FAT Fortitude Diaries: A FAT Friend Service Announcement

Whether you want to admit it or not every girl has some sort of vision of what she'd like her wedding day to look like. As you get older and that day still has yet to arrive the visions are less frequent and in some cases null and void. Sometimes I'll randomly have these visions if I'm at a beautiful hotel or see the amazing floral arrangements that pop-up in my Instagram feed from Munaluchi Bride. Don't tell me ya'll single ladies don't follow any bridal pages. I want my ceremony to be elegant with hints of ratchet flair.

I'm wearing a gorgeous custom vintage gown as I walk down the aisle to the traditional Bridal Chorus by Wagner, but Metro Boomin' trapped the beat for me. That beat gets up in my bones which causes me and all of my bridesmaids to slightly slow twerk. You know that sitting pretty-lowkey-just-a-little-bit type of twerk?

Anyway, if I ever get married my wedding will be the event of the year. Says most single never been married (if not all) women in the world.

That's why when one of my best friends told me that her boyfriend had finally proposed I was ecstatic! She had been talking about her wedding day since we were in training bras. I eagerly told her I would help her with whatever she needed. A few months later when we checked in about the wedding and she already had things moving as I knew she would. She even had her bridal party chosen and I wasn't on the list.

Now, I know what you're thinking, how could one of your best friends not include you in their bridal party? I don't know ya'll but I legit was semi relieved because I knew I would have to dish out some major coins to get a bridesmaid's dress that fit me. Plus size bridal wear is not cheap. Hell, good plus size clothing in general is not cheap. So I sort of dodged a bank account bullet. But in the back of my mind I will admit I did have wonders. 

I talked about it with my Mommy who, can be brutality honest sometimes. Never to intentionally hurt me but to tell the truths that I may not be comfortable with. "You probably don't fit the look she wants for her wedding. You're too fat" she said calmly. Candid conversations about being fat have truly helped me not curl up and die from society's judgement of me. I agreed that she probably was right, Kanye shrugged, and went on about my day.

Fast forward to a year later today. The wedding is about a month away. I've already RSVP'd and am thoroughly content with being there for my friend and cheering her on from the sidelines. I got a call from my friend a few days ago asking if I could say something at her reception? You know the heartfelt speeches the Maid of Honor gives? She mentioned that her Maid of Honor didn't really know her that well and I did. As I do with all of my friends I agreed to support her and give the short speech. As she has supported me during my business ventures.

Here's the thing, I never really asked why I wasn't included in her bridal party? I honestly didn't feel the need to. So I don't know what her reason for not including me was. But I can't help to think about other fat women who have and will face similar situations like this one and on behalf of the fat friend across the world I do want to leave a special word for those out there who are planning their weddings and any other social event where you have to make a decision that just might exclude your fat friend please hear these words of fat wisdom...

Will everyone please raise your glasses?

• If you make a decision not to include your fat friend in a special event because they don't look a certain way...you're lame.
• If you don't have any fat friends...you're lame.
• If your wedding doesn't have at least one fat bridesmaid in it...you're lame. 
• If you do have fat friends and they are sitting in the audience on your special day because you want your wedding to look like a couture feed the children infomercial...you are beyond lame. 

May your union be blessed and have the longevity of the stars in the sky. Ashe.

WORKOUT THIS WEEK

I see fitness addicts who work out two and three times a day. So on Wednesday, I called myself trying to work out twice. I went to the pool and swam 10 laps and I also did 30 pull-ups in the water. Then later that day I went to work out for an hour with my trainer. When I tell you I felt like my body was being dragged 85 mph down I-95. I was wheezing and felt like I was going to have a panic attack. I knew I was crying but couldn't tell where my tears started and my sweat ended. It was all bad. I literally sat in the parking lot for 45 minutes after working out with Lucifer because I didn't have the energy to drive home. Then my trainer, Lucifer, had the absolute nerve to text me the next day like "see you at 4:30!" Are you kidding me? You just treated me like a Black work horse mining the cotton fields post the abolition of slavery yesterday! Like what? Nah bruh! I did however manage to get up and workout with him this morning at 7:00am.

