Plump Me Up, Scotty!

When I started this blog a while nearly two years ago, I shared the goals I had for my body with you and, as it was my Very First Blog Post, I had maybe all of four readers and all of None comments… and I feel like that lack of conversation led to a lack of accountability, which – you guessed it! – led to a lack of results. This made me a sad, sad Plump Girl.

I don’t like my results to lack, and I have a Really Big Goal to hit, so it’s time to jump back on the wagon.

Let’s review, shall we? 

Everything. This is everything.

Everything. This is everything.

  1. I want to tone & strengthen what I currently have.
  2. I want to add curves to my hips, butt, and tummy.
  3. I want to model, professionally.
  4. I want to participate in the sports/activities of my choosing.

In order to reach those goals, I organized my plan into three phases.

  • Phase One: Muscle Up!
    • Yes, I have FANTASTIC legs and a killer rack, but I would love to build strength in my legs and arms for better movement and flexibility, while also tightening my core.
  • Phase Two: Curve On!
    • That’s right… I want to ADD curves to the very places most women pay thousands of dollars to prevent that very thing, because I think know it would look incredible on me. This applies to my hips, butt, tummy and boobs.
  • Phase Three: Step Out!
    • This is where modeling and sports participation really come into play. I teach free self-defense classes as part of my volunteer life, and cannot wait to be as strong physically as I feel, mentally… and not to mention the satisfaction of seeing myself all dolled-up!

Oh, crap. You know what’s missing?
I totally forgot to tell you how much weight I want to lose!

"I could eat this scale, I'm so hun - oh, hi! APPLE!"

“I could eat this scale, I’m so hun – oh, hi! APPLE!”

just kidding.

I don’t have any desire to lose weight… and I’m 270 lbs.

How about that?

Contrary to popular belief, not every body-related goal has to do with losing weight. Aside from the evidence that backs up the very real, very possible, very is-already-happening-with-hundreds-of-thousands-of-fat-people-but-it’s-somehow-still-a-huge-freaking-deal idea that someone can be fat AND healthy, there are even people out there who prefer themselves at a higher weight than may be socially prescribed.

Like… me.

Now, you know what usually comes along after someone makes such a radical statement of self-love that goes against so much of what we believe, as a society, right?

“You’re just lazy – that’s why you say you ‘want to be fat’.”
“You’d be so much prettier if you lost a few/lot…”
“Have you ever actually TRIED to lose weight? I bet you could, if you tried.”

I’ve been skinny. Didn’t like it. Not for me.

I was my heaviest weight when I was 23 years old, which was about 435 lbs.
It did not feel good on my body – it was difficult to get off the couch, my knees ached from the added weight/stress on them, and I was short of breath just from walking to the front door.

I was my smallest weight when I was 25 years old, which was about 190 lbs.
I’d had a vertical banded gastroplasty (or, VBG) a year prior, and had lost over 200 lbs. I was “healthy”, in that all my co-morbidities (pre-diabetes, hypertension, poly-cystic ovarian syndrome, fatty liver) were gone, even though I was still considered ‘overweight’ by the BMI calculations… but when I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a stranger I was being told I should admire and be proud of.

2009

The only thing is, I didn’t see her that way.

I didn’t like the way I looked; the sharp lines of my collarbones and hips made me feel awkward. The way my clothes, even the new, smaller ones, would hang on my frame where my hips should have been made me feel frumpy. Snuggling my newborn felt like a dangerous activity.

Answering all the well-meaning, good nature-d questions my friends and family would pose to me about how good I must be feeling and how much I must finally enjoy going shopping made me feel dissected and fake.

It was then that I realized that I preferred a size and shape somewhere in the middle.

A Really Big Goal to Hit

In April of 2017, I plan on attending my second Warrior Dash, this time in Chino, California!
And, this time, I won’t sprain my ankle two days before the Dash and have to be sidelined!
And I’ll be sure to bring two towels, not just one!
And I’ll try not to think about how many *other* fluids are in the mud pit at the end!

