But I am a member of multiple weight loss support groups and it disheartens me to see people bragging about 'cheating' on their nutritional plans, or saying that they love getting drunk because it's so much easier than pre-surgery, things like that. On the other end of the spectrum you have incredibly obnoxious people who post things obviously seeking attention, things like "I had surgery two months ago and I've only lost 70 pounds! I thought it would be more but I guess it's okay :(". It makes me Hulk-rage to the point where I barely even find 'support' in these support groups anymore, I just do most things on my own.
Today was a really nice day, however. After the self-flogging of yesterday, I resolved to make today better. I went to the local day spa for a treatment to pamper myself since I had such a rough week; I splurged on a Body Contour Wrap, a procedure the spa offers that professes to be a wrap that makes you lose inches 'permanently' through detoxification instead of dehydration. I had an amazing technician named Lori who did a great job. I was nervous and self-conscious, of course; I had to wear disposable bra and panties made of black tissue paper and the panties were a tiny g-string. (On the plus side, they were 'one size fits all' and they fit and I got to tell her 'YAY! I'm finally 'all'!") She took measurements of my body in key places--- calves, thighs, hips, waist, ribcage, and biceps. Lori vigorously scrubbed my body with this exfoliator stuff meant to expand blood vessels and stimulate circulation, and then she wiped me down and applied this detox cream to me, then wrapped me tightly in Saran Wrap from collarbones to ankles. Then we maneuvered me onto the massage table to 'marinate' while she gave me a fantastic facial, a scalp massage, and arched my eyebrows for me. When she removed the wrap and measured me again, I had lost a total of nearly 20 inches throughout my body. Supposedly it isn't 'water weight' and I won't put them back on from drinking water, but I don't know. All I know is that my progress made me more than a little happy and my body felt really good from the relaxing procedures. And man does my face feel good after that facial treatment.
After the spa, I came home and worked on the house a bit more while eating dinner, more turkey roll-ups with fat-free cheese and Miracle Whip Light as a condiment. I called my grandma, who decided that we should go to the county fair to walk around.
The fair's long been a tradition in my family; there's only one year I didn't go that I remember, and it was last year because it was only a few months after my mom died. The year before, my aunt Shawn, her then-boyfriend (now husband) Kyle, and my niece Kimber went with my mom and me to the fair. My mom was in cancer treatment then but she wore a gray silk turban and a pair of light-up rabbit ears and we won stuffed animals for her at the games and fed her funnel cake. It was an amazing night for all of us and one that I remember very fondly.
This year I was much smaller, and much more nimble as we walked over the uneven ground; my grandma pushed her walker and we browsed the arts and crafts booths, wasted money on games, laughed about the rides. I won a stuffed lobster, a dinosaur, and a sock monkey, all of which I gave away to little kids who didn't win. I bought a tray of wiffle balls to throw at cups and gave them all to little boys whose mother didn't have enough money for them to play. I hung out with a capuchin monkey, who played with my hair for awhile before licking my face.
I ate elote (roasted corn) with fat-free mayo, parmesan cheese, sriracha and lemon pepper powder and tried to convince myself it was healthy because it involved a vegetable. I had a few swallows of homemade sarsparilla soda and two bites of a corn dog. My grandma pushed a small piece of funnel cake onto me. But in truth, those 'devious' fair foods that I once inhaled without a second thought just didn't taste good anymore. The funnel cake was like sticking my tongue in a bag of pure sugar, so cloying it almost made me gag, and the corndog tasted heavy and greasy. (Nothing negative to say about the soda or the elote though, damnit).
But as we were wandering, about to leave, my eyes lit upon the trampoline bounce. This is something I've wanted to do since childhood but I was too self-conscious then; the kids who did it were doing crazy backflips and tumbles in mid-air, fearless, soaring in their harnesses and socked feet. By the time I was old enough to psych myself up to do it, I weighed too much.
Tonight I gazed at the 'rules' sign. Must be under 230 pounds.
I walked up to the operator, a guy in his thirties with a jack o' lantern smile and kind eyes. We spoke briefly and I told him that I had always wanted to do it but had never been thin enough. He waved me up onto the trampoline and I climbed easily onto the chest-high ledge without struggling; I stood patiently, biting my lip, as he fitted the harness around me and between my legs. I was sure that there'd be a snafu, that it wouldn't buckle, that the straps wouldn't touch.
It buckled, and he pushed the button to start the hydraulics. I was lifted into the air until I felt weightless, and experimentally I bent my legs and kicked off.
I flew.
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