FOOD INTAKE THIS WEEK

Food intake has been good. When I'm home all day it gets tricky because I tend to eat more. So I have to try and stay busy.

FAT Fortitude Diaries: Kaleidoscope Dreams

Along with my personal reflections I love to share my short stories and poems on my blog. This is my latest short story in the making, "Kaleidoscope Dreams." Let me know what you think.

__________

Morning.

8:30 AM she awakes naturally.

No alarm. 

She stares at the ceiling for awhile wondering if her dream angel is still lurking around?

She had fallen asleep in a weird position last night feeling a slight sharp pain in her neck. She stretches her body long and wide while yawning the stench sighs of her reality. 

The sound of her neighbor mowing the lawn actually soothes her. She has a thing for the smell of freshly cut grass in the morning. Indoors it was quiet, just the way she likes it so she can hear her thoughts. She interlocks her pedicured toes under her down feather comforter. She left the air on overnight and its a bit chilly just the way she likes it. Better cold than hot she thought.

She rolls over on her side to find her phone which had fallen on the floor. She scrolls through spam emails and the randomness of the inter webs. Nothing of importance. No missed calls. No good morning texts. She always wondered why she put so much faith in her cellphone which consistently disappointed her? 

She pops up, runs to the bathroom and steps on the scale hoping that something had changed from when she last weighed herself before she went to bed. It hadn't. She stepped off and then right back on. "Sometimes this thing doesn't work right" she whispered. This time the .8 following the digital confession of her weight had decreased to .4. She felt a subtle sense of relief. 

In the shower she always prayed. For her family. For her dreams. She even prayed for the ones she disliked or hurt her. She wanted to prove to GOD, and herself, that her heart was pure. And it was. 

Getting dressed was always a struggle. She tried her best to camouflage the fattest areas of her body. Hoping that people would see the young woman she was aiming to be not her weight. As usual she chose something black to wear. She had convinced herself that black was her favorite color. And though that was a possibility her dreams were however, in color. Bright and vibrant colored mosaics that made her smile. Why wouldn't she like any of the colors she dreamed?

She gathered her belongings and headed for the door. Her neighbor, Mr. Jimmy, had just finished mowing his long. When he saw her he put on his glasses to get a better look, flashed his dentures, and licked his lips as if he was about to eat a fresh piece of fried catfish hot out the grease. She always tried to keep conversations short with Mr. Jimmy because his frisky antics made her nervous.

"Morning Mr. Jimmy!" she said politely.

Mr. Jimmy didn't answer right away he was too busy gawking at her body.

"Ahhhh looking good there girl! You need your grass cut baby?" he said in a smooth and creepy way.

"No sir. Thank you though."

She got in her car and closed the door.

The way he said "You need your grass cut baby," while licking his lips and looking her up and down left her questioning which "grass" he meant? 

She pulled off with Mr. Jimmy watching her drive away.

She had nowhere really to go but wasn't interested in spending the day in the house. She didn't bother reaching out to her friends to see what they were up to. She was the only single one in her group of friends, so she knew everyone was busy doing whatever couples do on Saturdays. She was alone with her thoughts which sometimes went into over drive. Today she promised herself not to think so much and just be.

She ended up driving to the park. She loved the sound children playing in the park. Careless and free. She walked passed a group of guys playing basketball. One of the guys yelled, "Dayum look at her she big as shit!" She felt a thump in her chest. The other guys laughed in hysteria mumbling some other fat girl obscenities. She held her breath, turned around looking over her shoulder and gave them a look of disdaining death. The laughter quickly ceased. She walked to a bench and sat down letting out all the air she had held in. Panting and breathing heavily as tears rolled down her cheeks. 

She cried when she was angry. She was thankful that the anger always released as tears and she didn't become physical. She had come a long way. 

