finding the buddha through the burn

Eight months ago, I began to notice that I had a bit of an overhang problem. Nothing structurally unsound with my roof again, mind you...sadly, this was more of the fleshy kind. Simply put, it was a science thing- mass and matter. When I buckled up my jeans, there was no choice in the matter, my mass had to move up and then sort of ooze over in a northerly direction, followed by swells in the south, east and west. Yep, there was a storm a brewing and it had the potential to be an F4.

It was a bit of a shocker, actually. No, not the quesadillas with two helpings of ancho-chili sauce right before bed, and definitely not the yummy fries at my husband's restaurant that were sans trans-fat which translated to heart-friendly in my hormonally warped mind, but what was so darn shocking was that my wad had redistributed itself toward the middle of my body...not so much in the rear section where it had been living very comfortably for most of my adult life. Out of sight and out of mind. Just the way I liked it. My heft had characteristically been like that obnoxious guy who sits behind you on the plane...you know he's back there, kicking your seat every now and then, guffawing, but you sorta tune him out by reading a magazine or ordering another Champagne split. Now it had become a totally different situation insofar as this freak had moved up beside me, thigh to thigh, flapping his jaws like crazy, along with the hollow stares of his zombie kid looming at me over the seat in front. It was looking like I was going to have to face the music, pay the piper, address this matter and try my best not to look down. Plain and simple? Mama had a gut and it wasn't pretty. I had gone from an ecto to an endomorph in what seemed like a nano second and I was thrown. Granted, I realized I wasn't getting any younger and I had harbored and abetted two little aliens inside my torso for 18 months combined. If that doesn't change the "center of one's being", then I don't know what does. Don't get me wrong, I am all for my heart expanding two sizes, just not my ass.

All the trouble started when Daisy went on strike at the dairy but I'll get to that part in a sec. Right now, I want to focus on the glory that was my life before I channeled the Michelin Man. Who knew, after all those years of my youth working it at Bally's in my scrunchie and leg warmers that all I really had to do was open my blouse? Nursing turned out to be my best kept diet secret. No Jenny, no Slimfast, no grapefruit for me. This was fab and I don't know why I didn't try it sooner. Oh, that's right, I do know...because a.) I was single and b.) I didn't have anyone to make my living. It turned out to be a cinch; all those extra pounds of me that I had spent nine months creating in each pregnancy (plus, a few extra!) flew off, both times, thanks to my two Icelandic vampires. Don't even get me started on my second one. I am not exaggerating when I say it was like having a Hereford at my chest. No wonder I was thin, she would have eaten the marrow in my bones had I given it to her.

Now as far as you gutsy guys out there, I don't know what to tell ya. Short of an estrogen patch the size of Rhode Island and a whole lot of prayer it’s probably never gonna happen. But that's okay, you'll be just fine, because society labels you the grey fox, distinguished...Me? I'm the older mom, a gray mare that's heading to not quite what she used to be or what my O.B. terms my kind- "elderly secundi gravida". Nice. Some of us are even mistaken as the grandmothers of our children. That I can't even write about.

My dream jobs have always been wildlife conservationist, photo-journalist and pro-poker player, in that order. But now I'm making a revision and adding wet-nurse to the top of the list. How I would love to finish out my mid-life crisis, kicking back, no workouts, eating all the mint chocolate chip I wanted, comfy and buttoned into a size 8...all made possible by just renting out the twins. It would be a noble life. Feeding the world's children and staying svelte all at the same time. But some stars just don't deliver no matter how hard you wish upon them. Which brings me back to the weight of the matter. Here I was a middle-aged broad with a broad middle and what was once an attractive inny navel had become a cyclopsian disaster.

The sad story goes like this. Once upon a time, it was a warm May day and I looked great and then I turned off the mammary spigot and it was over. The End. Sixteen pounds just shy of eight months. Nope, I wasn't fooling around. I kept eating for two but unfortunately there was only me left. My doc checked my thyroid and a few other things to see what might be the problem. Fortunately, he skipped on my liver. There are some things a patient just doesn't need to know. He called a couple days later and gave me the good news- my cholesterol, blood sugar and b.p. was that of a young girl. My figure, however, was not. I didn't have a hernia, so that was good, I wasn't pregnant, so that was double good and my endocrine glands were a-okay. Diagnosis? Fat. I had a chunk of it and it had to go. Funny at how all the trouble was brewing in the mid section of me. Right there in my center where all things begin and end. I had become disconnected from that center in a lot of ways. Definitely...physically, but also on a spiritual level, too....caught in a constant "flight or fight" situation. Mama was lost in the jungle and on the bottom of the food chain. Smack dab in the middle of me was all that stress, worry and extra dressing I was dipping my bread in. I needed to take a deep breath, find my center, burn some of it off and do it quickly before I had to go to Old Navy and buy a new pair of pants.

