“Breaking up is hard to do” - Neil Sedaka

I know this is a very public, perhaps embarrassing, way to tell you this, but it’s time.

I know what we have is amazing. I have loved you my whole life! Nothing makes me feel like you do. You have some sort of spell over me. I think about you all the time. You come to me in my dreams. You invade my soul and take over my body. Just the anticipation of feeling you inside of me makes me giddy. Your smell, the way you make me feel, the rush of ecstasy you give me are all intoxicating. I fantasize about a secret redavouz with you. No one has to know. You sneak into my bedroom and seduce me. When you come to me I am covered from head to toe in a rapture of passion that is cosmic. I am completely, wholly and uncontrollably addicted to you. I will always love you with everything I am. BUT…you are so bad for me

I have to end it. I know this is going to hurt me so much more than it hurts you. You have so many other women. What am I to you but just one other notch on your bedpost? You have used me up, hurt me and changed me into someone I don’t like or even recognize. I am weak around you. I make horrible choices around you. I lose the strong, beautiful, wise woman I am constantly striving to become. I give in to anything you want. So, I am walking away from you. You probably won’t even notice I am gone. You don’t give a shit. WE ARE OVER!

In 24 hours, I will be taking the first steps to say goodbye to you forever. I am reclaiming my body from you! I will be thinner, stronger and more confident. I refuse to let you take me over ever again! I will find others...others who are better for me. They will treat my body right. Better yet, they will treat me right. I will be healthier for having them. Soon…I won’t crave you anymore. I will find satisfaction and fulfillment with ones who truly love me.

So, Chunky Monkey, Cherry Garcia, Chubby Hubby and all your friends….peddle your wears elsewhere because we are through!

Detours

I took a different route to work today due to emergency responder exercises going on in the middle of my commute. I guess they have their reasons for choosing the Park Meadows “shopping resort” (their words, not mine) for these drills. I mean, if terrorists what to attack Abercrombie & Fitch, who am I to argue with Allah? What’s the worst thing that could happen? A&F is destroyed.  Now, I can walk through the south end of the mall without my sense of smell being bombarded and possibly permanently damaged by the smell of shitty cologne and sweaty balls wafting from the store. Ultimately, those guys (and gals) are hard at work protecting our high end malls and I had to take a detour.

My live has taken many detours. I believe those different routes are the reason I am who I am today: good, bad and ugly. I think about decisions I regret and wonder what they really mean. Why should I regret anything if those choices got me where I am today?

An obvious detour would be my teenage pregnancy. How would my life be different without having a baby at 19? Would I have gotten married? Would I have had my second child by 21? How about the rather spontaneous choice to leave Boise? I regret that choice everyday of my life. But I could never regret my amazing boys. Why do some decisions that seem so benign (getting drunk and hooking up at a party at 19 years old) lead to such a dramatic life change? Why are other changes that seem so right at the time (moving to Texas from Idaho) lead to daily regrets? I guess we can never truly know where our detours will take us.

So…I have made a MAJOR life decision. As of Tuesday, there is no going back. I can’t turn around on this detour. Where will this road take me? I have to say, this is the scariest part. I am not afraid of anesthesia. I am not afraid of pain. I am not afraid of recovery or my post-op diet. I am afraid of not knowing what’s ahead. This seems like a great change…..but can we really, really ever know if the new route is better than the old?

It seems fitting to me that my surgery will fall on the Equinox as it arrives in Denver (September 27^th). I really am at a crossroads. I choose (by random fate) the day the night is exactly equal to daylight. I am a complete skeptic but part of me believes that day is a good day to take a major detour.

“You are gonna be so HOT!”…..

……and other compliments that aren’t really compliments at all.

OK, I get it! Fat is not HOT. There are no fat chicks gracing the cover of Playboy, Maxim or any other men’s magazine I read for the articles or the occasional devastating blow to my self esteem. There are no chubby girls in videos, print ads, on the runway….Hell…even the Lane Bryant models are a size 12 at their heaviest…..which brings me to a quick digression….