She sat on the bench in the park for hours. Occasionally looking at her phone to see if anyone had called or text "let's do lunch" or "want to go out for drinks?" They hadn't. 

The day had transitioned to evening. She drove home, plopped down on the couch, stared at the ceiling waiting for the dream angel to come. Hoping that one day her reality would be more fulfilling than her dreams.

FAT Fortitude Diaries: Yearning To Be A Carefree FAT Black Girl

The carefree Black girl is a force to be reckoned with.

The carefree FAT Black girl annihilates everyone or thing blocking her path. I'm talking a Hunger Games (no pun intended) annihilation. I'm talking Game of Thrones. I'm talking blow you up and keep on moving.

Ahhhhhh I yearn to be her. 

But a sista still has major hangups or insecurities if you will.

I could evaluate where they come from but thats just too much energy and I need what little bit of energy I have to work out today. But nevertheless these insecurities do exist.

Let's talk about this FAT girl in bikini wave. It's like a major thing. I was looking for a couple new one piece suits and they were few and far between. One piece suits in the plus size clothing industry is literally becoming extinct. I guess I will have to go to the beach in a pajama set because I ain't ready.

But I see these women walking around in their bikinis and having the time of their lives. Not giving a good kitty about their rolls being exposed to the universe. And I'm not talking about a basic bikini either. No-no-no. No-no-no. These bikinis are intricately designed. I'm talking jigsaw puzzle designs where your fat can play peek-a-boo. I am simply not ready. But I want to be. I yearn to be. I can't even find the courage to wear my arms out in public, except in that hotter than hell of a gym with my trainer.

It amazes me to see these beautiful FAT Black women walking down the street in sundresses with no type of support garments on underneath. Jiggling and wiggling down the Boulevard like "yitadee, what's the lunch move?" Girl, it must be jelly cuz jam don't shake like that! I wanna jiggle too but the way my mother set me up, I've been programmed to wear both underwear and shape wear underneath my clothes. Hell, I was still wearing slips to the club in college.

I want to be free!

A carefree FAT Black girl!

I want to go outside in the latest plus-size bikini, lay out on my lawn, head scarf on, no makeup, melanin pippin', smoking a FAT cigar, with a red solo cup of Hennessy, twisting my pedicured toes in the sun, mean muggin' the passerby's like my name is Big Bertha, and not give a F**K!

Is that too much to ask for?

WORKOUTS THIS WEEK
I'm heading to see my trainer today. Jesus be a respirator! I did work out with friends this weekend and I would much rather not ever do that again.

FOOD INTAKE THIS WEEK
I went on a mini vacation this week and I started out really strong. I ordered a salad at a Mexican restaurant that honey took major strength and constant prayer. But when you are the only person on the trip counting calories I couldn't hear GOD's voice over the heavenly smells. So I ate and drank and didn't count a thing. Pray my strength as I step on the scale and see the damage.

FAT Fortitude Diaries: Yell My Name One More Time Bruh!

Photo Credit: Gus Bennett

Twice a week, filled with anxiety and panic, I force myself to work out with my trainer. One of the many reasons I decided to get a trainer is because I needed a push that I know I couldn't give myself. Long are the days I go traipsing into Planet Fitness and spend 15 minutes on the treadmill and 30 minutes doing the green light red light circuit rotation only to find myself laid out on the massage bed for an hour. I wanted something a bit more challenging and Lord knows I found it.

Let me preface this by saying my trainer is cool. I like him. He has a really nice vibe. He encourages me not to repeat labels like "morbidly obese" or negative phrases like "I can't" or "I suck." I appreciate that about him. But you do know there are some nice-crazy people in the world right? And I strongly believe this man is the Treasurer of the Nice-Crazy Coalition.

He designs these workouts from the pits of hell.

