Fat Archaeology - It's not always a pretty sight.

Imagine we’re in Peru.  We’ve been working on a dig for almost 9 months.  We’ve gingerly cleared away debris for what seems like centuries, and we can finally see a shape forming.  Little brushes in hand, we keep sweeping away until we see a head forming.  Then, a few more brushes in, our face contorts with a surprised, and somewhat disgusted look as we uncover a mummified man, frozen in terror as if he'd just stared down Medusa.

Discovery isn’t always easy, and as it turns out, it’s not always pretty.  But does it make it any less worth it?  Absolutely not!

A few months ago, I remember confiding in my roommate about doubting whether losing weight was worth it.  Why on earth would someone second guess losing a hefty amount of weight and all the awesome changes both physically and mentally that they’d gone through? 

Yearbook photo where I just happen
to be hiding my arms with a towel
while riding the bench in my sleeveless
basketball jersey.

Vanity.  Seeing your body take on a new, yet still somewhat disfigured shape, despite all the hard work you’ve done to improve yourself.  It caused me to pause, get a bit discouraged, and wonder if a new form of oddness was worth it.  Why put in all this effort if, after I’m done, I’m still going to have these odd, off-putting, disfigured parts of my body?  What’s worse – having them be round and full of fat so they’re at least fluffy and smooth, or seeing saggy, weird skin draping in ways that it’s just not meant to?  Why wasn’t I one of those people who were blessed to have skin that bounces back?  

Yeah, okay – cut the crap, Sarah.  I’ve had “odd” bits since I was young.  Even at 14, I had underarms with odd, giggly skin-wings.  I don’t know why my body decided to handle itself that way.  If I could have a conversation with my molecular make-up and skin cells, I would – and I would suggest it behaves itself in a more appropriate manner.  That, unfortunately, is not an option. 

So, what are my options? 

I could accept it.  I could embrace it.  I could find some awesome, awkward infomercial sucker-inner-shape-enhancer stuff.  I could make it work.  I could get plastic surgery to fix it someday.  There are many things I could do.

What am I going to do? 

Deal with it.  I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that certain parts of this process aren’t all roses, and skipping, and magical rainbow beams popping out of animal-shaped, big, fluffy clouds.  There isn’t a cute little cartoon bird sitting on my shoulder whistling Hall & Oates every day.  Some days, yes, but not every day.  I thank God for the way my life is changing, and have decided to tell myself that, A – it’s okay to have those thoughts.  And, B – knock it off, learn from it, and get on with it.  No turning back now, woman.

I’ll admit…  It is a bit of a bummer seeing those things.  It does make me think, “Man… All this work and this is the byproduct?”  I don’t always think it, but hey – I’m human.  I’ve just had to come to terms with the fact that I’m a much smaller person than I allowed my body to be, and my body dealt with it differently than some people.  I remember people telling me when I was young to take advantage of my youth and go for it while I’m young because your body won’t bounce back as easily when you’re older.  My skin didn’t seem to be overly forgiving even when I was younger, but overall, it did shrink back and take a better shape when I lost some weight way back then.  I’m 30 now, though, and finding out all too well that they were right.

So, if you’re an awesome lil’ whippersnapper and thinking about losing weight, listen to those of us who went before you!  HOP to it!  Your body will appreciate it, both for your overall health, and for the odd, giggly skin-wing reasons, too.  Haha.

Big picture?  Worth it.

And if you’re an awesome not-quite-so-young lil’ whippersnapper, you should do it too.  Who cares if I have to find a light weight ¾ sleeve cardigan that will flatter me just right and disguise something I’m not comfortable with?  Spanx?  Bring them on.  Seriously – I love them.  Who knows – maybe I’d even have my wings clipped (polite way of saying plastic surgery, a discussion for another day). 

I’m reminded of my realization about my body and my life being important enough to properly fuel it.  The same is true here.  Given the choice between where I was and where I am now, I’ll take some droopy elbows and giggly, underarm skin-wings over that any day.  They might not make me fly, but they’re certainly proof of how far I’ve come.

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