It's Just a Number

I was eight years old the first time I thought I was fat. Third Grade.

In kindergarten I was voted the smallest kid in class. I seemed to always be one of the smallest kids in class. In third grade I did put on some weight to get ready for a growth spurt. Almost every kid goes through that stage. Kids are cruel. I was no longer the smallest kid in class. I was a fat kid.

I really wasn't fat. I was completely normal. How an eight year old gets the idea in their head that they are fat. I really can't tell you that. I just remember feeling bad about myself. Being ashamed of my body. Wanting to hide in the back of groups. The outgoing redheaded girl started to back far away from the limelight.

In fourth grade my body awareness grew. In fifth grade I hated my body. I hated gym class. I tried to stay home from school the day we had to get weighed in gym class. I was going through puberty. Of course I was going to start to grow hips and breasts. I hated it. I felt ugly. Fat. Unlovable. All the other girls were getting their first boyfriends. I didn't think a boy could even stand to look at me without being disgusted.

On to sixth grade and more of the same...although I did start trying to do more in gym. I was beginning to find out I was pretty coordinated. I even managed not to get picked last for teams during gym. I held secret crushes and cried myself to sleep wishing I was thin and popular.

In seventh grade I tried out for cheerleading and when I didn't make the squad I tried out for volleyball and basketball...I didn't make either team. For some reason that game me a lot of motivation. I practiced my cheering everyday, sometimes for hours.

In eight grade my dream of becoming a cheerleader came true. All my hard work paid off. I wasn't even the biggest girl on the team. I felt great...until basketball season. They didn't have a skirt that would fit me. I had to have mine made. I can't even tell you the hurt and the tears over a skirt. Why I couldn't have just really thought about it...every body is different. They just never had a cheerleader that was my size before. It wasn't a big deal. Nonetheless my pool self-esteem and self-image continued to drop lower and lower.

I went to High School and made the Frosh squad. Little chubby me...I really was the best jumper and cheerer on the squad. I had so much heart, dedication, and passion. I practiced outside of practice. I loved being a cheerleader and the slight confidence boost it gave me. Then the Varsity Homecoming game happened. (Which you can ready about in a previous post.)

The summer going into my Sophomore year I began to run. I would run/walk my way from our apartment to the Junior High where there was a gravel track. I would run lap after lap, not stopping until I could finally run an entire lap without stopping. I practiced my jumps every night. I purchased a MTV Grind dance video and would do the routines over and over.

I lost 40 pounds that summer. I was so proud of myself! I fit into a JV skirt! I was feeling so amazing...until school started. What I wanted more than anything in the world was for someone to say to me "you look, great, or WOW you've really lost a lot of weight." But no one said anything to me. So I thought I looked the exact same. So my exercise habit became an addiction. And I could never truly see myself in a mirror.

To this very day I think of myself as a fat, ugly girl. I place a lot of my self worth on my pants size. I struggle with my self worth due to the number I see on the scale. Everything I do in my job, helping people to lose weight an accept themselves, I can't do for myself. I constantly am reminding people to forget the scale, set goals that deal with accomplishments not associated with weight, and to remember that health and fitness is about having HEALTH not wearing a certain size. I BELIEVE every one of those words. I PREACH every one of the words to people. Yet I still cannot take my own advice. When I finish teaching a Zumba class, my number one thought is how I looked in the mirror. I beat myself up with thinking that my participants have to wonder why I'm so fat. To this very day, I can't eat anything without feeling some for of guilt, ugliness, or fatness.

Yes I've gone to therapy, yes being more positive and nicer to myself is something I work on every day. Some days are good, some are just ok, some are down right awful. Even though this is something I wish dearly I could change about myself, this is part of who I am. I believe it makes me more sensitive to others. I think it makes me a better fitness professional. It give me empathy and compassion. I have been super overweight. I have been so sickly thin. I do have a lovely curves and a few extra pounds. Even though I struggle with accepting my body, I can honestly tell you that where I am right now is the happiest I have been all my life. Why?

I have a husband that loves me unconditionally. I have parents that love me unconditionally. I have a job where every day I get to make a difference. I have great health. I can move and do anything I set my mind to. I have a home. I have the best pet in the world. I have supportive co-workers. I  have chosen friends that  bring me up instead of bringing me down. All of this has NOTHING to do with how much I weight or what size I wear. All of this has to do with LIFE. I am able to have a happy life because I have health. That is my message.

It will never be about the number of the scale. It will never be about the clothes you wear. It will always be about the life you make.

(***I would like to take a moment to say to all those girls that made fun of me during Junior High and High School, if you have children, I encourage you to make sure your kids do not repeat your same mistakes. Your comments and actions haunt me to this day. Even thought I can never forget, I forgive each of you and I truly hope that you are able to see how your actions effected other. I hope that you have the sight and self-examination to be sure your children rise above bullying.)

Hoopty-Hoo

The Ford Pinto. That is the car I can remember Mom and I having growing up. When the Pinto died we had a nice long stretch with no car. But the Pinto is the car I associate with my childhood.

I'm not sure what year it was. It was a lovely shade of faded red. It founded my love of the hatchback. It was a stick shift. And I thought it was the best car ever. I dreamed of the day I would drive it.