Sprinting, jogging, jump-and-jacks, push-ups, push-ups on a tire, push-ups on the devil, suicides, squats, squats with leg raises, squatting while boxing, squatting while running, squatting while running with a 100 pound bar in your hands, squatting with your butt to the devil, stepping up on the stair master, jumping up on the stair master, jumping and stepping while squatting on the stair master,  jumping and stepping while squatting while holding weights in your hands on the stair master, planking, planking while facing the devil, planking with copious amounts of sweat running in your eyes, and planking while dying. Oh but don't die just yet because you have to do ab work.

Did I mention that this is all done in 90+ degree weather outside and the heat is on 90 degrees inside too? And I'm sure I left out some components of the work out because my brain has lost its ability to function because of them.

This is not the work of the Lord.

When we are in these rotations I literally lose all bodily function. My lungs collapse and I have seen the angels calling me home. Every time I stop to regain some sort of consciousness I hear, "Cyn! Do not stop! You stop you're going to have to do it again!" Listen, yell my name one more time bruh and I'm going to have to call on the spirit of David and knock the Goliath out of you! Leave me alone!

After working out I sit in my car in the parking lot of the devil's headquarters, not being able to drive off for another 30 minutes. I can't even cry at this point because my eye ducts are paralyzed.

Overall, however, I keep pushing myself to go and do the work that needs to be done. I have more energy and weight is beginning to sneak off and I'm grateful for my nice-crazy trainer.

WORKOUTS THIS WEEK
Yesterday, I voluntarily endured the craziness and I'm in pain right now so...ce la vie.

FOOD INTAKE THIS WEEK
So, Tuesday I decided against my better judgement to have pizza. Do you know how many calories are in pizza? It literally broke my heart. Couldn't cry though because of my eye duct disability from working out. I made up for having more than one slice of pizza on Tuesday by turning it around on Wednesday taking in only 1,070 calories for the day. Go me!

FAT Fortitude Diaries: Do You Remember Your First Kiss?

Photo Credit: AndreArt.com

Do you remember your first kiss?

I do.

When I was entering the 6th grade my parents uprooted me from my neighborhood public school, Bunker Hill Elementary School, to another school in Georgetown, Hardy Middle School. Those of you who know the DC area know that Georgetown (once an all Black neighborhood) is an upper class residential and business community. 

At the time I was a bit perturbed because I wanted to finish 6th grade at my neighborhood school with my neighborhood friends being a chubby little neighborhood girl. But my parents had other plans for my life, which I'm thankful for now. But my 6th grade understanding of life hated that I couldn't stay planted in what made me comfortable. I now had to travel way across town and get to know a whole new set of kids. Kids who were of an economic status I wasn't really familiar with. 

Long were the ice cream truck and corner store days after school. Hanging out with my Hardy Middle School friends after school meant Starbucks, Einstein Bagels, getting chocolates from Godiva, and random shopping trips "down Georgetown" as we used to say. 

By the time I got to the 8th grade I was in the full swing of things. I had lots of new friends and got invited to some very interesting house parties. I went to sleepovers at embassies and birthday parties in huge houses in gated communities. I liked boys but was still very much a little girl.

8th grade meant graduating from middle school and heading to high school.

And what's the best thing about graduation?

GRADUATION PARTIES!

I honestly can't remember who's party it was but my Mommy dropped me off at some very large house on a hill. My best friend at the time, Kristen, was with me. We were having fun. At some point all the kids ended up in the house's moderately sized sauna. 

Don't ask me how chile, I can't even remember.

I was sitting next to Kristen and this boy, Charles, came and sat in between us and put his arms around us. He took turns kissing Kristen and me. It was the most disgusting encounter I have ever experienced. The amount of saliva he produced in a matter of seconds had to be abnormal. To top it all off his underarms weren't agreeing with the heat the sauna was producing. Heavy drooling and underarm pit smell encompassed my entire first kiss experience. Covered in 8th grade hormonal sputum I quickly called my Mommy to pick me up.

Traumatizing.

