It’s been awhile since we’ve communicated so we wanted to give you an update…in video form…because we never have.
We welcome comments, questions, suggestions or anything super random that may pop into your head – Like seeing a fly (you’ll understand what we mean after watching the vid).
Comments below…
It takes practice taking a “thin” selfie
Hi, I’m Tawsha and I do things in extremes.
Group: “Hi Tawsha“.
I’m not quite sure where to begin with this post because it goes so far back.
Summary: I’ve always been a fit and active person. Until adult hood. Once I was out of organized sports, I would either spend all my time doing nothing in the way of exercise or I’d be obsessively teaching classes, choreographing for fitness and figure competitors and tearing it up at boot camp class. It’s a little crazy. My body has got be like, “WTF Tawsha?”
In the past 5 years, any sort of exercise has been a struggle and painful due to my back and sciatica (the story is here).
Finally, after all this time, I decided to bite the bullet and go to the doctor for one purpose: Health. I didn’t want to dilly dally. I told the lady making the appointment that I needed to get a grip, that I wasn’t sure where my health stood and that I was tired of hiding from it. I’m not sure she was ready for an ‘Oprah moment’ during that brief convo but I tend to over share most of the time. I couldn’t help it. All or nothing is basically how I roll.
I got into the doctor fairly quickly and sat down with him to talk about my health history, my habits, how I tend to obsess or not at all and that I needed to hear from him what my next steps would be.
After a few tests, I found out that I’m healthy. Like, really healthy. My body has been a champion and has fought hard to keep my levels even, my blood sugar normal and my blood pressure normal. I don’t know how this is even possible (thinking back to my fast food meal not more than 1 hour prior to my appointment about being out of control).
The doctor’s answer: You need to lose weight.
When I can, I hide behind someone in a picture.
I know this. I’ve known this since I started gaining weight. In all of my son’s 5 years of life, he’s known his mom to be soft and squishy. Lovely.
I guess I just kept telling myself that I was being the hardest on me. That others saw me differently. That’s what the people around me say, at least. “You look fine.” “You’re not fat.” “You’re overreacting.” When I mention my weight to people around me, I’m not fishing for compliments, I’m genuinely concerned. I always heard what would ease my mind. It’s like giving drugs to an addict.
It’s nobody’s fault but my own.
To take the drama down a notch; I’m not massively obese but I am 55-60 pounds more than I need to be which offers the wonderful benefits of a shorter life span, higher insurance rates and a side of insecurity. The doctor asked me where I saw my “healthy range” and I responded with a dress size. “I’m healthiest at a 6”. The number on the scale game is an evil one and I can’t get involved in that bid’niss. Let’s be real. I want to fit back into my cute jeans and not wear 4 layers of clothing in order to cover my arms, stomach and any other unflattering area.
The one thing my doctor told me is that if I could bring my weight down just 20 pounds, I’d extend my life expectancy 7 more years. First of all, ‘JUST 20 POUNDS? Excuse, me, doc? I’m struggling to lose ONE FREAKING POUND.’ However, the life expectancy comment really hit me hard. All I could think about was that I’d get to spend 7 more years with my son. 7 more years with the family I love and doing a job I can’t get enough of. That’s what did it.
So, today, as I sit and write this blog, I’m putting it all out there. The good, the bad and the ugly.
How I look today. An honest shot that I wouldn’t let my husband post on Facebook.
This website won’t turn into a fitness or healthy motivation site, it’s a place where I plan to hold myself accountable in front of you. You will call me on my crap. You’ll help me be a better person and, in turn, I hope to offer the same to you.
I don’t know where this is going and I don’t have a major plan for my writing. What I do know is that I’ll keep my personal blogs updated, I’ll share anything I learn and I’ll be extremely open. I do have a plan for weight loss. That’s the good news.
This whole admission is kind of scary because it’s focusing on what I’ve avoided sharing for so long. It’s real and not an empty promise to myself or some fad diet that I think is going to work miracles. Turns out, they don’t. I’ve tried them. ALL of them.
I’d love to hear from you in the comments below.
Next up: How I plan to reach my goal.
Follow us on Bloglovin’ (free HERE) to get updates in your email.
Part of knowing me is knowing my friends. They make me who I am and are the recipients of my crap on a daily basis. Mel is the recipient of ALL my crap. I met Mel (Melinda to those who don’t know better) almost 10 years ago. I was invited to take a boot camp class. Mel was the first person to say “hi” to me but just kept staring. What was she looking for? She wanted to know if I was going to barf during that class. Um…yep. Pretty much wanted to. Her staring posed a competition. It was me vs. my gag reflex. I could do this. No barf for me.
Point is: Mel is one of the best people I know. Since I moved from Seattle to Nashville, I’ve been in search of someone like Mel. What I’m learning is that this girl is one-of-a-kind. I’ll keep her forever. Mel just moved from Seattle and she has been sharing the most hilarious stories with me. I asked her if she’d write about it.
