Some Things are Actually More Difficult for Chubby Girls

So, I know most of us have body issues…and if you don’t, more power to you. Fat, skinny, chubby, thin…big ass, no ass, huge boobs, flat chest…there are reasons that anyone could feel a little down about their bods. And with the way humans are, other people don’t really help with our body image issues.

So this is not to say that my problems as a chubby/fat/overweight girl outweigh yours or anyone else’s…

But there are DEFINITELY some things that are genuinely more time-consuming, more difficult and more painful because of the way my body is.

There may also be things that are more difficult for smaller girls (or guys), but not living on that side of the scale…I can’t speak for them.

Shaving your legs

We all know how I feel about shaving and how it’s one of those painful grooming activities that fills me with regret and grumpiness…I’m sure that even the skinniest girl needs to be a flippin’ contortionist to do all the shaving that someone decided was necessary for ladies to be pretty and sexy and delicious…

I FEAR someone walking in on me while I’m in the bathtub, ankle raised above my head or hanging out over the tub while I try to make my pale white legs “pretty” so I can wear a dress…because most pants don’t fit me well enough to wear. Let’s not even go into the chub rub that comes from freshly shaved thighs, but seems to disappear when I haven’t shaved in a while.

Instead, let’s talk about the sheer volume of my legs (and arms). As I was shaving the other day, I thought to myself, you know, Chrissy…you should shave more. It wouldn’t kill you. And then I thought about the process…and how it wasn’t as if it added just 5-10 minutes to my beauty regime…it added 30-35 minutes…at least. And then I asked myself, how the hell do other girls do this EVERY DAY?

And I realized that this size of my legs and arms is genuinely bigger than those of other girls. With the areas that requires shaving—the circumference of my thighs, the distance between the from of my leg and the back of my leg—it’s more time consuming.

Life’s a process for me. I think you knew that. Shaving is one of those processes.  The contortion. The amount of time. The wondering why the hell we do this. It’s a process.

shaved legs

I think I do it so I can walk around (the beach or other place) in a skirt…so I don’t have to wear pants. Because pants=the devil.

Working out

I recently lost a few pounds. I’m still pretty proud of myself even though the stress of my current life has slowed that process. What I realized, though, after losing about 10 pounds, was holy shit! That’s 10 pounds I’m not carrying around anymore.

This one’s harder to explain, so I’ll try a demonstration. Do 10 jumping jacks or some other quick cardio activity. Feels ok, right? Now, pick up a 25 pound weight or a pair of weights or whatever. Repeat the exact same cardio activity while holding the weights. Not as easy, right?

If you weigh 130 pounds, that added 25 pounds is on someone else every. Single. Day. That 155 pound? That’s the weight my driver’s license said 15 years ago, when I first got my license. That’s the weight my driver’s license says now.

It was a lie then, and it’s a lie now. It’s just a bigger lie.

For the record, I am well aware of the fact that I, too, can do this exercise, and I know that there is someone 25 pounds more than me who has a more difficult time working out simply because of the added weight.

Riding rollercoasters

I LOVE me some thrill rides. Flying down a steep wooden or steel mountain at warp speeds while safely strapped in a harness makes me feel invincible. But sometimes, I don’t actually FIT in the coaster. Older rides are definitely more difficult for me. The newer rides tend to be designed with bigger hips in mind.

I’ll stop there.

I want to know if there are things that are genuinely more difficult for you because of your size?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

As promised, I went back to the gym — And met the devil in plastic

A short while back, I mentioned something about needing to go to the gym so I could continue to indulge in comfort foods. And thus began my journey down the rabbit hole of having a personal trainer.

Brian and I have had a gym membership for over a year. But we’ve gone maybe 5 times. Maybe.

I needed some serious motivation to get back to the gym and I was SERIOUSLY missing the awesome group training sessions I had when I went to this amazing gym back in Aurora (which is much too far away to maintain a membership). Also Brian is determined to keep up with this gym thing (look at us becoming gym rats!) going…so he convinced me that the trainer was the way to go.

OK. Fine.

So, on Day 1: The Assessment, this chick (the trainer) turns out to be super nice (I mean, despite the making me sweat thing) and an English major to boot. Good choice, Gym Manager Guy. Good choice.

She worked me a little hard to see my level of strength, but nothing terrible. Except for the Godawful Bosu.

Bosu Balance Ball

The Bosu Balance Ball*: The Devil in Plastic.

I had informed Trainer about my bad knee, ankles, and wrists…basically that I can’t do a whole lot of anything on them. Or risk serious pain. Push-ups? Planks? No thank you.

So she decides that it’s a good idea to put me on this half ball thing, which only makes shit harder…

Resting my elbows on the Devil in Plastic, she had me hold a plank position (that means a push-up position with a flat back) for…AS LONG AS I COULD.

Which turned out to be 15 whole seconds.

She let me rest. And then she made me DO IT AGAIN.

This time, though, she told me to go to my happy place. And I started smiling. And thinking. And internally giggling. And I said to her,

“If I told you I was thinking about cheese, would that be wrong?”

Her response?

“Whatever gets you through.”

30 seconds later, she told me I could rest. Cheese. Doubled. My. Stamina.

A few days later, she brought out that dreaded thing again. And I was ready for it.

Brie, cheddar, swiss, havarti.

Brie, cheddar, swiss, havarti.

Fuck. I can’t focus. I can’t think of other cheeses.

Brie, cheddar, swiss, havarti.

Blue!

Brie, cheddar, swiss, havarti.

Why can’t I think of other cheeses?!

Why is this so hard!

Brie, cheddar, swiss, havarti.

And rest.

I may not have been able to divert my attention back to cheese but I did 3 reps of 30 seconds each, repeating my mantra inside my head. And if you’re going to have a mantra, it should be things you love right?

Never underestimate the power of cheese.

Do you work out? Do you want to work out? Do you have a gym membership you don’t use?

How do you get through tough workouts?  What’s your secret?

*Some links lead to Amazon and may then lead to Amazon sending a tiny contribution to my cheese budget. I thank you in advance.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!