neck roll fat

Women are like a different species, apparently.

I meet all sorts working in the gym - from the ultra-buff, to the semi-fit, to the people who have no real intention of making any real life changes to get healthy.

The woman I’m about to tell you about falls into that last category.

At my gym anybody signing up has the option to meet with a trainer for free. You get one free session which is basically a big sales pitch and we show you a few exercises and let you decide whether to give us money or not.

I’m waiting on my client to come in after my morning shift (that I foolishly scheduled for an hour after I finished said shift…) when in walks a woman who looks like Tumblr’s butt blew a bubble. To give you the whole picture:

  • Orange and blue hair. Orange. And. Blue.
  • No visible neck, just a fat roll underneath what I surmise used to be a chin
  • A white “impeach Trump” T-shirt, about 4 sizes too small (mentioned to give you the picture, not because I agree/disagree with it) and a belly drooping out in front
  • A pair of pants that were so many sizes too small that her ass didn’t fit all the way into them
  • Sandals. At the fucking gym

Now that you picture what she looks like, please bear in mind that I didn’t give a shit about her appearance until AFTER she’d opened her gaping maw. 

Unbeknownst to me, my manager was in the kid’s play area and listened to every word. If you ask yourself why she didn’t intervene/interfere/step in, it’s because she lets me handle things as I see fit and in exchange I do my absolute best for her. (I have an attitude here that arouses most retail managers - I consider it MY gym, and I take responsibility accordingly.) Besides, there was a baby in the other room she wanted to interact with.

**For those of you who haven’t been reading my blog very long (you lucky reader) understand that sentences in italics are ones that I didn’t say out loud.**

Her: I want to talk to a trainer.

Me: You’re in luck! I am a trainer.

Her: No, a female trainer. You wouldn’t understand how a woman’s body works.

I wonder if I should tell my other clients [ALL FEMALE] that I couldn’t possibly understand how their body works and despite the results they’re getting they have to find a new trainer?

Me: OK then. Here’s the signup sheet for [female trainer] she’ll get back to you in a week or two when she gets back from her cruise.

Her: I was promised a free session with a trainer!

Me: And you’ll get it. When she gets back from her vacation.

Her: Well let me see your other female trainer then.

Me: There is no other female trainer. There’s just me and her.

Her: Well what do we do then?

Me: Well we wait for [the female trainer] to come back from vacation. Just put your name down on the sheet and she’ll call you when she gets back.

Her: *sigh* I guess I could do the session with you. You can set me up with a workout routine until she gets back and can help me do it right.

You bitch. You can fuck right off. 

**Note** I understand having a gender preference with a trainer. And I encourage it because I’d rather somebody be comfortable. But to be nasty about it? Unacceptable.

Me: Ooooooooh noooooooo! I couldn’t possibly! 

Her: But I was promised a free session!

Me: And you’ll get it. When she gets back from vacation. And not before.


She really did yell. And for those of you who perhaps don’t work with the general public and are instead just a member of said general public let me give you the best tip of all to get what you want: Just be a decent human. 

But since this walking asteroid wanted to yell and pitch a fit and just generally be a nasty hag, I wasn’t going to bend a bit.

Me: Nope! I couldn’t possibly even begin to fathom how a woman’s body works. No understanding here! Can’t help you! But if you put your name down on the signup -

At this point I believe I awoke the beast. She slammed her hands down on the counter, then grabbed a stack of business cards and chucked them at me - or so she tried but she missed horribly because she managed to catch her arm on something and they fluttered past me.

I’ve had enough, and Jokin’ John has gone away.

Me: Out. Leave.

Her: You can’t kick me out. 

I absolutely can.

I picked up the phone, dialed the police non-emergency number while she stood there glaring at me. I’m not going to fight with her, I’ll just have her removed if she won’t go on her own.

Me, to the police: Hello, I’ve got a young lady here by the name of [Hammus Obeastialis] that I’ve asked to leave after she decided to throw things at me. Would you send somebody over to help her go? Thanks.

She didn’t believe that I’d called. 

So she stood there glaring at me until an officer (who is also a member) arrived. The officer informed her that yes, I could ask her to leave and that yes, she did have to go. I was kind enough to say she could come back tomorrow when she’d calmed down.

It’s about the only kindness she’ll get from me. I don’t have to accept anybody as a client, even for the free session. This is the first retail job where I don’t have to eat shit every time somebody gets uppity.

And that makes me want to do even better for the place.

Picking up Lords of Magic on Steam for $4.99 was not a bad choice. Not a bad game, just kind of a steep learning curve. -J

This morning, as I struggled to do up a skirt that fit me loosely just a couple of months ago, I looked at myself and broke down in tears. I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror, and couldn’t see anything positive staring back at me. When I have frustrations and low points, it tends to spiral out of control with thoughts of, and fixations on, all the things I dislike about myself and how I look. At work I am surrounded by girls who I consider prettier, skinnier and nicer than me (though I am sure struggle with their own battles of self-worth). Talk often turns to food, diets, calories, makeup, hair, sex, plastic surgery and how they look or don’t look. I find my daily life triggering and damaging to my mental health. Even those who I trust enough to open up to about my weight struggles often unintentionally damage any good work I did that day by giving me “advice” that is harmful rather than helpful.

After a day of feeling tearful merely from catching my reflection in the computer screen, I drove home in tears, ready to weigh myself and see the damage. I berated myself over and over, failing to see how flogging myself on these scales was doing nothing to help. 6 months ago I hated how I looked, and now here I was, saying to myself that I’d do anything to be that skinnier girl. Yet when I was her, I was wishing to be another “skinnier version” of myself. A cruel, vicious cycle that I was falling for again, and again. How different it would be if I had just loved myself how I was in that body, back then, with no guilt…

I stopped crying, looked at myself in the mirror face-on, and realised that what I should be crying over was my lack of self-love. I was regretting not liking who I was when I was a little bit skinnier, but only in hindsight. I realised I needed to love the person I am now - the extra weight included - or 6 months from now I would be one step along in this cycle. The weight irrelevant, but the mental pain a stone more intense as the guilt moves up a level.

A sudden wave of positivity came over me. I brushed my hair. I topped up my makeup. I put on a matching pair of underwear, and I took this photo.

I have never, ever taken a photo of myself in my underwear. I have no idea what compelled me to do so. I just knew I wanted to see myself in a state other than hidden and upset. In a way that others see me. I wanted to open that door for myself, instead of avoiding eye contact with my own body.

I was so sure I would hate myself. So sure I would instantly delete it and crawl under the covers. But I didn’t. I felt cute. I felt attractive. Neck fat, belly rolls, red marks where my skirt had been digging into me… all of it. It turns out that I liked the photo because of those things, not despite them.

I saw more in this photo of me in that moment than just a confident girl not scared to show off her body. I saw everything I have achieved up until this point in time. I saw strength and beauty and intelligence and honesty and courage. I am proud of the me in that picture, and the me who took it.

Not every day will result in a feeling of positivity like this. Not every day will bring me to a good place. But I am working on cultivating a feeling of inner happiness that is influenced less by circumstance or things around me, and I will not give up on my fight to love my body despite the world telling me not to. I will continue to push back hard on the feelings that weigh us down.

I hope you have the energy to push back today. But if you don’t, it’s okay. Try again tomorrow. You’re doing just fine. Your body will wait, and it will accept your love when you are ready and feel strong enough to give it.


anonymous asked:

stop posting selfies no one wants to see your rolls of fat

HAHAHAH, I am crying 

heres one

heres another

Oh and this ones for you 

I hurt my neck doing them ‘rolls of fat’ JUST FOR U BBY