For my birthday, I decided to treat myself to a few cute spring outfits. After browsing the racks for a while, I lugged my loot into the fitting room for closer examination. I squeezed into a pair of jeans, thinking nothing of the difficulty I had pulling them on because, according to the tag, they were my size. Everything seemed cool, until I went to button them. To my surprise, those bad boys were not even close to closing.
Believing that I was simply experiencing a user error, I took the deepest breath ever and sucked it all in, hoping that I could survive on only 20 percent of the oxygen needed to sustain human life. I tried three more times with no success. Still in denial, I called for the salesgirl to bring me a girdle, some Spanx, some tight underwear—anything to help "smooth things out” and bring me down at least a size.
I wasn’t about to let those skinny jeans defeat me that day. So I put on the Spanx (which were a size smaller than normal because I needed a little extra support) and began the “Battle of the Blue Jeans” again. The jeans easily slid up my thighs and over my prize-winning booty. It looked like all systems were a go , until it was time to close the button. No matter how much I sucked it in, that button wanted nothing to do with the hole on the other side . Feeling defeated I just stood there with my pants open, looking in the mirror at the not-so-cute muffin top staring back at me. I grabbed it and jiggled it and oh how it jiggled.
“Fuckin’ elastic!” was all I could say. The thought of wearing tights and sweatpants during the fall and winter months wasn’t at all appealing at this point. I was at a crossroads—the corner where countless women had stood many times before me: To the right, I could get the jeans the next size up; to the left, I could bust I ass in the gym and get the weight off. After pondering my dilemma, I walked to the register with a pair of jeans a two sizes smaller than I thought I was. The cashier looked at the jeans, and then back at me.
"I'm taking the road less traveled and the adventure to get into these bad boys is gonna be something else,” I said with a mischievous grin.
The cashier punched a few numbers into the register and the jeans rang up for one dollar.
"Let the adventure begin, sis"
Smiling gaily now, I replied, "I'll keep you posted, mommas."
An hour later, I was in my living room surrounded by diet books, magazines, workout plans, gym brochures, exercise blogs, and a pair of jeans two sizes too small.
The adventure had truly begun.
Ladies, join me on this journey, share your ‘Oh Shit’ moment, your before and after photos, and what you did to shed those extra pounds. Let’s inspire each other to get healthy.”
Moral of this story: You always have a choice. It's up to you to decide which road you want to travel.
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