At school the following Monday no one seemed weirded out except me. Charles was walking around being his normal self. Kristen didn't seem really phased either. 

At lunch Charles sat next to me and said: "You are a good kisser. If you lose a little bit of weight maybe we can be together in 9th grade." 

I replied: "No, that's ok." 

As I trudge on through with my fitness and weight goals I've had to really tap into what my motivation is. The young women I follow on social media who are losing weight and have lost weight all have different reasons for doing it. 

They want to run a 5K. 

They want to fit in a plane seat comfortably. 

They want to be around to see their children grow up. 

But surprisingly so many of them want love and feel the best way to get noticed is to be skinny. I honestly, can't even blame them for this decision. Society makes fat women feel like:

We aren't beautiful. 

We aren't desirable. 

We aren't capable of being the "token" girlfriend or wife. 

Society is conditioned to think this way. That's why a 13 year old with sloppy kisses and musty pits has the courage to tell another 13 year old to lose weight.

I learned at a very early age this type of treatment would be something I would have to face as a fat girl.

So as I made my decision on my motivation for wanting to get fit I decided to exclude society's opinions from my decision. I've decided to take full ownership over what I want. Getting fit so that someone will desire me relinquishes my journey from being solely mine. Whether I'm desirable to someone else is irrelevant because this journey is strictly about me.

My motivation is simple: I seek to optimize the fullest capacity of life while I can for as long as I can. I want to create artistic bodies of work and see the world and I need strength and energy to do it. So getting fit is the best anecdote and losing weight is an added bonus. Getting super skinny and getting a boo is not in my foreseen plans. Sorry.

WORKOUTS THIS WEEK

I worked out with my trainer on Saturday morning at 7:00 a.m. I must admit the early morning workouts are better. Working out in the morning gives me lots of energy to seize the day with. I see him again on Wednesday. Le sigh.

FOOD INTAKE THIS WEEK

I'm on track and staying within 1500 calories a day. I did have a burger and fries for my cheat meal on Friday and baby it was all types of good! I'm over turkey products ya'll. Help a sista out with ideas for other options.

Born A Statistic. Murdered A Quota. Remembered A Hashtag. Never Been A Human.

Photo Credit: NYTimes.com

I get emotionally invested in the cases of Black men, women, and children who are unjustly murdered by police. I've seen a lot of posts and articles on the importance of "checking out" during these traumatic reoccurrences and taking care of oneself but I can't seem to "check out." I'm haunted everyday by Eric Garner's plea for a breath of life. 

This week's back to back murders (the ones that made it to social media) of Alton Sterling and Philandro Castile have triggered my unrelenting emotional investment as I continuously search for answers, strategies when approached by police, and even some sort of recompense and there is nothing. There is never anything.

There are no answers. 

There are no strategies for Black or brown people to use when approached by police.

There is never any recompense. 

There is never any justice.

I've watched the videos of Alton and Philandro's murder over and over hoping that I see something, anything that is tangible help for Black and brown people in America.

Yesterday, I did however notice something.

Diamond "Lavish" Reynolds, the girlfriend of Philandro Castile fearlessly streamed live on Facebook right after Philadro was shot. While watching the video see Diamond feverishly trying to explain what happened, what street they were on and asking people to come and give her a ride. Later she mentioned she did all of this with 10% battery power life left. 

In the midst of Diamond speaking you can also hear very clearly the officer who shot Philandro yelling expletives. The officer was not yelling at Diamond and he was not yelling at Philando who was visibly unconscious. It is clear the officer is yelling at himself. The way many of us might find ourselves doing if we make a careless mistake. 

I have watched all the video footage from every case that has surfaced and this particular video felt a bit different to me. 
Usually the officers caught on camera either search the dead body, harass the individuals who are recording them on their camera phones, talk to each other, or go back to their cars leaving the body laying in the street or sidewalk or grassy knoll to call dispatch. 

The officer who murdered Philando didn't do any of that. 

