Monday, July 25, 2005
Plastic surgery and the weight loss slows.
Half pound down according to the scale yesterday.
Either I should be happy, or I should be spurred to work harder: less drinkies and fewer desserts.
Instead, I dug into the Ben and Jerry's. But not in a ridiculous out of control way. I waited until dinner, a dinner that consisted of salad with shrimp. So, I think it was balanced. Although it was a big salad and two dishes of ice cream. But it was fookin' delish, man.
I think running like mad makes your body crave carbs. 'Course, my carbs of choice are Ben and Jerry, not pasta and bread. I love them, too, but when given a choice. . . .
Today I'm planning to go the gym and do some weights by myself. I'm not sure what I'll do without TTT. Running around the gym with her makes me feel much less inhibited. I feel self conscious doing a circuit by myself, like I don't know what I'm doing. I guess this is something I'll have to overcome. After all, I have pretty good form, and I've been at this long enough that I can do it without carrying around the little paper she wrote out for me eons ago.
Speaking of form, during the run Sunday a lady told me I have "beautiful form." She said, "I was looking around and trying to decide who I should aspire to be, and it's you." Can you imagine? Made me feel like a real runner. 'Course it was around mile 1 when she observed my form. Not sure what it looked like by mile 12. . . .
I watched a British X-treme makeover style show before Footballer's Wive$ last night on BBC. (By the way, you have GOT to watch Footballer's Wive$, it's fookin' delish, man.) On the makeover show they had a 30-year-old, 6-foot-plus, very slightly chubby, uglyish duckling, and they brought her to LA, liposucked her belly, back, neck and "bingo wings"; veneered her teeth; lasered her eyes; pinned back her ears; clipped muscles in her forehead; cut away skin on her eyelids; chiseled away at the cartilage and bones in her nose; inserted D-cups through her belly button (to replace her A cups); did her hair and make-up and designed a glamorous dress for her. Took 6 weeks.
I found this very repulsive, and the result was less than miraculous, as far as I'm concerned. She seemed to feel she looked better, and she did. But $200,000-worth better? They sucked a liter and a half of fat out of her body. I'm convinced she would have looked better with 6-weeks of intensive personal training and zone-dieting and a weekend visit to a spa. She'd have ended up healthier and it would have been a hell of a lot cheaper.
Of course, my reaction probably has more to do with my own thoughts of plastic surgery for myself than it has to do with the poor flight attendant from Bolton. I guess I struggle with the idea of abusing your body and then abusing it more. That surgery is nasty! And the way the doctors talked about her body as if it were an object! I guess I just can't see how this can be good in the long run. Yes, I'm attempting the same sort of overhaul through diet and exercise and I am increasingly becoming aware of just how deflated my breasts may become. This is leading to thoughts of lifting, nipping, tucking--and dare I say--implanting. I never thought I would be the sort of person who would do such a thing. But as always, it comes down to identity. I have had ginourmous breasts since I developed them at 9 or 10. Who will I be without them? I do not want to become a skeleton with hooters, as is deemed desirable these days, but . . . I don't want deflated balloons either.
Why do I have such anxiety about this? Can you help enlighten? Please and thank you. I know plastic surgery is something you downright plan on; do you struggle with it at all?
Either I should be happy, or I should be spurred to work harder: less drinkies and fewer desserts.
Instead, I dug into the Ben and Jerry's. But not in a ridiculous out of control way. I waited until dinner, a dinner that consisted of salad with shrimp. So, I think it was balanced. Although it was a big salad and two dishes of ice cream. But it was fookin' delish, man.
I think running like mad makes your body crave carbs. 'Course, my carbs of choice are Ben and Jerry, not pasta and bread. I love them, too, but when given a choice. . . .
Today I'm planning to go the gym and do some weights by myself. I'm not sure what I'll do without TTT. Running around the gym with her makes me feel much less inhibited. I feel self conscious doing a circuit by myself, like I don't know what I'm doing. I guess this is something I'll have to overcome. After all, I have pretty good form, and I've been at this long enough that I can do it without carrying around the little paper she wrote out for me eons ago.
Speaking of form, during the run Sunday a lady told me I have "beautiful form." She said, "I was looking around and trying to decide who I should aspire to be, and it's you." Can you imagine? Made me feel like a real runner. 'Course it was around mile 1 when she observed my form. Not sure what it looked like by mile 12. . . .
I watched a British X-treme makeover style show before Footballer's Wive$ last night on BBC. (By the way, you have GOT to watch Footballer's Wive$, it's fookin' delish, man.) On the makeover show they had a 30-year-old, 6-foot-plus, very slightly chubby, uglyish duckling, and they brought her to LA, liposucked her belly, back, neck and "bingo wings"; veneered her teeth; lasered her eyes; pinned back her ears; clipped muscles in her forehead; cut away skin on her eyelids; chiseled away at the cartilage and bones in her nose; inserted D-cups through her belly button (to replace her A cups); did her hair and make-up and designed a glamorous dress for her. Took 6 weeks.
I found this very repulsive, and the result was less than miraculous, as far as I'm concerned. She seemed to feel she looked better, and she did. But $200,000-worth better? They sucked a liter and a half of fat out of her body. I'm convinced she would have looked better with 6-weeks of intensive personal training and zone-dieting and a weekend visit to a spa. She'd have ended up healthier and it would have been a hell of a lot cheaper.
Of course, my reaction probably has more to do with my own thoughts of plastic surgery for myself than it has to do with the poor flight attendant from Bolton. I guess I struggle with the idea of abusing your body and then abusing it more. That surgery is nasty! And the way the doctors talked about her body as if it were an object! I guess I just can't see how this can be good in the long run. Yes, I'm attempting the same sort of overhaul through diet and exercise and I am increasingly becoming aware of just how deflated my breasts may become. This is leading to thoughts of lifting, nipping, tucking--and dare I say--implanting. I never thought I would be the sort of person who would do such a thing. But as always, it comes down to identity. I have had ginourmous breasts since I developed them at 9 or 10. Who will I be without them? I do not want to become a skeleton with hooters, as is deemed desirable these days, but . . . I don't want deflated balloons either.
Why do I have such anxiety about this? Can you help enlighten? Please and thank you. I know plastic surgery is something you downright plan on; do you struggle with it at all?
// posted by divine m @ 9:54 AM 