WhyTF! Do I have to be relegated to a totally separate department on a totally different floor when trying to shop for clothes? For those of you who don’t know what I am talking about: Fat girls are not allowed to shop with the skinny girls. In ANY department store the “plus” size section in usually upstairs, in the back of the store, near the shitty rest rooms and customer service. There is usually an elevator near because the escalator is just too much physical exertion for us lards. Nordstrom’s is good enough to have a snack bar up there for us in case that elevator ride depleted our biscotti reserves. No one else I know has to shop in the back of the store like us fat people. Even the men’s “Big and Tall” is in the same men’s department as the other dudes. I guess the only group of people that can understand this phenomenon are men who dress in drag. But, they have an entire department store dedicated to them in Patricia Fields (the Queens are gonna love that joke).

OK…so back to my original point. Why do people say to be, “Oh, after this surgery, you are going to be so (insert compliment here)”?  For me this isn’t about being hot or sexy or pretty or thin….it’s about fitting into my body. You see, I am TransPhysique.

Yes, my friends, I am out of the closet. I am a skinny girl trapped in a fat girl’s body.  Some of you may be thinking, “Doesn’t everybody what to be thin? Isn’t fat a choice? You said it yourself, Kristin, ‘Fat is a choice!’” Ummm…actually I said MY choices made me fat, not “Fat is a choice”, so stop misquoting me. Now, I am exercising my choice to escape this body that doesn’t fit.

This is a HUGE lifestyle change. Not only will by mental view and physical body change, but so will society’s perception of me. How will I be received? What if I don’t feel comfortable in my “new” body? What if I just don’t look right like Star Jones? What if my head is too big for my body (HEAD! PANTS! NOW!)? There is so much to process. Sometimes it’s hard to get your head around it. This change is happening in less that a week. I will start a new path. I am nervous, scared, excited and ready to see where it leads…..

But to end where I started: “Compliments that aren’t really compliments”. I have to leave you with an actual conversation:

Co-worker #1: I hope when you get thin you don’t turn into a bitch!

Co-worker #2: She’s already a bitch…but I mean that in a good way.

Co-worker #1 Yeah, but don’t be a *skinny* bitch!

Me: I totally get what you mean.

And I did.

The Gospel According to Lyle

My Mom was one chastised by a friend of hers for doing me the great disservice of not “raising me up with God”.  Her response was I would be able to choose when I was an adult. So, I thought about her philosophy of life, how she raised me and if not knowing “God” was really a hindrance in my life.

She told me to love and care about people. She taught me people are people, despite age, race, sexual orientation, etc.. She is the most empathetic person I know. She can read just about anyone and know their character. She also has an uncanny ability to call me just when I am about the break down, often telling me she, “just had a feeling” she needed to call. She showed me how to take care of my own children, home and pets. I watched her grow-up with me. I watched her stay strong through the worst circumstances. I’ve watched her inspire greatness in other people. I have always been in awe.

I remember she used to come out and play with all the kids in the neighborhood. She once caught a garter snake and held it for all of us to touch. She is the bravest woman EVER! In the third grade, the class bully (Amber) made me cry. She told me if Amber didn’t want to be my friend, it was her loss, which made sense to me because I had the Barbie Townhouse with working elevator. Who wouldn’t want to be my friend with assets like that in my room?! I was afraid of monsters in my closest. She calmly explained that Grover was a monster, so how bad could monsters be? She never missed an AWFUL band or choir concert and was secretly relived when I pursued sports (something I was actually good at) instead of singing or playing an instrument. She never missed a softball game. Her whistled could be heard for miles! She was there through my first broken heart and told me if he didn’t want to be with me, it was his loss. I still had the Barbie Townhouse, but didn’t think that would persuade him. She was right though, it was his loss!