Gross.

Anyway, my team is the MissFits 4 Life, and is led by the unbelievable Missy Fitzgerald. Over the last five years, we have raised over $100,500 for St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, who is the organization we run for… which, honestly, is the only way you will ever, ever, EVER get my ass to run.

I was not joking.

I was not joking.

Lucky (?) for me, there’s a hell of a lot more to the Warrior Dash than running; this is an obstacle course full of things to climb on and over, the aforementioned Most-Parts-Are-Mud Mud to wade through, fire to jump over and more. It’s something that really excites me and would be a total high to complete.

That’s why I want to get back on top of my goals… especially “Phase One”, where muscling-up is required… and then move on to making sure my Muscle-to-Plump ratio is where I want it to be.

Here’s a hint: it will be heavy on the ‘plump’.

I’ll keep you updated on how it goes, and would love to hear your feedback… as well as any goals you have for yourself / your body that are outside of the norm.

Please don’t make me run,
Krystal

Too Much Sex

I never thought I’d see the day I’d write those words: “Too Much Sex”. It feels like something has died a little inside… which is why I am making the important clarification between the act, and the adjective.

We’re talking “adjective” today, people.
Call off your mob.

To that end, BuzzFeed Video recently did something… I don’t know, I’ll go with “pretty cool”. I’d give them an A for effort, at least. Continue reading

How to Push

A few months ago, I took a pole dance class.

During that class, I was confronted with what my body could/could not do and what I thought my body could/could not do… and it changed me.

Hell, I was changed even before I set foot in the door; for the week leading up to the class, I was brainstorming and talking with my husband about all the things fat men and women are told they can’t do or are too scared to try, and how I could help them face their fears. I was so fired up about facing a fear of my own – being sexy and vulnerable and moving my body in such a different way – that I felt unflappably powerful and capable of helping others.

Then life happened.
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State of BEing: Depression

Well, this is embarrassing.
Here I am, this self-proclaimed badass, Super Mom, Do-All-The-Things chick, yelling “I don’t need no approval” just as much as I am yelling for cupcakes in the workplace (not really, but now I want to), and I find myself scared to post how I’m feeling, for fear that I will… I don’t know. Let my family and friends down? Lose readers? Be judged for being fat AND depressed?

What does that say about our society, that we fear being called fat AND that we fear mental illness in any of its forms as even worse?

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On The Pole & In My Head

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before:
“A fat woman walked into a pole dance class…”

Even with all of my confidence and “GO, ME!” and fiercely held belief that the only person truly holding someone back is themselves… I still walked in to my private pole and exotic dance session at Dolphin Dance on Sunday afternoon with the echoes of 20+ years of self-doubt on my heels. Not only was I keenly aware of this injury (left knee, left wrist in a brace, only 9 weeks postpartum) or that insecurity (my arms are really jiggly, what if I can’t support myself on the pole?), but there was that loud, nagging, perpetuated falsehood ricocheting in my head that says that fat woman not only can’t look sexy while dancing, but pole dancing?

Out of the question.

Enter my friend, Emily.
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Verbal Warfare 101

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

Who thought up that little gem of a lie?

I don’t know about you, but some of the worst scars I carry are internal – sharpshooter-aimed insults and criticisms so cruelly delivered as to fund my therapist’s Mediterranean vacations well into my retirement years. Then again, I really didn’t engage in a lot of extreme sports… I was more the “read and pretend” type… but whatever.
Not the point!
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Someone Stole My Body!

Hey, guys! Look what I made!

Introducing Baby Maye, born July 31st.

Introducing Baby Maye, born July 31st.

For the past month, I have been snuggled up at home with my little girl… feeding, burping, changing diapers, attempting to sleep and rediscovering where all aspects of my life converge and just exactly who that makes me.

The serious levels of sleep deprivation had almost, ALMOST helped me to forget what would come next.
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