Gbers's Blog

Okay I do not usually complain about people's shallowness or rudeness, but this time is an exception.

I have worked really hard, as I know everyone who happens to read this blog does as well.  

I choose...

I choose to log my calories.

I choose to drink my water.

I choose to get up at an insanely early hour to fit in my daily 59 minutes of exercise before I get ready to go to work.

I choose to log in my exercise and time each morning.

I choose to do my exercise, even if I think I do not want to do it, because I have already committed to do  it.

I choose to weigh, measure, prepare ahead of time and preplan my work-week breakfast, lunch and after work snack.

I choose to make an aware choice and think before I eat aimlessly and mindlessly, after a rough day a work and make sure I have a lot of healthy options such as fresh or frozen veggies which I can indulge in when I would rather indulge in salsa and salty tortia chips.

I have made many choices in the past eight months.

But one I did not make is for the allowance for rude, "small, mean comments from rude, 'small', angry work peers who have nothing positive to say.

I am about half the size I was last year, and instead of commenting on my new self, one said "Oh, you know you'll probably gain it all back within a year".

Really?

I choose not to.  I make my own choices...thank you.

Another lovely co-worker said,"Are you still losing weight?   You should not lose anymore, and actually had the audacity to point at my neck!'  I have news for her, the wrinkles on my neck were there underneath the 2 double chins-thank you very much for noticing then!

But you know,

I choose not to-

I choose not to lower my standards to accept their rude, inaccurate comments.

I choose not to allow anyone to make me feel less than.

I choose not to allow some else's narrow bitter outlook on life affect my own individual one.

I choose not to let someone's negative comments get inside my head when I would not even allow there normal comments in.

I choose not to become belittled.

I choose to BE.

I choose to continue this path I've created.

I choose to be me.

2 words-

Band Pants 11/3/11

If you were in band either in junior high, now called middle school, or in high school you know exactly what I am talking about.

Band pants----those pants that had a horizontal zipper on the side.  It was there so the pants could accommodate a variety of waist sizes, easily…except for me.

You see I was the ‘band secretary”, before they had the group of Band Parents that run and organize everything, like they do now.  I was the one who ran the hoagie sales, candy sales, and THANK GOD, gave out the band uniforms!

Everyone was quite easily able to fit into either one or two sizes, because of the adjustable pants side zipper.  The uniforms were numbered, so I was able to size and fit a member quite easily and I just marked down the # of the pants and jacket on a sheet and that was it…

Except for me.

I could not find a pair of pants that fit.

Not.

One.

Oh

my

God!  

Not

even

ONE.

And here I am the band secretary, the one who ran the whole thing besides the band director, who was so cool.  I kind of wonder if he knew my personal (demon) dilemma and just let me go and find a way to make it work.

So I tried on pants, and then some, and then some.  I struggled to fasten those big black clips in the front on top of the traditional vertical zipper, but an unending puff of me, my stomach kept trying to peek through.  I tried and, silently cried, uniform closet door closed, and was just desperate to make anything, something fit, because I HAD to be in uniform.

I was desperate, there was NO choice, I HAD to make something fit, so I did. I had to be very creative, I found the largest size they had, opened the side horizontal zipper as far as it would open and then THANK God for diaper pins (do they even make them anymore?), I could pin the one silver end that was supposed to be fastened to the other zipper end and pin it together giving me at least an almost 1 inch additional space, so at least I could breathe and walk (which is required when in a marching band) while playing my trumpet.  Thank God again, that I was short, and I mean short, so the bottom edge of the uniform never rose above the creatively fastened together-diaper- pin-waistband.

…and I wonder why I felt the need to write this this morning, when yesterday the pants I wore were LOOSE, but the zipper and black clasps brought me back, way back to my very humble beginnings, of which I hope and pray, I will never face again.