I think she is disappointed I don’t believe in a higher power. But…the thing is: I do! I believe in her and everything she taught me. She has been my rock, my strength, my greatest cheerleader, my most constructive critic and ALWAYS there. …for real.…..in the flesh. So, no, I don’t believe in a fictional “God”. I believe in people. I believe in her. That doesn’t take any faith at all.

I know she is scared for me. In a week I will be going under for surgery. That’s scary for a Mom. But, please, DON’T pray for me! Send thoughts to Lyle. She needs them more than me J

Training vs. Coaching

I had to speak to a group of people this week about Training (learning a whole new skill) vs. Coaching (reinforcing known skills or behaviors) . I also had my final nutrition class prior to surgery. Now, I understand these things are totally unreleased. Well, at least, at first glance they seem unrelated. However, after a glass of red wine, a hot bath and double dose of my muscle relaxers last night, things became a little clearer to me. People who know me well will totally get how drugs and alcohol can make me MORE coherent.

Part of my “lifestyle change” is asking myself, “Why am I fat?”  and giving myself an honest answer. I mean, I could argue passionately about genetics (I *AM* the daughter of a huge football player/coach) or environment (I have to feed two, huge, growing teenage boys, so I cook for us all) or really any other excuse (I had two pregnancies in a row that fucked up my hormones, thyroid, prostate, whatever…) What I learned last night is it is ALL choice.

As our lovely, skinny-bitch Dietician began to explain to me that high fructose corn syrup is really added sugar (no shit) and that complex carbs are better than simple carbs (REA-he-LLY?! (sic)) I thought, “But I *LIKE* simple carbs and corn syrup”.

My epiphany was just this simple: While I have not actively chosen to be fat, my choices had made me fat. I mean, unlike being gay, fat is NOT a choice (had to throw that out there for my HUGE Tea Party and Evangelical following).

This brings me back to the class I was teaching. I listened to the class complain about their employees are just not as nice as they could be and we should have some training around that issue. I don’t think I can train someone to smile or be nice. I assume their mother taught them that.  So, they KNOW how to smile. They know HOW to be polite. They are just not doing it and all of the training in the world will not solve that. They are CHOOSING their behavior. Just like me.

 I was rolling my eyes at this beautiful, ditsy, thin, Dietician and thinking, “I’m not a fucking idiot! I know HOW to read labels. I know HOW to calculate my MHR and what the difference between anaerobic and aerobic is. I am a MENSA member, damn it Why the HELL am I sitting in this class!”

So….I *AM* smart. I do know how to eat, how to exercise, what the capital of Iceland is and how to solve for X.  I guess I don’t need training. I need a behavior change. I need coaching. And more than that…I need to stop fucking complaining and making up excuses and just do what I know how to do!

13 days and counting, my friends! September 27^th is quickly approaching!

The Last Supper

After three years of fighting insurance companies and finally giving up, I am doing it. I am getting "banded" as people in the know call it. Yes, lap-band surgery. The surgery I only thought weak, morbidly obese people get. I guess it never occurred to me that I could be one of those people. I am excited, nervous, scared and wondering what this could mean for the second half of my life. It's a pretty major change like getting married, divorced or changing gynecologists. I have had the same person looking at my vagina for eight years...but I digress.

My surgery date is September 27th. The anticipation is like that of a first date with a guy you really like. You are balancing the same fears of, "Will he like me?" "Will I like him?" "Will I get laid when this is over?" Clearly, that is the real goal of this surgery. I want to look good naked. Hopefully, that's a reasonable request!

I went to Texas de Brazil for my "Last Supper". I gorged on various meat and pork products to the point of illness. Damn it! I love food! Am I ready to give up the occasional buffet of overindulgence for my looks? And don't give me that bullshit about my health. I have been obese (I hate that word...but it's true) for 18 years. I have not had one, single health issue due to my weight. I am doing this for the looks and that's it. Is that an OK reason?

So...here starts my journey. A fat girl's quest to be born again as a skinny girl!