body image | BulgingButtons

November 2, 2013
by BulgingButtons 18 Comments

No Wonder I Look So Fat

That’s what I said when I watched this video. Ok, I’m kidding. I know the real reason I look so fat is because I am. But at least my videos and photos are an honest representation of me. Now before you read another word take a moment and click on the link above to watch a model transformed before your very eyes.

I knew models were airbrushed, and I knew that they were made leaner. I also knew that their cup sizes were regularly modified. What I didn’t realize is that their necks were stretched and their legs elongated. I didn’t know that their eyes were enlarged and moved about on their faces. It’s rather horrifying when you think about it.

Where do we draw the line between reality and fantasy when it comes to appearance? Cosmetics? Hair extensions? Fake tanning? Those are all very common appearance “enhancers” but some might argue that they’re dishonest too.

My personal opinion is that if you couldn’t be seen in person the way that your image appears, there’s some voodoo going on and it’s not on the up and up. My neck will never be longer, and I will not grow another inch taller, but I might tweeze my brows and put on a little lipstick.

No wonder we women look at ads and then turn a viciously critical eye on ourselves. “She must have more willpower,” we say. Well, yes, compared to me she doubtless does, but she’s also half digitized. In other words, fake.

Here’s to real women of all shapes, sizes, colors, and looks. There are so many versions of beauty that contorting an already beautiful woman into something less than human seems almost profane.

August 4, 2013
by BulgingButtons 2 Comments

Oreo Habit

I am the girl with the Oreo habit. Ok, not a girl anymore, a full-fledged middle aged woman. I’m much too old to have an Oreo habit. But really it’s not an actual Oreo habit, it’s a sweet habit. No, that’s not even it. It’s a food habit. And it’s more than a habit, it’s an all out obsession. There, I said it. Will that make it go away? Of course not. I wish it were that simple. A public declaration, a little shaming and humiliation, a few minutes of feeling bad, then presto change-o… no more problem! I would do it. I really would. You want me to wear a sign for a day?Put it on the blog? Confess my sins to a talk show host? Fine.

I tried out for the Biggest Loser. I put on a dress that both made me look cute and made me look fat. I did my hair and make up , to the best of my ability, then toddled off to a local mall with folding chairs and my sweet boyfriend (who LOVES a big woman, lucky for me). I sat in line for hours, filling out forms and chatting with other fat women. Then I got my chance. I filed into the private space along with about a dozen other fat people and sat at the table with a giant grin pasted across my face. “Look at me! I’m fat! I have personality! Pick me, pick me!” But they didn’t. Secretly I was relieved. After all, I have a kid and a dog and a boyfriend and a job and a life. How could I jet off to “the ranch” to reinvent myself? And deep down the bigger question, how could I possibly face the humiliation of trying to do it on national t.v.?

I was terrified that they might pick me. After all, I had plenty to lose, I’m reasonably cute, and I’m pretty articulate. I reasoned that they didn’t want someone who would just cry and mumble the whole time. Not that I wouldn’t cry. I’m sure I would cry buckets. In fact, I had already decided that Jillian and Bob were too intense for me, so I would HAVE to be on Dolvett’s team. Do you think they take requests?

Anyway, that was over a year ago, and America managed another whole season of Biggest Loser without me. I didn’t watch. Well, not much anyway. I tend to feel too guilty. I much prefer Extreme Weightloss. One episode and it’s over. Besides, I like the one on one approach, and who could possibly resist Chris Powell? With him training me I would have to succeed, right? Maybe it’s time for another try out.

July 26, 2013
by BulgingButtons Leave a comment

*Hello Treadmill, You Heartless Taskmaster

Well hello treadmill, how have you been? I know it’s been a while since I’ve stopped by, but here I am, so let’s dispense with the pleasantries and get on with it. Since I’ve last seen you I’ve had some rather uncomfortable surgery. I’ve been recovering for a while, and I’m ready to do a little exercise now, but don’t expect too much of me. Still, I feel better than I have, and I’m tired of wearing the same few things that aren’t excruciatingly tight on me, so it’s time we got reacquainted.

Funny thing is, when I had the surgery I kind of expected that my body would change, but not in the way that it has. It seems that all of the bulk has shifted down and now it’s impossible for me to wear most of my pants. Ugh. And my shirts aren’t nearly long enough to hide the hideousness underneath. It’s exasperating, so it’s time to get off my considerable butt and start doing something about it. I hate hauling all this weight around. It’s uncomfortable, unattractive, and generally a nuisance. The health issues are a factor too, of course, but nobody wants to hear all of that medical mumbo jumbo, least of all me.

Alright, so now I’m here, hair in a ponytail, t-shirt and shorts donned, neon green socks tucked into running shoes. The tiny room is way too hot to be comfortable, but I can’t move you, so I have to make the best of it. The ceiling fan is circling, a water bottle is propped up on you sweating like mad, and my newly downloaded training ap is ready to coach me. My son is in the room too, playing video games on a heat generating tv, and creating his own heat too.

Deep breath, and here we go. Start with a five minute warm up, says the ap. Ok, I’m walking, I’m walking. Do I really want to do this? Yes, I suppose I do. Oh no, now the ap says jog. I crank you up a few notches and make my feet move faster. When was the last time I jogged? I have no idea. Phew, now back to walk. This pattern continues for a while. Water bottle number one is drained and son has replaced it. At my panted request, a second fan has been maneuvered into place and pressed into service. Still I carry on. You keep me going, faster, slower, faster, slower. At last, my little digital trainer tells me that it’s time to cool down. I push your buttons and you happily comply, easing me into a slower pace. But cool I am not. I am quite warm so I drink from my second water bottle and enjoy the breeze directed at my backside.

I thought it would be miserable. I thought I would hate it. It wasn’t, and I didn’t. It felt satisfying and productive. I know it was only the first one, the first little workout with my new training ap, but I’m hopeful that there will be many more. You will be seeing a lot more of me, treadmill. We both deserve it.

*This piece was written several weeks and visits to the treadmill ago. FYI, that ap still kicks my butt but the treadmill and I are becoming friendlier to one another.