So here I was, worn out, puffed up, feeling down and nanny-free. How was I going to work myself back into shape when I didn't even have time to floss? It wasn't like the old days when I actually had control of my life and the freedom of doing anything I wanted without getting the permission of a four year old. I found myself one morning, post diagnosis, standing unclothed in front of my bathroom mirror, taking a scary gander with one eye shut for my own protection. "I'm ruined. If my head wasn't connected, I wouldn't even know who this body belongs to", I woefully exclaimed to my husband. He's no dummy. He told me... that this body had given us our two beautiful children, that this body had attracted him, oh, so long ago and a few other assorted lies. Hey, I didn't marry this guy for nothin'. He also told me that my control freak self was at it again, not getting her way and pouting and if I didn't want to pinch that inch, I had to do something about it whether I had the time or not. He was right. I had to face the naked truth. I fear change- big time and change happened- big time. And I was hiding in my baggy sweatpants behind a whole bunch of it. I guess it was kind of like I said hello to motherhood and goodbye to a part of myself...apparently a goodbye to the Ab-master. Why had I let myself go like that? Where had the proactive part of me gone off to? And was it possible to just put my youngest back on the breast until she was maybe 12 or so? It wasn't like me but I had indeed thrown in the towel. Yep, I had thrown in that sucker alright while eating salt and vinegar chips with the other hand. Bummer. I knew I was gonna have to take out my Buddhist shovel and start digging for some of that "self" stuff again. I knew there had to be some motivation, confidence and esteem down there somewhere...underneath that extra 256 ounces of me that I had no interest whatsoever in loving and lugging around all day. Nope, this so called badge of honor, battle scars of motherhood thing wasn't working for me. The only scars Mama's gonna have is for that tummy tuck I'm saving up for. My husband then popped my thought bubble and gave me a big hug and said "and don't forget, honey, cut yourself some slack, you are over forty". That part he could have left out. I closed the door, had a really good cry, realizing he was right, I was right and that I was never ever going to be able to enter a wet tee shirt contest.

So with the sleepy-eyed sacrifice of my hubby and the mornings he used to spend resting his old, tired bones, I managed not only to join a gym but one just three miles from my house. Hey, that's a big deal considering I live in a holler. Not only was this gym a gem but one that sits on a beautiful nine hole golf course. Just what the doctor ordered. I have rolling green mounds, trees and even a frog pond to stare at while I'm huffing and puffing off the poundage. The beginning, I ain't gonna lie, was absolutely awful. Advil, lactic acid...I was in a world of hurt. It took me twenty minutes just to get to the coffeemaker in the morning. But as time went by I not only got my Rip Van Winkle muscles to wake up, but my head began to clear. I was discovering that I'd been flabby for awhile, on many levels. It was like the Mind and Body used to be these cool couple friends of mine, but they'd broken up, over something stupid, and now I needed to do what I could to get them back together. And I had a lot of time to do just that. Five days, 12 miles and four hours of help from my dumbbell pals every week.

As time progressed and sweat was shed, so were a lot of other things. For the first time in my life, I was actually working out for reasons related to health and not just trying to look and be like someone I wasn't. I guess it's the nature of showbiz, but I had spent years judging myself, busting my rump to make my rump look like someone else's rump. Now, with each curl, each sit-up, each deep breath, I was working to satisfy me and no one else but me. I felt strong again and more appreciative than ever for a lifetime of good health. Taking the time each day on that course to run by and whiff the roses was just what I needed to settle down the whirlwind that had been my life for the last four years. Change? Plenty of it. Scary? Oh, yeah, always. There was enough cortisol in my body to choke a Panda and it sure gave me the belly of one. But it's something I'm going to have to work and not eat my way through. Besides, watching my dad blow through 2 months of chemo without so much as a whine.. it was the least I could do. In the big picture, my fitness efforts are helping to (fingers crossed) insure myself a little more time with my kids...to see their dreams unfold and more importantly to provide them with a decent role model that finally accepts her body for what it is and makes every effort toward its optimum health and function, not its size. As the mom of two daughters, in a society that is fixated on appearance, where young girls are pummeled on every level and an industry that actually manufactures a size zero, I need to give them all the logic, reason and encouragement that their young minds can hold. It sure won't be STAR magazine that does it.

Today, I can proudly say that the extra 16 L.B's of Mama Mags is gone. It took some Herculean effort from this stressed out mom, but I did it. And what I found underneath isn't exactly what it used to be. And that's okay. The gray mare may not be heading the race, but she's not ready to to be put out to pasture yet either. Some lessons you learn later than you want to, but they're worth the wait.