My experience with weight loss has been that the part you want to disappear the most is the most stubborn. It’s probably an optical illusion, or just that that part is so large to begin with that it’s just a longer slog to work it off, but it’s agonizing waiting to see it finally start to shrink. For some women, that part is the hips, butt, or thighs. For this woman, it’s the stomach.
My stomach is misnamed. It’s more of an asshole.
It forces my toes into an endless game of peek-a-boo. It makes a mockery of my rack by sticking out farther. It smothers my lap. It stretches my shirts, makes buttons struggle to close around it, and makes skirts look ridiculous on me. It’s the antagonist in this story, and it must go.
Well, finally — finally! — it has started giving up ground. All of a sudden, my jacket covers it with as much ease as it covers the rest of my torso. I’m sliding into jeans without unbuttoning or unzipping them. I’m wearing September’s oh-honey pants. The biggest victory of all? My love handles are more like let’s-just-be-friends handles.
It’s been a long time coming, but this stomach is starting to get smaller!
Sooooo, I have to enact that promise I made to myself for when this day finally came: start the ab work.
I did a few ab exercises on New Year’s Day, just for the hell of it, and I am still sore four days later. It’s no surprise to me, but I have no core strength. The bad news: this is going to suck. The good news: this is going to burn A LOT of calories.
I’m coming for you, stomach!