“You have girl boobs,” she said. Before those words shook my spine, it was just another day of algebra class. Until two girls started chuckling a few desks in front of me. Every so often, they glanced in my direction.
Everyone has a moment burned into their memory — a moment of ignition. It plants the seed for future motivation and is the compass for the Journey. This was my moment.
Skinny-fat girl boob ignition
It was one of those moments when you think someone is talking about you, hope they aren’t, know they are, yet can’t say anything because if you do you’re accused of thinking the world revolves around you.
“You think you’re so special that we talk about you?”
The alpha female whispered to her servant. My bewildered look signaled that I was onto them. The servant pigeoned her head in my direction. She covered half of her mouth with her hand, as if she knew the devastation she was about drop was huge. She was doing me a favor in keeping the blast radius small to limit public consumption.
And there it was.
“You have girl boobs.”
Shoved into my face like pie. But I guess it wasn’t that much of a surprise.
Being a mess of confusion
I knew I was skinny-fat. (It was why I wore an undershirt to gym class.) I had thin wrists. Chunky love handles. Narrow shoulders. Cheerio sized wrists. String bean arms. It was a combination so elegantly unique that only Emeril Lagasse could have cooked up such a magnificent blend of lanky and muffin top. And at the same time it was a combination so ghastly and backwards that it left me a confused mess.
It made for not only an aesthetic wreck, but also an athletic wreck. I couldn’t do one pull-up. Not even one good push-up. To this day, I can wrap my hand around my wrist to touch pinky finger to my thumb.
But I took solace in thinking that no one else knew I was skinny-fat. So much for that now though.
I was embarrassed of my body. I felt damaged. I felt like less of a human being. I hated “my skin.” I felt fat. I didn’t want to take my shirt off in public. And I know this all sounds extreme, but self-inflicted internal pressure climbs high if you let it.
. . . and we almost always do, don’t we?
The expectations and social norms that surround body image make being skinny-fat a ride of confusion, but I’m here to help you. I know how degrading life can feel when you aren’t comfortable in your own skin.
Do you want it?
I always wanted to get into some kind of training. I call it The Dragon Ball Z Effect—wanting to build a body that not only looks good, but is also capable of some cool things thanks to growing up when DBZ was first being released in America. Yes, Goku is my hero. And yes, he is better than Superman.
Sadly, it was tough putting this interest into action. I was always lost. I couldn’t find the path. And even when I found the path, it was the wrong one.
I created this place to help you on your path. And if you’re sitting where I sat, this place is just what you need. There’s only one more thing for you to do, and it’s best said by quoting a few lines of Alice in Wonderland.
The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. ‘Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?’ he asked.‘Begin at the beginning,’ the King said gravely, ‘and go on till you come to the end: then stop.’
Next essay, we do just that, starting with the question: what exactly is skinny-fat syndrome?