Saturday, January 19, 2013


So last night, pretty much from far, far, left field my husband kinda, sorta, told me I should be eating healthier.

We were on the phone, I exhausted, achy, and footsore, from traveling yesterday to visit my family and then standing for a couple hours making cake balls for his co-workers today. He sore, tired, and exhausted from working like a mad-man cause they were understaffed and no one else would help out. Trying to figure out what to have for dinner. Taco Bell was out, it's yummy but the indigestion it gives at night just isn't worth it. We're all McDonalds out, nothing there sounded appealing. Which left Steak n'Shake. YUM. There's only one thing I REALLY like there, and it's pretty much a mild heart clot in buttery burger form. The Wisconson Burger. was then he said it. "That's not exactly healthy, you shouldn't eat it."

It was like a huge slap.

He has never ever said anything like that to me.

He might as well said, 'Your a fat slob, and I'm leaving you for a younger, more energetic, and perkier girl, with bigger boobs.'

I had two choices. 1. Hang up on him and start a fight that wouldn't have any foreseeable end. Or 2. Ask what the hell he meant by that.

Well we honestly don't fight. Yeah, yeah, we get upset sometimes, but we don't fight, yell, scream, argue. Not in the 15 years we've been together, so I went with option 2. Which was annoying cause he's sore, and when he's sore he's a little moody (so am I) and nothing much got said except he threatened to come home without dinner, and I told him to do whatever he wanted, but I'm to sore to cook. Blah, blah, blah... 

"Do you want a sweet tea?"

"Yes please, if your stopping by there."

"Yeah, I'll be home, after I get done ordering food for us."

We hung up and I sat on my couch for 45 minutes trying to figure out where the hell he was coming from.

Long story short, I use to be this tiny thing who danced, and bounced around, and was involved with so many performance groups it would make you go cross-eyed. Fast forward 15 years later, I'm 30-something, 5'4", and about 75-80 lbs overweight. I still have energy, really I do, except it seems that every time I'm up for doing something fun, I end up hurt. Physically injured. It's not fun. So I don't do much of anything anymore. I know I'm overweight, not obscenely, but I have enough junk in the trunk for 2 cars, thighs that actually are starting to have stretch marks, and a tummy. Not just a little cute pudgy tummy, but a tummy, that pisses me off when I see it, so I've kept it covered.

Hubby has always been sweetly honest. Not fake honest. He knows I don't like sugar coated lies. He's said several times. "Yes your bigger, you just need to tone yourself up. I don't care if your this size, just be toned." He also loves my boobs. Since I've gained weight, I've gained boobs, and he's over-the-moon about them. I didn't use to have boobs, really, just tiny little breasts. 

I like my boobs too, to be honest. I really really like my boobs, never thought I'd have them.

I don't like my tummy, or thighs, or back fat. 

He came home, took some pain medicine, and tried to relax while I nommed my skinny fries, sharing a couple with 2 of our 4 cats, in silence. He was uncomfortable and tense, something was up. Like he knew he said something and couldn't figure out what else to say or take it back. He also turned on the T.V. 90% of the time there is no T.V. on at night, he likes to come home and relax in quiet. His job is noisy all the live-long-day. So settling in we watched Future-Rama and I nommed my burger. It was good, but there was a bitter after taste left in my throat. He of course got a healthy looking chicken club sammich, then again he always gets that. During commercials I talked and tried to keep things normal, you know, to try to take the tensity out, until the pain killers kicked in. Rubbed the back of his neck, asked if he wanted me to fill the bath tub, things like that.

Food finished, show over, he went to get a bath and invited me in. Which is lovely, though our stoopid apartment tub is pretty small, I can fit in if I sit cross-legged, back against the spout, bum plush with the knob of the drain plug.. We talked about his day, my boring day, and I gently brought up the topic of the food comment. Trapped with no-where to run, he sighed and gave in. It was obviously uncomfortable for him and he obviously thought I was going to grow a second head at any moment to kill him with, but he told me.

"You don't do anything all day, you just sit around, and I'm worried about you. You need to loose some weight, and tone up, I don't care what you eat, you just gotta be active. What do you need? I'll buy any exercise equipment you want as long as you use it. What about that thing that goes between your legs and you push?"

"A thigh master?"

"Yeah that!"

*I laugh* "That thing won't work."

"Why not? Whatever. What do you need?"

He quickly and elegantly put me face to face with one of my private fears. Failure. I know I could start a routine & healthier diet, stick to it for a week or three, but then...stop. He's not home most of the day, he works, he'd never know that I wasn't using whatever exercise thing he got me. But I'd know. I'd know and hate myself for it. Growing up, my Dad bought my Mom whatever she wanted for exercise equipment, she'd use it for about a week and stop. I'm afraid that that attitude kinda, sorta, got ingrained in me. I HATE it. I've also keenly avoided any sort of setup that was similar, just in case I'm actually like that. I'm more afraid that I am, than actually know if I am. (Does that make any sense? Whatever!)

So I told him. Every little thing.

He nodded over the dissipating bubbles, his thinking face on.

"I really liked belly dancing." I toss out.

REALLY really liked it!

"Why did you stop?"

