To the Window, to the Wall, to the Sweat Drippin’ Down my Balls…

Or rather, where my balls used to be before Body Combat castrated me!

Allow me to explain…

A while back I was looking at my rear view in the mirror when I noticed at the bottom of my bottom there were 2 little lumps.  Upon closer inspection I realized that it looked like my butt had sprouted a small set of truck trunk nuts.  As I’m sure you can imagine, I was terribly alarmed and did what any woman in my position would do.


I screamed for my husband!

He rushed into the room expecting to see me bleeding or on fire, but what he saw was much worse!

I bent over and said…

“Does it look like I have BALLS!?”

Now, my husband is not always good in a crisis situation.  In fact, when I’m in distress his default reaction is usually to laugh at me.

Do you know what kind of balls it takes to laugh at your wife when she discovers that she, herself, may have her own set of balls?   BUFFALO BALLS!

I tried to explain the seriousness of the situation to him, but he couldn’t hear me over his fits of laughter.

He is not a stupid man.  He never confirmed or denied the existence of my balls, however it became a running joke.  If I had a wedgie and he caught me pickin’ my butt If my underwear crept into my nether regions and he happened to notice me repositioning them in a totally lady like way, he would say, “Do your balls itch?”  Yea…funny man had jokes…but I told him I knew it was only because he was jealous that my balls were bigger.  I'm so mature!

Fast forward…

I have not weighed myself since I started this journey.  I was afraid that I’d become so obsessed with the number on the scale that I’d miss subtle changes and fail to appreciate my progress.  About a week ago, I tried to put on a pair of jeans that were a size smaller.  They were still too tight.  At first I felt discouraged, but then I realized that in reality I actually started the next size up.  Since I refused to buy the next size up, I’d been cramming myself into my pants like a 3lb. sausage in a 1 lb. casing.  NOW, I’m really the size I am.  GO ME!

I have noticed other changes too.  First, I LOVE working out.  (WHAT!?)  Instead of looking for excuses to avoid it, I look for ways to carve out time to go.  I get very upset when I can't.  I find myself working lunges and esquivas into household chores, like picking dirty laundry up off of the floor.  MegHan and CarA have brainwashed me!  (They will also be super proud of my vocabulary!)  I pretend I’m Sex Pot or Obi Wan when a good song comes on the radio and I whip my hair back and forth.  I’ve even contemplated taking P90X with Marisa, who I’m pretty sure was bitten by a radioactive spider at some point in her life.  It would account for the fact that she can jump 4 feet off the floor and do burpees like she’s in a zero gravity atmosphere. 

Last week, Hubby asked if I had weighed myself.  I told him that I hadn’t and he said, “Your balls are gone.”  At first I thought he was calling me a chicken.  I was just about to deliver a mean roundhouse kick to his head (in my head) because I can totally do that now that Meg showed me how to beat the crap out of imaginary people and air.  When all of the sudden I realized what he was talking about.  I was overwhelmed with emotion at the tenderness of his words.  I immediately reached around to grab where they used to be and sure enough…no balls!  I knew right away that I’d just have to write and tell my friends about my disappearing balls!

I showed up for Friday night Body Jam and Sex Pot started bustin’ my balls about the fact that I’ve been slacking on the blogging.  Marisa was there.  She showed up…for an exercise class…after she went running.  I’m telling you, it is NOT natural!  She will end up with a nickname like G-force, or Madam X or something of the sort.  OH! And Sex Pot had a friend teaching with her.  I’m pretty sure her name was NOT Bionic Biceps, but it is now.  She had crazy arms that I wanted to rub, but I didn’t.  The Solid Gold Dancers were there too – they brought wine and made me love them, but that’s for another time.  So sorry; I'm rambling!  Anywhoo...back on track...to my balls…

Sex Pot uses the word “amazaballs” a lot.  It inspired me to write a note of thanks to all of the “amazaballs” people who are helping me while working “balls” into as many adjectives as possiBALLS.  Challenge accepted!

So…this is for all of you who are a part of this process…

Brace yourself – it’s terriBALLS!

You are all amazaBALLS for helping me turn my fatty balls into wonderBALLS by making them invisiBALLS and that makes me feel incrediBALLS!  Everyone who enters The Fitness Rave radiates inspiration and motivation through perspiration and it's downright faBALLous!  I even see slight signs of a waist forming and that’s pretty BALLSome too!

I know hubby is happy and relieved to be the only adult in our house with balls again. 

I can't wait to sing him my new song:

I got no balls to hold me down,

To make me fret, to make me frown,

I had balls, but now you see,

I got no balls on me!

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I think it was Spidergirl that suggested I start taking my measurements.  I believe I will start weighing and measuring so I can track my progress, but I won’t let the numbers define me.  Who knows? Maybe I’ll eventually break down and take P90X, but I don’t have the balls just yet!

I still have a lot of work to do and a long way to go.  I'm still not graceful or coordinated and I usually feel like I'm going to hurl when my hour is through.  BUT those smaller jeans are within my reach as long as I “stay with the fight" and shake my arse on Friday Nights!