Fat Girls Finish First…

Photo Credit: VF.com

Believe it or not, fat girls finish first or is it last? There’s truly no answer depending on where you stand from the visual aspect. If you asked me or want my opinion, it’s all about perspective. But isn’t it about health as well. I mean, I was never with the Fat Girl or Skinny Girl movement…

I’ve always been with the Healthy Fit Girl movement. With that in mind, let us say, “Thick or Full” a lot of people take offense to the word “Fat”. And I used to take offense to the word “fat” but now I really don’t care.

Again, it’s all about perspective. I’ve been told that I have a fat ass.

Photo Credit: trulyafricanblogspot

But trust me when I tell you that is/was truly a compliment. Yes, I have a butt… And yes, it is big. I get it.

Thank God for big booty

celebs, if it weren’t for them, most full figured thick women would still be looked at and treated like Venus Hottentot

But seriously, most men will admit to wanting a lady with a lil more meat on her bones, something to fill out her clothes and definitely something to hold on to in the bedroom and more especially cushion for the pushin… But a lot of guys won’t always approach a fill figure female. Are they intimidated by these beautiful Amazonian women or is it that they  just can’t handle us?

Today, full figures are on the rise and actually becoming more accepted into the mainstream of society and media. Women everywhere are gracefully accepting their bountiful curves as a blessing instead of a curse. Clothes are now made to fit and accentuate fill figures instead of big bulky clothes that are supposed to hide fuller shapes. But on the topic of health, “you are what you eat”. And size does not always play a role in how our insides contribute to the overall health of a person. If you’re taking in junk, skinny or not; it simply isn’t healthy and is bound to catch up with you sooner or later.

So, do thick woman finish first? I think just being in the race is what matters. Now whether you finish first or last is up you… And size has nothing to do with it. Keeping in mind that this only applies to us women; besides, I don’t want men to get their hopes too high. I’m just keeping it Real…

The Gym brings: Blood, Sweat and Tears…

Today, I am at the gym, but it’s way too much like gym class this morning with all the tiny Orange cones, and the lines of bodies running and hopping over tiny obstacles with grace and then… There’s me, the Big One, the biggest one.

“But this is not gym class.”

Is what I thought to myself. Suddenly, I remember being the last one to be picked, and always at the back of line because I can’t keep up even after taking two puffs of my embarrassing bright yellow asthma pump. We are splat in the center of the gym doing burpees, then frog hops and wide lunges. But these women are going fast, and twice my age and half my size and I can’t keep up. “Dear God, why can’t I keep up?!!! ” I can’t breathe, and suddenly the chubby little fat girl with the jerry curl, whose gym shorts keep riding up into her crotch has appeared and wants to roll into a little ball and, so what I do? I walk away, yup that’s right.

The kangaroos keep bouncing across the gym floor and I run into the woman’s locker room. Keyword is “women’s” locker room, but it doesn’t matter because in this moment, I am that little girl I just described. Then a woman comes into the locker room. Probably one of the bouncy ones with toned arms and ripped abs. Okay, yes I maybe over doing it. I didn’t see her face or body.

“Is someone in here from the Fit class?” She queried. I wasn’t hiding but I wasn’t responding either. I couldn’t go back out there; especially after walking out. How could the size 4’s understand what I was going through for one moment? (That’s a rhetorical question) She asked a few more times and gave up, she left the locker room.  Then I cried in my towel, the white gym towel whose threads felt like sandpaper. I cried because I’d given up yet again. I cried because I’d successfully managed to gain back all of the weight I’d lost years ago. I cried because freakin asthma kept me from running and the fat did too… And I’d cried because I was crying and crying wasn’t going to do a damn thing to change it. Eventually, after scrapping my skin off with the gym towel, I went back out to the gym and finished my workout alone. I didn’t leave the gym, I wasn’t mad or upset with anyone but myself, but I am a work in progress and the road to better health is no easy road.

Through it all, we have to put in the work. Believe it or not, we worked our butts off to gain weight. I mean really, this didn’t happen overnight. It happened over the course of a couple of years and for others months. So no, you won’t just breathe, pray, eat and love and watch the weight just melt off. With this in mind, we must process that our weight-loss journeys will be anything but painless and difficult. It will be a test of our willpower and most of it is all mental. Our stomachs may dictate when we’re hungry, but it is ultimately us who decide what to food put into our mouths, and which; as well as, how much of it goes in.

In Case you missed the S on My Chest…

I was Waiting on Superman, but he was running late and got upstaged by Wonderwoman who I almost didn’t recognize because she was half-naked and ready for the runway…

Not to mention she forgot her cape; she told me something about it being dirty and in the dry cleaners, so she had to borrow mines. And since I’m always busy trying to: save the world, cook, clean, break up petty fights, set things straight, working, verbally and emotionally supporting others, wiping the tears of others, convincing others that my family and I are worthy of a better life while still trying to pave a way for others to follow so it won’t be as difficult for them to get or have opportunities; I just so happened to have a spare cape that she could use because my other 9 were in the dry cleaners too.

She looked me up and down, and then asked what would I do without my last clean cape on hand. What if someone needs me??? I then opened my shirt revealing the capital (S) etched into my flesh, centered at the very middle of my chest. I said, “Lately, most people don’t recognize me as Superwoman, Supermom, Super-wife, super daughter or the like… They see me as Super-tired and frustrated, Super burnt out, Super angry, super weary…” Before I could finish my little rant, Superman finally arrived super-duper late and he wasn’t even in costume.

He looked a mess, he was unshaven in tattered pajamas with socks and slippers on. Shortly after, he started to list his excuses as to why he was running late, I grew Super bored, and closed the door in his face; while at the same time Wonderwoman continued to query me some more. I began to wonder why she was even there. I gently pushed her out of the door, and out of my way. I snatched my cape back, decided to handle my own and took flight, for way too much time had been wasted on simply trying to get someone else’s help and assistance.

Was I tired, frustrated and angry? Yes… Does that mean I should stop to complain or give-up? Heck No…
And although I may appear to be tired or worn out. I’m not… So Just In case you’re confused about the S etched across my chest it stands for: Super Sexy and all of the above and more. I’m ready to Save them… How about you? And Should you ever need an extra cape, I have one waiting.

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What is True Beauty?

No, I’m not a doctor I’m just your average female who wants to be beautiful. I don’t even want to be skinny. I’m not even sure if it’s genetically possible to be skinny or slim. All or at least most of the women in my family are thick, not fat, but we have meat on our bones. And I’m lovin every curve on my body.

But is it beautiful? What is beautiful and how do we acquire beauty, true beauty? Is it internal? Is it in the clothes we wear or our hair? How about our eye color? All of these factors can play a role in what we define as beauty. I guess I’m going to search and find this beauty. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning, and see it in the mirror, only to lose it the moment I walk out of my front doors…

When I look in the mirror I can see age spots. My husband calls them freckles; they lay a little beneath my eyes and sit at the top of my cheekbones. I don’t remember having them, which is why I call them age spots.