It's not over til the Fat Girl sighs....

I'm sighing. Or am I confusing sighing with wheezing? Whatever.

I received an Old Navy gift card for Christmas. I love Old Navy. It's cheap, they have cute things for girls of every size, oh...and it's cheap.

So...I went there and perused the selection. Have I mentioned that I'm getting a wellness coach in January? I am. And I'm determined to let her in. I have gotten fat over the past few months.

How fat? Pretty fat. Fat enough that I have more than one chin. Fat enough that I'm finding it hard to reach the nooks and crannies (and I'm not talking about cleaning the house, bitches). Fat enough that I am down to two pairs of jeans I can button, and one pair is entering the phase of life I call "About to die from Chub Rub". You know what Chub Rub is? It's when the inner thighs of your jeans start to disintegrate from the constant rubbing of your corpulent thighs whilst walking. Your first symptom is feeling cooler air on that region. That's because while the rest of your lower torso and legs are wrapped in normal weight denim, the roughly 3" section on each inner thigh that is affected by Chub Rub is clad only in a tissue weight denim. Hence the breeze.

Anyhoo. I'm feeling rather linebacker-ish lately and although it's been fun, it needs to end.

What better time to turn a new leaf than a new year? How original am I? Super original.

I hate resolutions. Seriously. I don't think I've ever made one...although given my tendency to greet the New Year with a decidedly boozy gaze, perhaps I have. We'll never really know.

Resolutions are made to be broken. They are doomed to fail. Unless you have one of those Earth Mother, granola, bullshit resolutions like "I will send out only positive feelings to the universe" or "This is the year I recycle". Those are the ones that you can kind of keep, the ones that don't implode the second you sneak into the drive-thru at McDonald's and order large fries or the moment you light a cigarette.

We are human beings. And that alone is reason enough to not make ridiculous resolutions. I know, I know...your intentions are good. Guess what? Apparently the road to hell is paved with intentions such as these.

Why not just do this: decide to make some changes. Nothing major, nothing drastic. Maybe just a shift in attitude.

Instead of: "I'm going to cut out all carbs and workout every day", how about, "I'm going to think about what I'm putting in my mouth. And more importantly? WHY I'm putting it there."

That's what I'm going to do.

I'm doing this for several reasons.

Reason Number One: I'm worried about my health. When Big Daddy cut me loose, I lost about 65 lbs. in a little less than a year. I looked good. But more importantly? I felt AWESOME. I was working out almost every day, walking every morning, really watching what I ate. It was the best I have felt or looked since my twenties. Moving around was practically effortless. I swam, I ran, I biked. I did it all and I felt positively exhilarated afterward. I craved movement, I lusted after exercise. If I was exhausted, it was because I had run on the treadmill for an hour after lifting weights and then worked in the yard.

Now? I think I have gained back just about every pound I'd lost. I don't own a scale, so I don't know for sure. And I'm not planning on getting one anytime soon. But clothes don't lie. And neither do bathroom mirrors.

Unfortunately the bulk of my weight has deposited itself around my waist, like a big old cinch belt made of fat. Of course there is a nice layer everywhere else, but it's the belly that worries me. That's the scary, heart-hurting fat.

My kids need me around, and they need me healthy. I need me healthy.

Reason Number 2: I have some really cute clothes. Granted, I'm not Sarah Jessica Parker or anything; I have things that I'm dying to wear but can't due to the fact that I'd look like Chris Farley trying on David Spade's coat in "Tommy Boy". YouTube it, you'll laugh. Go ahead, I'll wait. Wait...you can even watch it here, if I can figure out how to add it.



Right now my wardrobe consists of jeans and whatever big shirt I can find that doesn't make me look pregnant. Or worse, my lumberjack look of jeans and a fleece jacket. Standard wear here Da Northland, to be sure, but it's not exactly attractive. Which brings me to my third reason..

Reason Number 3: I do believe that it's almost time for me to mate again. And not just fumbling, "I've had a few margaritas so I'll overlook the fact that Mr. Happy seems to be in a coma if you overlook the fact that I won't take my shirt off" mating. But the whole song and dance. One of my friends is dying to hook me up with the guy who has a cabin next door to hers in Wisconsin. He's a little bit older, recently divorced and actually called her and mentioned that he's almost ready to date. And I've met him...when I met him, he was married. So obviously there was no love connection because I don't go that way. Of course, when I met him, I was also thinner. If he saw me now I'm afraid that the only connection to be made would be him connecting me with Roseanne Barr. Not good. (disclaimer: Roseanne actually looks pretty good now. I'm talking about the early Roseanne, like from the first couple seasons of her show. Which I loved, by the way.)

I feel like I'm just about ready to take the leap again. Just about but not quite. I can't even look at myself in the mirror at this point, not without wanting to barf. They say you have to love yourself before anyone else can love you. At this point I'd be willing to settle for being able to make eye contact with myself.

The past couple of years have left me with zero reserves for any relationship that requires more than the ones I have with my girlfriends. And as close as we are, none of them are expecting quality naked time with me. That I know of. But my reserves are starting to regenerate. Not enough that I want to start anything right now, but they're building up a tiny bit day by day.

Now, I think I mentioned Old Navy, right? Back to that: so I went to Old Navy and was about to use my gift card to buy yet another tunic-like top and yet another pair of fat jeans. But something stopped me. A window opened.

If you're fat, or have ever been fat, you know what I'm talking about. Overweight girls feel a window of opportunity open from time to time. It's a window in time when you've simply had it. You've had it with the Chub Rub, you've had it with worrying about whether or not your fat ass will fit in certain chairs, you've absolutely had it with trying to hide your body. It only stays open for a moment, so usually I ignore it. Most likely because I just bought a bag of Red Vines and what's the point of starting anything then, right? But at that precise moment in Old Navy when I was holding up that black flowy tunic in size XL (trust me, it was a generously sized XL), I almost felt a breeze. My window was open again.

I put the tunic back. I went over to the little workout section and picked out some stretchy, comfy yoga pants, some workout-y type shirts and yes, even a new workout bra.

My finances are not healthy enough for me to justify joining a gym right now. A good friend suggested the JCC (Jewish Community Center) here in our town, and even though they have a kick-ass single parent membership (seriously, JCC..right on!) I can't do it. Maybe a month or two down the road, whenever I can get Big Daddy to start paying, but not now. That said, I have a treadmill here. I have a lovely set of kettlebells. I have small weights. I have a dog who is so desperate to walk he comes up to me with his leash in his mouth.

I have no excuses to not jump through the window this time.

That sound you hear? It's me, the Fat Girl. Sighing.

Stay tuned.