The amount of weight a woman or man can expect to gain or lose when they join the Peace Corps. I don't get it!?! well..no..i got it. I got it all right! All in the my stomach-all in my thighs-all in my arms and in my chinny chin chin. My favorite size 4 French Connection jeans, that I dare not wash less my rump is shapeless, are suddenly a nightmare to zip up.
The culprit: oils and carbs and fat
The dealer: those slick Azeri's with golden grins
The victim: my former runners body
This past weekend I allowed myself a small get away. A chance to sleep in without any interruptions, a chance to cook for myself sans oils, a chance to sing and listen to my music, a chance at a hot shower and a chance to stop and take a good look at myself in the mirror. I hadn't really looked at myself since I've been here. You know-NAKED.
Apparently over the past few months I've gained a belly. I think I'm going to birth one of Azerbaijan's national meals or something. There is hair everywhere! I mean VINTAGE HAIR-70'S FREE LOVE HAIR. I spotted my first 30 year old wrinkle and I counted 3 dimples that would do so much better on my face than where they currently are.
Before Azerbaijan-125 to 130 and not a rice grain more. In country-oh easily 145lbs. and still counting since I ate those darn eggs swimming{drowning is a better word} in oil. I know I know..why didn't I tell my host mom to not put so much oil in the eggs. Hey..what could I do? They were already plated. I was not about to come back after being away for the weekend and hurt her feelings by asking her to toss the eggs. Such a people pleaser I am..sacrificing my skinny jeans in the interim.
I know it's not a big deal-15 or so pounds but this is NOT my body. I don't know WHOSE body it is-but it's not mine. Mine is more firm and athletic with a small gut because I'm not trying to fool anyone. Not flapping and wobbling around like a bag of nickles. Mine is smooth and nicely moisturized skin. Not cracking at the seam. Skin is so dry you can light a match up against it. I eat cinnabuns for crying outloud, I don't wear them. No offense I hope.
Anyway...
This body is not mine and it's definitely not something I want to get use to. So lately, I've been running on bazaar day which is probably bizarre day because a brown girl running around the block on a Sunday is truly bizarre if you let my community tell it. And I don't push it on them, my running habit. I go once a week. I don't get evil with it and run every day. But boy do Azeri's push it on me with their YEE! YEE! YEE! (eat eat eat); telling me that fat is good and I should highly consider it-here is a second helping of whatever just to further the process. Then I toss and turn at night, holding my expanding body trying to keep a lid on it.
I mean I very well could get out of my own way and just dive into this experience all the way around. From food to language to mannerisms. I could just let go and enjoy it-work it off at a gym back in America or in a park. What's 15 to 20 freakin pounds? ( A TIRE, SOMEBODIES NEPHEW, SOME DOUBLE D'S)
I don't want any of those items, so PAUSE.
Aye dios please let me find an apartment 'cause I'm half way 'bout losing my damn mind and gaining 15 in the process. I would duly note this as a gentle warning if I were you. -
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