Disclaimer: I wrote this in the fall but haven’t got around to posting it until now. Since writing this, December happened. I lived off shortbread and eggnog, followed by tortilla chips and margaritas in Mexico. Things have fluctuated a bit, but the sentiment of the words below remain the same.

—–

I’ve had all kinds of body types in my time.

I’ve been ‘I think I’m fat’ when I was actually delusional and looked great. I’ve been ‘I’m actually fat’ because I drank too much in my 20’s and ate McDonalds at 2am on the regular. I’ve been ‘I work out 5x a week but there’s still quite a bit of me to love, because I’ve been eating my feelings’. I’ve varied in sizes along the way, but have remained pretty consistent over the past 10 years, pregnancies aside.

Recently, I found out that my newest body type is ‘skinny fat’.

What does that mean, you might be wondering?

It means that I spent my time in Congo being the Queen of Cardio. Not really because I was trying to stay fit, but more, getting fit was a lovely side effect of maintaining my mental health while living on a French speaking compound in Africa for two years. Being a long distance runner in my late 20’s/early 30’s, I knew the positive side effects that the endorphins of running brought me. It was a guaranteed mood boost.

There were times in Congo that I wanted that mood boost, but I didn’t want to run down the sandy roads in my florescent pink Lululemons; so we invested in a Soul-Cycle-worthy spin bike for our living room. Maybe not the nicest for the home decor, but we were living in a 1950’s Congolese apartment; interior design was the least of our concerns.

I used our $550 monthly internet to connect myself to the outside world via Netflix and would spin my heart out while the girls were at school to make sure I got my daily dose of endorphins that exercise would bring me.

The results were a fairly fit Lisa! I was feeling perfectly content in my own skin!

Then I got malaria.

I lost well over 10 pounds in less than two weeks and probably could have fit back into my high school jeans at that point.

The joke around the expat community, after my recover, was that all the expat ladies wanted to get malaria.

My response: “It’s a great weight loss program…as long as you don’t die”.

Stepping off the plane in Canada this summer, my Mom took one look at me and boldly stated, “You are WAY too skinny”. A short while later, my cousin, who used to be my roommate for five years before I met Kevin, said the same thing. Apparently there’s a fine line between fitting your clothes perfectly and looking like you need to eat a sandwich. People were telling me I was on the sandwich side of the line.

Calgary Stampede took care of that in a hurry though, and some weight crept back because for those of you that don’t know, Stampede is a 10 day diet of vodka-soda and all things deep fried.

So I was sitting at a comfortable weight, pleasing my Mom because I’m not “too skinny” and happy as a clam that I can rock my skinny jeans without the slightest hint of a muffin top.

As I was reconnecting with my lady-tribe in the fall, we were sipping wine one night and talking about everything under the sun. The chat turned to our working out and then to our weight. Obviously we were a couple glasses in because normally women don’t want to go throwing around the numbers on the scale.

My girlfriend, who I see as ‘ripped’ and amazingly toned, told us how much she weighed and I was floored that she was a full 20 pounds heavier than me.

“There’s no way!”

I was astounded.

We all know that muscle weighs more than fat, and anyone in the room could see that she was a teacher who didn’t have the slightest bit of under arm flab when she wrote on the white board. Instead, she had definition in her arms that some people would be willing to take out a second mortgage to pay a full-time trainer for.

She had instantly inspired my other friend and I to start lifting weights. I couldn’t believe how skinny -fat I had become! Sure I fit my clothes, but my body didn’t have any muscle tone. It’s not that I hadn’t lifted weights in the past, but the gym in Congo had no toilet paper, or toilet seat for that matter, in the bathroom. I joined my husband there once and it was scary enough that I never went back.

Kevin, he loves working out. His idea of a great Friday night would be having 2 hours to himself in the gym to do ‘legs’. Weights are his jam and he’s been trying to get me back in the gym with him again for years.

Well love, your dreams are about to come true because I’m done with being skinny-fat.

If you’ve been following my stories you’ll know that we have built a gym in our backyard. And that, my friends, is where the transformation will take place. I may have to ditch the scale to not make myself crazy, because like ‘Canadian Expat Dad’ says, I might gain 20 pounds, but it will be an optical illusion.

I’ll report back on the gym, the muscle, and the husband-wife training that will apparently be happening in our backyard!

Good bye skinny fat, this Mama is about to get STRONG!