Can I make a confession? Since I started jogging (actually more like walk-a-jog) last week, I’ve been constantly hungry. Like ravenous hungry.
After putting exercise off for decades, one day the exercise fairy possessed me and tweaked my brain to believe that I really need to get my ass moving. The whole process of wanting to start was in itself a tedious one. I realised I didn’t have any running shorts. Or suitable tops. Or proper shoes. I didn’t own socks either. So I had to go out to buy myself some exercise gear. Also the first time in 29.5 years that I owned a sports bra.
The sports bra. Holy mother of god. It deserves a paragraph on its own. I didn’t even know what size I was! It’s not like normal bras where they imply clearly the girth of your chest and the cup size. And I couldn’t possibly march up to the salesman and go “Hey dude, yes you. Can you measure me up?”. So I did some research and asked my colleague who’s about my size. Trying it on for the first time was a calorie-burning event in itself. Fuck, it was soooo tight, with no zips or hooks and made my boobs look all squashy and man-like. Taking it off was even more horrific. I swear I was panting, perspiring and nearly had to call for help to cut me out of it. Traumatic indeed.
Ok back to where I left off. So after spending a couple of hundreds I was ready. Or so I thought. I was super self concious because I kept hallucinating that people were judging me. Every jogger who passed me, I imagined speech bubbles for them; “Haha look at this fat chick go”, “You call that jogging?!”, “Better call her an ambulance she’s going to pass out any moment” and more. I didn’t pass out though I was terribly slow and definitely unfit. I probably walked as much as I attempted to jog but I comfort myself that it’s just the beginning and it’s good progress for someone who used to consider chasing after buses running.
Also realised that the sports bra though aesthetically unpleasing, served its purpose of holding my boobs in. I remember them bouncing in pain whenever I had mandatory PE lessons in school. Good job, bra. Maybe I will retain me some boobs when I lose weight.
Eventually I hope. So after perspiring buckets, I come home and try to eat less for dinner. But I realise I cannot stop snacking because I don’t feel satisfied. All this snacking might actually negate the actual benefits of my new “healthier” lifestyle. Mildly depressing come to think of it.
I tell myself it’s still early days and things will get better. I hope they do. I have grand plans of reclaiming my title of Queen of Mini Skirts back from the days when I was younger and more nubile. Ah, memories.