The officer stood there with his gun drawn, unable to move, shaking, yelling expletives at himself. The expletive was shouted repeatedly with such angst that I went to bed yesterday saying this man must've felt some very human feelings. It's a very humane thing to beat yourself up when you make a mistake. It's a very humane thing to be able to recognize "fuuuuuck" I made a mistake. The angst in his voice, the inability to move, shaking from nervousness, yelling at himself is what I believe any human being should feel when harming another human being. 

I went to bed with the hope and prayer that this sense of humanity would engulf his spirit and by the morning he would come forth and admit that he made an unrepairable mistake, accepts full responsibility, and accepts the repercussions.

Of course without question I woke up today to find no such admittance. Here I was an enraged Black woman still praying that a murderer would tap into his humanity. That's the generational gift (and curse) of the Black woman.

Diamond mentioned in another video post being released from jail that the other officers who came to the scene of the crime comforted the officer who murdered Philando, but left her and her daughter in the back of the police vehicle to deal with their anxieties and terror alone. 

NOTE: There are people who walk the earth with what is called a reprobate mind and are unable to tap into their humane feelings. They are very quickly however, able to put blame on someone else for their actions. They would rather ignore situations than mend situations. They plot and scheme. They are cowardly and unable to stand up and admit they are wrong. They refuse to apologize privately or publicly to those they have wronged. They refuse to admit privately and publicly that they have made a mistake. They befriend and surround people who are in touch with their humanity with the hopes of turning them reprobate as well. All the while being able to sleep at night and get up again and do it the next day. Understand that a person's mind has to be reprobate to act violently and otherwise on their racism.

There are some officers on the police force walking around with a reprobate mind and are fueled by the comfort in knowing that the judicial system was created to protect them. These cases happen over and over again with no indictments and no convictions giving these types of officers subhuman invincibility. 

The officers who put the needs of the officer who murdered Philando first without giving CPR to Philando's lifeless body or tending to the mental needs of a traumatized four year old child and her mother proves that our fight as Black and brown people is not a civil rights fight. 

It is a human rights fight. 

There's no way we can fight for our civil rights if we aren't even considered human. It's common rhetoric to say 'we are treated like animals' but PETA would be all over it if an animal was gunned down. Our lives are not valued as much as animal's lives are.

We are born as statistics.

We are murdered as quotas. 

We are remembered as hashtags.


Never a human.

Fat Fortitude Diaries: What's Failure Anyway?

I've had a very interesting struggle with my weight. I've been a chunky chocolate pretty much since birth and have transitioned in to what is labeled as a morbidly obese adult.

Its crazy how these labels and the way people project their opinions of your weight on you can impact your psyche. 

I've tried all the well known and not so well known diets. I even resulted to having Lap Band surgery 10 years ago.

I found out later that my band was malfunctioning.

Wraps, pills, nutritionists, Atkins, B12 shots, Weight Watchers and the list goes on I've tried them all and failed.

Miserably. 

What's failure anyway?

A lesson.

For the past couple months I am back to altering my eating habits. Making healthier choices.

Becoming one with nosey ass MyFitnessPal. 

In June I stepped out on a sturdy limb and got a new trainer.

Mind you during the course of my fat chronicles I had a trainer. A nice tiny white woman...her name escapes me. Probably Kimmy or something like that. I couldn't really expect her to understand me or my needs or the anxiety I felt walking into a gym and a predominantly white gym on Capital Hill at that. That's probably a blog post all by itself. So I kind of slid on out of there and back to the habits that made me comfortably secluded but not progressing.

Today I have a Black male trainer whom I hate to love.

This man irritates me to the fullest capacity of irritation but I need the challenge.

For the next couple of weeks I am going to write about some of my experiences as a fat Black woman. It is my hope that by releasing some of the internal weight I will have a better chance this time around managing the external weight.

What's the use of maintaining a 1200-1500 calorie diet when Im congested and weighed down by matters internally?

This is my Fat Fortitude.

Internal weight loss.