Fear and Loathing in Connecticut

"Holy double chin, Fatman! I can't move! We're trapped!"
"It does look that way, Boy Blubber. We appear to be ensnared in a gelatinous web of self-loathing, doubt, anxiety, and fear of failure."
"What sort of madman would set such a nefarious trap, Fatman?"
"It seems to be of our own making Boy Blubber. It is logical then, that we must also have the means to free ourselves somehow. It might be... oof  here in my ungh Utility Belt. Which I can no longer erf see. If I can just bend... ow."
"Hurry Fatman! That Japanese whaling vessel is getting closer! erm...Want me to call Greenpeace?"

     A friend of mine who recently lost a quite a bit of weight (of whom I'm proud and more than a little a bit jealous) made a very kind gesture. She offered to lend some of her in-grown (as opposed to out-grown) clothes to see me through for a while until I was a smaller version of myself. The only problem was that the clothes she was offering were all the size I am already wearing or larger. I did not respond well. My first thoughts were

• Holy crap! