Tummy

What the heck happened to my middle?

Let me start by saying that my stomach/core/torso was so flat during my youth/teen years/young adulthood that other girls/females/women would actually comment on how flat it was. Apparently, I was somewhat of an oddity of nature. It actually just happened. I did absolutely nothing for it to be that way. Never exercised. Ate what I wanted.

Ok, I was a cheerleader in high school. We had practice, but not like what cheerleading is in today’s world. Back in my day there was no gymnastics involved when cheering. Just jumping up and down, leading some chants/cheers, and maybe some coordinated routines for pep rallies. Once in awhile we would come up with a pyramid. But for the most part we simply wore our little uniforms, and tried to get everyone revved up for the game.

The next rung in my life was college. Nobody in college went to the gym unless you were part of a sport team. Exercise just wasn’t in the cards that much. We simply chose not to eat. (Another topic for another day)

And the tummy was flat as a board. Stayed that way through my 20s.

But then I hit my 30s and had babies. Put on 75 pounds with my first child and 35 pounds with my second. I lost all that baby weight by the way, but my tummy was never the same. My little baby pooch, the proof that I had carried another life within myself, was there for all to see. I simply could not get rid of it. It drove me bonkers. (No, I am not one for plastic surgery. In the words of the hubby, a tummy tuck takes general anesthesia. Meaning it is dangerous. What if there were complications? You want to take the risk of dieing because you want a flat stomach?)

Well, I learned to live with my baby created pooch. It was just the next step on the rung of the ladder of life. That was until I went into perimenopause (40s really are not so great) and then I found out what a pooch really looked like. No one ever tells you. I mean you can see what your grandma and even your mom looked like. But nobody, especially not our culture, tells you that for no reason whatsoever, you are going to start walking around looking pregnant and not being able to wear that pair of jeans you had just worn the week before.

Your hormones decided that their regularly scheduled torture period would be consistent, and you would only get a week reprieve out of every month. And in that month you would slowly and most assuredly bloat, get acne, your hair would fall out, and in the words of my oldest son, “women when they get older they go crazy.” (I honestly had no idea that I was acting so dysregulated.)

Of course, starting at around 35 I did exercise regularly and consistently. I made it my business to eat healthy and to move. Though back then there wasn’t the variety of exercise that we seem to have today. We had high intensity cardio, low intensity cardio, step, and of course the treadmill and crosstrainer. (There was something called Taebo which you could pretend was like karate, and spinning was some new exotic invention) All of which I had tried.

What was nice, though, is that the gyms created special classes for “core.” I like that they gave it an official and studious name, too. Instead of something like, “for those women reaching middle age who want to fool themselves into believing that they could have a flat stomach again.”

Listen, core exercises are the center of any good regime. A strong core helps your posture, helps you with other exercises, it definitely helps with that little lower back problem most of us who have given birth are prone to as well.

Then suddenly after decades of torment, the feeling of not belonging in your own body begins to subside. We call that menopause (for most women sometime in the early 50s). Things in your body calm down. Yes you get hot flashes (a post for another day) and night sweats, which my OBGYN informed me can go on for even 10 years after you reach menopause (isn’t that fun). The acne disappears. The mood swings do stop (for the most part). The hair well, does thin out and is never the same (but I keep trying to fix the issue with all different kinds of shampoos and vitamins.) The tummy however, is still that pooch.

So we try new exercises: pilates, yoga, special sit up machines, standing core, seated core, HITT, spinning, Tabata, free weights, body weights, bars, bands, TRX, mini trampolines, boxing for the nonboxer, and whatever new fangled regime that someone can come up with.

But at the center of everything is the tummy. Oh..I mean core.

Interestingly enough though, I have reached a new level of tummy pooch. It seems that after a few years of menopause your body changes again. (The 60s are upon us) Those hips you developed in order to help carry another human being inside yourself disappear. (They did for me anyway.) I now have a straight shape instead of an hourglass. Well maybe I still have a little bit of a waist. But what I am finding now is that the tummy pooch has also moved up a bit. I have developed a spare tire.

I guess like men who never had estrogen and relied only on testosterone, who develop a bit of a rotund middle, I have now developed one myself. I. Am. Not. Happy.

I thought the pooch was bad. This is just awful.

So I have gone to a nutritionist (more than one). I have asked trainers for advice (more than one). I have spoken to doctors (I simply can’t believe I dont have a thyroid issue, which I don’t), I have watched youtube videos and read article after article about post menopausal diet and exercise.

Gluten free, dairy free (except for the occasional piece of brie), no read meat, plus severely cutting back on alcohol (even wine).

I won’t give up chocolate (it’s not like I sit and eat an entire candy bar), or coffee (which I drink black).

I don’t think I have to accept this new body normal about myself though.

I really don’t like it, not one bit.

Well I like the thin legs and no hips part, but the spare tire thing is really not very sexy at all. And yes, post menopausal women are allowed to want to feel sexy.

I get the whole, your body changes with age thing. I get the whole, age gracefully thing.

I also get the whole, cultural norm to look down on older women thing.

I don’t think my attitude toward my new tummy/spare tire is because I am caught up in any self-deprecating nonacceptance of reality universe either.

I simply want to be able to put on a pair of real pants, you know ones with zippers and a button.

Yes, to be honest, I do have several pairs of NYDJ waistmatch jeans, but every other pair of pants I own has an elastic waistband (some even with a drawstring). I feel like a toddler….