As much as it scares me, I sometimes would like to be thin again. The last time I was thin was when I was seven. I had an old photo of a reed-thin version of me (probably I was terribly sick with diarrhea that time) holding a toy phone. I showed that photo to my elementary school teacher as part of a “growing up” project and she thought I was fooling her.
Since my childhood, I always thought to be thin, thinking that those extra inches are mere baby fats. It’s true! Whenever I would buy new school uniforms, I tend to ask for “medium-size” because I thought it fitted me perfectly. Well, almost fitting to the body actually.
But then my metabolism began to slow down drastically when I was in college, add to that assorted episodes or stress and depression. I didn’t increase my food intake, but I guess I wasn’t becoming physically active as I used to be. I no longer play street games with the neighborhood kids, I no longer join dance numbers or cheering competitions. Although I can see my thighs rumble more with thunder or I was having difficulty buttoning my tight jeans, I still insisted in my head that nothing is wrong.
Until one day I saw myself in a mirror. I can no longer see my defined cheekbones. My face has become rounder. A second chin is peeking out of my neck. It was a disaster I’m telling you.
So I tried going to the gym that my godfather partly owns, and I hated the fact that I have to wait for five minutes every after routine because the trainer was busy chatting with his gym buddies or flirting with the ladies doing their squats. Besides, doing a monotonous lifting and pulling of weights is just not right for me. In the end, I gave up on that gym crap and continued growing larger until one of my loosest pants became noticeably tight. I grew on another size.
Yesterday, I decided to be a little more active. I tried looking for dance lessons nearby and I have yet to see one that is accessible for me and my nightly work. So in the meantime, I came up with my own power workout. No, I didn’t do aerobics while learning how to speak English.
A while ago, I played this clip of DJ Tiesto on my PC at home and dance the heck out of me.
I did everything on that 8-minute span: I stretched my arms and legs like a ballerina at the beginning, moved my hips like some ho in da nigga club, imitated those simplistic Para-Para moves, jumped up jumped up and got down with it! I moved my arms, moved my legs, my dogs are staring at me and thought I was having a seizure.
I felt a whole lot better by the time the music ended. Tired and breathing heavily, but I was OK. I’d probably do this everyday.