300: A Great Movie (But A Terrible Number On Your Bathroom Scale)

300. Half-tone lighting, sweaty, buffed and beyond semi-naked men and carnage in the name of SPARTA!  What's not to like? 

Well, nothing, really. Except I am not some skinny minnie hardbody. Never have been! I am built of generous, va-va-voom peasant stock. The battle for awesome abs is one I've fought (and usually lost) for nearly my entire adult life. But being somewhat athletic, I rarely let my weight get too terribly out of control. I could usually get back down to something performance weight within a reasonable amount of time...until I stopped performing. 

Oh that's right. I'm a performer. Music is my fix and singing is how I get my high. I've been doing it professionally for a long time (20+ years) and see no reason to stop. 

Well, that was before breathing issues and an experimental DVT operation took me out of the game almost three years ago. What I was passing off as a bad case of bronchitis turned out to be pulmonary emboli (that's blood clots in the lungs)--I could barely get through a sentence, let alone belt out a song. The condition landed me in ICU for a stretch then months of therapy and blood thinners for life.  I've been able to write, produce, even sing eventually, but standing long periods or strenuous exercise? Well. My specialist wasn't too keen on the idea, not until she had assessed my results.  

The recovery and assessment took a couple years. Two years of sedentary living, learning how to walk and breathe properly again. Did I get fat? Ohhh, yes, I got fat. I mean,  REALLY BIG. Frankly obese and perilously close to the dreaded 300 mark.  I'd stare gloomily into the mirror and think,"But my face is still pretty!"  How we do hold on to those small shreds of dignity and denial! Reality: my face was beginning to disappear behind a second chin. What's worse, my muscles were atrophying--climbing stairs was difficult and carrying anything downstairs became impossible. I spent 2013 in a quiet panic until finally, the blessed day came when I was cleared to exercise. 

I excitedly started planning my comeback. Worked out the songs, started putting feelers out for sidemen, venues and...

NOTHING I OWN FITS. Not even the shoes. And O. M. G. Dance routines? Even on a good day, my two-step is more of a five-step stagger. I am not ready to go on stage.

But there's hope for me yet, dear reader. I've been swimming all summer (all the effort, half the gravity). It hasn't resulted in much of a weight loss (20 lbs) but I'm now strong enough to brave dry land. Yesterday, consulted with a therapist and started the Great Comeback Reclamation Project, starring me. 

My reward will be a small concert tour next summer. 

From time to time, I'll update you on my progress. If you'd like to join me, download two smartphone apps: Fitbit and Track My Walk. With them, you can log your calorie intake, exercise, plot world domination and all sorts of other cool things. If enough interest is expressed, I'll start a Facebook page just for the Diva Blue Diet Peeps.