__________________________________________________
I recently moved across the damn country. Why you ask? Oh cause the husband got a job close to D.C. so we packed up our world and headed east. We went from Seattle to Leesburg, Virginia. No, not West Virginia – I didn’t marry my brother, and I don’t drive to work on a combine. Northern Virginia, or as the locals call it ‘NOVA’ – super close to D.C. Ask me if I’ve actually driven into D.C. since I moved here two months ago and I’d tell you NO. Not because I don’t like the town but because I’m still trying to get used to this little town called Leesburg. Look it up…it’s cute.
However, the one thing it’s lacking is friends for Mel. Before I moved here, I was worried I wouldn’t find anyone to hang out with. Thankfully I had ONE, count that…ONE friend on the east coast, and I adore her, but I want to add to my circle. I need a posse to call my own. A little something about me – this bitch is social. I’m not sure when it happened – I don’t remember being super social when I was younger, but I guess I probably was. I mean it doesn’t happen overnight, so clearly I’ve been this way for a long time and never even realized it.
So anyway, I’m gonna blow through some small details to get to the goods, and the point of this post.
I moved here. My hair was in need of some love. I searched Yelp. Found a cute place. Made an appointment. Got to chatting during the appointment, and was invited out that weekend for drinks at a local bar. YES! I’m making progress quickly, and this whole making friends thing won’t be that hard. Um, yeah…ok…just keep reading…it gets so much better.
So I call my one friend, V, and invited her to come with me. Another thing about me – I normally like to travel in groups of two or more. Showing up alone gives me the armpit sweats and an awkward smile, so I try to avoid it or I end up looking like I’m constipated with a sweat gland issue. Anyway, we meet at a place that looks good for dinner. Um, mind you we are both new to the area and don’t really get out of our yoga pants often, so we stepped it up a notch – our pants had buttons. GASP, I know. The place I picked looked nice enough. I walk in before V got there and realized it’s for the older crowd, like the crowd where the men wear some type of Dockers at all times and the women are in Estee Lauder….you know the type, and don’t act like you don’t. Oh well, we are here and we are gonna eat. Food was delish, wine was even better, and the older guy on the piano signing and playing about 10 feet from us was a great add. V and I wondered who invited Elton John. Pretty sure it looked like she and I were on a date. Whatever, she’s hot so I’m okay with it.
Next, we meet up with the new crowd at a sports bar.
A. V and I are over dressed
B. We’re both super nervous to walk into a bar where we know NO ONE.
We get in there, find my new friends, and sit down and get to chatting. Things were going great. Everyone was super nice. Some older, some younger, some married, some not. Group seemed cool. Some time later the surroundings got quiet and I was just talking to two of the girls. One girl had just had a bunch of botox done to her face, so I was getting her to make different faces. When her face didn’t move even one millimeter I thought it was funny and would laugh. I have a super loud laugh at times. It pretty much scares small children and it’s a lot to take in all at once. Sometimes I laugh so hard I go silent, then end up gasping for air. A real hot effin’ mess. Whatever, I own it. So here is what happened next:
Me: “Ok, so try to scrunch your nose and wrinkle your eyebrows like this” (insert me making a weird face)
Botox: “Ok” (insert her trying and nothing happening)
Me: (laughing so hard I farted)
Yup, you heard that sh*t right. I. LAUGHED. SO. HARD. I. FARTED
Here’s the kicker – it’s not like my tummy was upset and I was holding it in. I had NO CLUE it was even on the horizon. Was it loud, you ask? And I would respond with ‘UM, YES!’ Now here is where the details get hazy. I remember hearing it, and thinking ‘OHMYEFFINGOD did that seriously just happen?’, then turning my head super fast to the left and catching myself because what I was doing was looking BEHIND me. Nothing gives you away faster than to TURN AROUND to see what just happened. I’ll tell you what happened – YOU FARTED, BITCH. Nice work.
See, if I was at home with all of my old friends, they would just say ‘Nice work Mel’ and we would move on like nothing happened. No. Big. Deal. However, when you BLOW ASS in public in front of people you have literally known for about 27 minutes – yeah, it makes an impact. FML.
So how does one recover? Yeah, not sure. Thankfully it was odorless, and thankfully the bar started to get loud again and we kinda moved on to a different topic, all the while I’m saying in my head ‘I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.’ The night goes on and it’s totally fine on the surface, but you KNOW they heard it, and you KNOW they are dying to talk about it. I’m officially ‘the new girl who farts’. YAY.
Favorite part? When I get home I tell my husband the story and he laughs and says, ‘Yeah, they will be talking about you at the salon tomorrow!’ So sweet. But dude, he’s right.
You may be wondering if anyone from that group has called to invite me to another place to drop ass? I’ll keep you in suspense until my next post. Gotta keep you bastards wanting more!
Love,
