels and Greek salads and being constantly crowded with other people always in my bubble were not fun. All told though, Chicago was a great growth experience for me, and when I think back on it, my solitary habits with food are some of my fondest memories. Not unhealthy or gluttonous in any way, but quite the opposite. It was about taking the time to enjoy different parts of the city at my own pace, and it was delicious.

A side effect of all the walking was that while I was living in Chicago, I was the skinniest I’ve ever been. I walked everywhere, even in the winter. Using public transportation, stairs are just built into your day, and when I was there I was always moving. I suppose my point is that habits are not always bad. In my case, it’s about balancing my edible enjoyment with the right amount of physical activity. As I was saying to Myrtle just the other day, clearly I’m not willing to give up most of the food I want to eat; clearly. So, what level of physical activity do I have to maintain in order to stay at a size that makes me comfortable? I have aged since I lived in Chicago, and I already know it is harder for me to lose weight than it was then, even though it wasn’t easy then either.

So I’ve found the solution: I need to become an Olympic sprinter. Then I can eat whatever I want and it won’t show.

Either that, or I need to put on my big girl pants and make some hard decisions about how I can best manage my time (and motivate myself) to include set hours each week where I work out.

Options for Self:

a) Go to yoga for strength training, muscle health and peace of mind.
b) Take Nia classes at the yoga studio to burn calories, boost that serotonin and sweat like an animal while dancing like a madwoman in a non-threatening environment.
c) Learn Ann Arbor one step at a time vis-à-vis Chicago experience.
d) Expand front yard garden; the bending, stooping and lifting is good for you even if your butt does show from time to time. Those cedar chips have been waiting patiently for a year (seriously, oh god) now to be spread on the ground.
e) Stand in your living room and alarm the cat by going through your own version of a pilates ball and yoga workout.
f) Pop one of the several bellydance and Bollywood dance DVD’s you own into the blue ray machine and get to hippin’ and hoppin’ in the living room.
g) Keep in mind that one day you may want people to be able to see your actual belly roll in the flesh when you perform in the future. There’s only so much you can see in an opaque black dress.

*h) Incorporate Lady Gaga as much into daily life as possible.

Non-Options for Self:

a) Breaking another clasp or tearing off another button on the waistline of any of my pairs of pants.
b) Going through another summer (after this one I suppose) feeling more comfortable with the idea of wearing a burlap sack than a bathing suit.
c) Continuing to have to pry, yank and cajole my meaty upper arms out of short-sleeved shirts that formerly fit.
d) Knowing what it feels like, while wearing a dress, to have my gut literally rest on the top of my thighs when I lean not all that far forward.
e) Defeat.
f ) Getting any bigger. This has to stop. Immediately.
g) Beating up Self. Is it Popeye who said, “I ams what I ams and that’s all that I ams?” He was right. I’m going to try and implement working out regularly, but you don’t get any sort of healthy workout by kicking your own ass.