Cash Coup

Poo, Damn, Darn it, Blast!

It’s too easy to climb under the security of a soft doona when you can rest on laurels of weeks gone by. For some, the decreasing number on the scales only pushes them forward with an even greater gusto for shedding the weight. But for me, it’s often my demise.

I’ve been exceptionally grateful to all those who have encouraged me over the last few weeks. The occasional, “You look great!” and “How much have you lost now?” adds oodles to my self esteem but makes it easy to fall into the thinking that my job is done. In actual fact I have still just over 15 kilos (33 pounds) to lose. And this week I’ve gained.

They say that our body remembers times of great fitness; that this “body memory” helps great athletes regain peak form before a competition. I have a different sort of body memory that is ever so slightly starting to reveal itself. More of a déjà vu really. Did I imagine that chair was easier to sit in, was there really a time when I could no longer cross my legs, did that shop assistant really ask me if I would like to try that on?

And then today, Oh joys of joys. A. MAN. OPENED. A. DOOR. FOR. ME. Feminists relinquish immediately- you have an angry fat girl on your hands. This is not your fight.

For too long I have not been seen or even bumped out of the way as I have converged on an unopened door, a parking meter, a check out line at the same time as any man (and woman but that didn’t hurt). The mark of my self esteem is of course, not directly linked to the men of the world, but gee it’s nice to be seen.

There is no doubt that there is less wobble in my step these days; that my head is held slightly higher when I walk; and that I have dared to flutter my eyes in passing. But I still have all the characteristics of a very large woman- thighs that burn from rubbing together, a rather undefined waste and a rather voluptuous back…known as “back boobs” in the bizz.

And so, not yet satisfied with the status quo and desperate to propel myself with a revised relish into the week ahead, I set myself a little challenge. A head to head contest with a woman against whom I would not usually bet against. My mother. One week, one set of scales, a small sum of money to win.

Hey, obviously the promise of a life full of open doors hasn’t done it for me…maybe the cash will.

Poo, Damn, Darn it, Blast!

It’s too easy to climb under the security of a soft doona when you can rest on laurels of weeks gone by. For some, the decreasing number on the scales only pushes them forward with an even greater gusto for shedding the weight. But for me, it’s often my demise.

I’ve been exceptionally grateful to all those who have encouraged me over the last few weeks. The occasional, “You look great!” and “How much have you lost now?” adds oodles to my self esteem but makes it easy to fall into the thinking that my job is done. In actual fact I have still just over 15 kilos (33 pounds) to lose. And this week I’ve gained.

They say that our body remembers times of great fitness; that this “body memory” helps great athletes regain peak form before a competition. I have a different sort of body memory that is ever so slightly starting to reveal itself. More of a déjà vu really. Did I imagine that chair was easier to sit in, was there really a time when I could no longer cross my legs, did that shop assistant really ask me if I would like to try that on?

And then today, Oh joys of joys. A. MAN. OPENED. A. DOOR. FOR. ME. Feminists relinquish immediately- you have an angry fat girl on your hands. This is not your fight.

For too long I have not been seen or even bumped out of the way as I have converged on an unopened door, a parking meter, a check out line at the same time as any man (and woman but that didn’t hurt). The mark of my self esteem is of course, not directly linked to the men of the world, but gee it’s nice to be seen.

There is no doubt that there is less wobble in my step these days; that my head is held slightly higher when I walk; and that I have dared to flutter my eyes in passing. But I still have all the characteristics of a very large woman- thighs that burn from rubbing together, a rather undefined waste and a rather voluptuous back…known as “back boobs” in the bizz.

And so, not yet satisfied with the status quo and desperate to propel myself with a revised relish into the week ahead, I set myself a little challenge. A head to head contest with a woman against whom I would not usually bet against. My mother. One week, one set of scales, a small sum of money to win.

Hey, obviously the promise of a life full of open doors hasn’t done it for me…maybe the cash will.