I can remember my Mom having many a car issue with the Pinto. One winter it was so cold it wouldn't start regularly, so my Dad put a boat battery in it. Needless to say, we never had a starting issue with it after the upgrade. (Which I still wonder, was that even safe? Good thing we never blew up.) Oh yeah...also the muffler fell off. It had a boat battery. Every start sounded like we were blasting off.

With everything else my Mom and I had, the Pinto was not in the best shape. The floor boards had rusted through holes, and I do not know the story, but for some reason the trunk had maggots. 

I guess there are people that forget they should try not to hit another car, even if it is a hoopty. Why should someone with a raggedy-ass car care if it gets another ding. Because people with an old beat up car can totally afford a new one, right? So don't try to avoid it, just go ahead and smash right into it. Monster Truck Mash it up, brother! Yep, that happened to our little Red Pinto. One day a person decided to back into it, leave a giant dent, and drive away. Adding to it's oh so evident charm. Damn thing was a tank. Even though the dent was very close to the gas cap, it didn't miss a beat. 

I don't remember what exactly the cause of death of the Red Pinto, I do know I was sad to see it go. Mom let me shift for her. I helped drive and I thought that kicked ass. Moreover, the end of the Red Pinto meant no car for mom and I for a long time.

We had two other hoopties after the Red Pinto. A Pontiac of some sort that I can't really remember (aka it didn't last long) and then the Blue Ford Escort with a Red Door. A Red Door that we try to spray paint blue...yeah...I'll just let your imagination go wild with that one. The Escort came to us during my Junior High years and I was so embarrassed that we had a blue car with one red door. It was like the Scarlet Poor Door.

You probably are thinking Brandi has pulled herself up from poverty, she probably has a Cadillac now. Nope. I have a 1999 Pontiac with almost 170,000 miles, no air conditioning, two+ dents, and lots of rust. I still have a hoopty. The time for a better car is drawing near and I'm not sure how I will react or feel! A nice car? What's that? Getting a new car every 4 years? What? I've had my beloved Snow Bitch for ten years. 

Morale of the story? Be nice to hoopties, someone loves and needs them.

Glenda the Good Witch

I am going to tell you a little secret about me. I am deathly afraid of thunderstorms. I have been since I was a wee lass. Because let me tell you, you have never truly experienced the horror of a big thunderstorm until you have done so in a trailer.

There was an entire summer growing up that ruined me from ever enjoying a storm, as I know some people do; and that I cannot fathom. It was a drought summer and I am not kidding when I say it stormed every day. Every. Day. The days were filled of hellish hot and the afternoons/evening with fearing for my life during the storms.

A thunderstorm in a trailer is way more of an experience than virtual reality. When you're in a nice house sure it's loud and you can hear the rain BUT you house isn't swaying. In a trailer, you know only hear the power of a storm, you feel it.

My mom and I would sit together, huddle up, crying and praying during many a storm. I cried A LOT that summer thinking my mom and I were going to die. That we two and the trailer were going up in the air Oz style.

It's not something I like to remember and I certainly feel blessed that I own a brick house. However the past few days have brought some big storms to Ohio and I find myself think about how a trailer sways in the wind like a boat does on the sea during a storm.

This is also the particular summer that I became addicted to The Weather Channel. I would watch and watch just waiting for a storm to be approaching so I could freak the fuck out even more. It's a wonder I didn't give myself an ulcer. (How did we have the weather channel? My sister Stephanie lived in our neighborhood during this summer, in a trailer, BUT with cable. Score.) (Another note, she also had found this grey kitten and fed it butter. It's belly dragged on the floor when it walked. That cat was cute as shit.)

There are three things key things that happened this summer (not to mention the hundred storms that went with it) that sealed the deal for me when it comes to thunderstorms=death:

1. During one storm the tornado sirens went off. My mom and I had to go and take cover in a ditch. Try and beat that on the I think I am going to die scale meter.

2. During another storm some of our neighbor friends, my mom, and I went to someone's house with a basement. I saw a tree get uprooted and land on a house and I saw more trees than I ever care to see again that were bent sideways from the wind. It looked like Armageddon to a young kid.

3. During yet another storm, my mom  and I were with her friend Judy. We were on a country road and a storm just came out of nowhere. I shit you not, a TORNADO was heading towards us, picked UP the car OFF THE GROUND, and miraculously sat it down so we could pull into a driveway, beat on their door, and scramble inside. The tornado was coming RIGHT TOWARDS the house and they were all watching it out the patio door as they had no basement; I was in the bathroom. 100 feet before it came it the house, it went back into the sky. Shit your pants? So did I.

Coming from a place where I KNOW a storm can kill you, I don't understand why people do not take them into account. Most of the time people treat storms as if they are no big deal, which yes, they often tend to be. But that one time that it IS a big deal...

I am the person that wants to take cover when there is a thunderstorm warning because I don't like to mess around with storms. I think that is why too many people die from storms, they don't take them seriously. I would just like to make PA:

If it is storming do not go outside. Do not go to the store or another destination. Do not call places and see if they are open. Stay home. Take cover. Be safe.