So I told him the lame excuse of us moving the couch in the middle of the room taking up floor space. Which was true, but deep down inside I knew I could have moved the damn couch like I did the first two weeks after it got moved. When I started belly dancing I did it in secret, only told me Daddy over dinner one day. I wanted it to be a surprise, once I was toned and slimmed, I'd tell everyone. I also did it for 3 months before telling Hubby, and he was delighted, pointing out on my body just where he saw improvements.  I was practically glowing with praise and self-satisfaction. And then...two weeks after, I fell down a flight of stairs. 

Home alone. My cell phone sitting comfortably upstairs on the couch. I was bruised, sore, and pretty sure almost snapped the ligament on my right knee. I crawled upstairs, called Hubby, and bawled to him what happened. I couldn't stand on my right leg, but it wasn't broken, and I apparently had a sudden case of stupid hit, because I wouldn't let him take me to the hospital.

I have feet problems. I was born with both feet upside down and backwards. I honestly don't remember the medical term for my ailment, but on a scale of severity 1-10, I was a 9. I didn't know anything was different about me until 6th grade, after the second-to-last surgery. Bless my parents, they never treated me differently, never let on something was different, and my 4 younger siblings didn't know anything was out of sorts. Thanks to my parents, some amazing doctors, and countess hours in and out of casts, corrective braces, and ignorant bliss, I led a normal life growing up. Aside from the occasional surgery and doctor visits, but that was normal for me. 30-some odd years later, 7 corrective surgeries, 1 big high school knee injury that kept getting re-hurt throughout the years (mainly from dancing), my feet are starting to break down.

The way I walk is throwing my knees and hips out of alignment. There's near-consistent pain, some days are alright, some days I can't get up out of bed. I can't sleep anymore without the help of sleeping aids, cause of the pain. Most fun of all my right knee gives out at the drop of a hat. Pops out of place, usually when I'm walking, and down I go! This past couple years my good knee, my left knee has given out. I guess it's getting jealous of all the non-attention it gets. It gotten to the point that I can't go grocery shopping with any certainty for fear of falling. I usually hold onto Hubby's arm when we go out.

Back to last night!

He was worried about belly dancing, insisting on something low impact. I pointed out, gently, that it was low-impact. He didn't seem convinced. I told him the only other thing I was interested in as a under-desk bike-peddle-thing. He was worried about my knee, but more agreeable. I wasn't happy at the thought of spending monies on something that might become a new footstool, so went back to the belly dancing idea, pointing out that it didn't cost anything, and if I got hurt, we could go another exercise route. He looked thoughtful and nodded, sweetening the deal, and completely won me over (I didn't need any more convincing) by saying that if I kept it up he'd get me NeoCash Cards. (Waaaaaaaay better incentive than food.)

A couple hours later wen ended up in bed, with a food plan for me. I'm not going to change what I eat for dinner, no! Breakfast will be more of; yogurt (which I kinda eat on and off anyways), or scrambled eggs (usually with cheese and fresh spinach), or the occasional bowl of cereal. Mid-day snack (lunch) will be fruit more or less, or veggies, maybe some crackers. Dinner will be whatever the hell I make/he brings home. mac&cheese&bacon, breaded chicken over white rice, sweet & sour chicken, Taco Bell, whatever. I'm going to cut my soda intake waaaay down. (I love me some Coke.) I drink 1 maybe 2 cans a day, 1-4 cans on Sunday (Hubby's day off), and 1-6 cans on Tuesday (our D&D gaming day). The goal is 0 cans on the days he works, except if we have pizza for dinner cause pizza & coke is a given, duh! 1 can on Sunday and 1-2 cans on Tuesday. 

It's do-able.

Cutting waaay back on soda sugar yumminess should help a lot and I LOVE eating fruit and veggies.

I'll be starting the belly dancing (at home via YouTube) Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

I feel good about it. I'm ready.

I'm starting this blog to keep track of my own progress. If people want to comment or read then I welcome the company. 

A little about me:

I curse, I play Dungeons & Dragons, Magic the Gathering, Final Fantasy XI, love being nude, reading, sewing Renaissance/Fantasy costumes, painting, & baking. I love my Husband, he's my best friend & soul mate. We have 4 kitties. Few close friends. I am a very private-home person. I love my family and always wish them the best. I am tactlessly-honest with those I love. Very open about myself (only when asked!), and usually a good listener.

If you don't think you can live with this in a blog reading then, please, find another blog to stalk.

This blog is about me & my personal Flight of Dragons. This Elf needs to be healthy again.


After turning out the lights I knew there was something else bothering Hubby, and I asked him about it. He squirmed, and said he didn't know how to say it, he didn't want me hurt or upset or anything else he couldn't think of. I told him to tell me anyways, that I wouldn't get upset, if there was something that needed to be said, he needs to say it.

"When we were having sex the other night...I felt your belly on mine...and it kinda turned me off."

He waited for an explosion.



"I love you more for telling me that."


"Yeah. You got to be able to be honest with me. I need to know, don't ever be worried about upsetting me, just let me know."

Yup this Elf needs to tone up. I knew it. I love him so much more after last night. It was the first good night's sleep I've had in a week. I can't wait for Monday.

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