Today was the day that my bra broke the camel's back. You heard me. The BRA broke the proverbial camel's (that would be me) back. I hate bras. Today I basically hate anything made out of wearable fabric. It started this morning when I couldn't find a clean bra, so I went digging and found one in the back of my lingerie drawer. It was relegated to the back of the drawer because I never wore it; and the reason I never wore it was because the last time I tried it on it was too big, which is not a state I often find myself in. It's hard to find a bra too big for me because I am what you might call 'well-endowed.' Very, very well-endowed. Too well-endowed for comfort.
But today, the bra that was formerly too big for me not only fit, but my 'cups runneth over,' if you get my drift. Okay, I said to myself, don't panic. So I've gained a few pounds in the past several months. It's understandable. I had a total knee replacement only 5 months ago. I was doing all of my knee exercises to strengthen the muscles that the surgeon had to rip apart to get my titanium robo-knee in place, but that wasn't aerobic exercise and didn't do much for the rest of my body that was already in less than perfect shape.
All morning and into the early afternoon I was miserable. The bra band was too tight, digging into the flesh below my boobs. The hook and eye closures, all FIVE of them were poking and scratching my back, and the bra straps were digging into my shoulders.
Now, when I thought up the idea to write this blog (about 5 minutes ago), I promised myself that I would not use profanity, lest I offend any of my readers. But already I feel the need to use two very bad words, so I hope you, dear reader, will forgive me. Those two words are DIET and EXERCISE. Oh, I want to wash my mouth out with soap! I am sure that I will have to use those words again during my postings, so if you are offended by those words, I understand.
Anyway, I'm sitting at my computer this morning, feeling like a stuffed sausage and feeling sorry for myself while wondering if there was any ice cream in the freezer. Then it hit me. I had two choices: I could take off the torture bra and spend this day and every other day in my nightgown, or I could do something about it. And believe me, this was not the first time I came upon this realization. But today something just snapped. I thought of the movie Network and the scene where the guy says, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"
I realized that the only way, the ONLY way out of my prison of fat was to face the two things I hated most in life: diet and exercise. And you can add sweat to that list. Smelly, sticky sweat. I hate that, too.
I already have a membership to the YMCA that I use on Saturdays when I go swimming with my husband Eric. Last March, as our 30th wedding anniversary was approaching, we talked about what we each wanted to give each other as an anniversary gift. We couldn't think of anything, after 30 years of anniversary gifts you sort of run out of ideas. My knee surgeon suggested swimming as therapy for my knee surgery recovery, so I suggested we buy a family membership to the YMCA.
It turns out that the YMCA is a whole lot more than just a swimming pool. There are all different sorts of classes and our Y has a fantastic gym with all kinds of equipment. I wasn't quite at the point in my recovery to use the recumbent bike or treadmill, so I stuck to swimming. And although it helped my knees, it wasn't helping me get the rest of my body in shape.
So I'm feeling sorry for myself, mad at letting myself get into this condition, when I remembered a saying that I had read somewhere: "If you can't change something, then change the way you think about it." It might have been a Mary Engelbreit card or Plato, I can't remember.
I got up, went upstairs and put on the ugliest exercise outfit you've ever seen, let the dogs out for a pee and off I went. I grabbed two CD's on my way out the door, not paying attention to the artist and stuck one into my car's CD player. It was The Eagles "Hell Freezes Over" CD. The first song, the very first song was "Get Over It." Great rock and roll melody and a symbolic shot in the arm for my new conquest.
I've had these bursts of enthusiasm before. I get religious about diet and exercise, and within 3 days I'm back to my old ways, defeated and depressed at failing once again to get myself into shape. That's when I came up with my plan of 365 days of exercise. I'm starting with just the exercise, I'll tackle diet another day. And today is the first day of my plan. (You thought I was going to say 'Today is first day of the rest of my life,' didn't you?)
The Frederick, Maryland YMCA gym is big and clean and full of all kinds of equipment. (However, I think I saw a contraption that looked very similar to the torture rack I saw on The Tudors!)
I didn't know where to start so I asked if there was someone who could help me. "The man in the red t-shirt," I was told. The man in the red shirt, a nice fellow of Middle East origin, showed me over to the recumbent bike and then suggested I use this arm thing, I don't know what it's called, but it's like a spinning class just for arms. I'll find out what it's called and let you know in a later post. While I was 'arm spinning,' I asked the man in the red t-shirt where he was from. He had a distinctive accent but I couldn't place it, and I'm usually good at that sort of thing.
"I am from the land of God," he said.
I thought he said 'land of the gods,' so I replied, "Greece?" He looked at me like the nincompoop that I felt like.
"No," he said, "God's land. We are all from everywhere."
Oh, I get it, he didn't want to tell me where he was from. A sad reminder of man's abilty to stereotype and ostracize others who aren't like them.
"I ask only because you look Sicilian. I am of Sicilian heritage and have traveled there many times. And I've written a book about my travels."
We talked a bit more, mostly about how beautiful the Mediterranean is, when he sat down on the bike next to me. "I am from Iran," he said tentatively, watching my face for any sort of disagreeable expression. "My name is Abdullah."
I shook his hand and introduced myself. "My husband has been to Iran," I said, "he said it was beautiful and the people were very kind and generous."
"When was he there?" Abdullah asked.
"It was a long time ago," I said, "he was teenager in the mid-70's and he went there with his father who was working in Saudi Arabia at the time."
"Ah," he said, "when the Shah was in power."
We talked a little bit more, I told him about my trips to Sicily and visiting my grandparents hometown. He was called away by another member needing assistance and I made my way over to the treadmill.
I had been exercising, albeit at a slow to moderate pace, for 50 minutes. I think that's the longest I have ever exercised in my life. And I felt good. Hot and sweaty, but good.
I drove home, feeling quite satisfied with myself. I got a cold drink, took a shower and had a salad. All in all, I would say my first day of my 365 day exercise marathon went quite well.
I am actually looking forward to tomorrow.
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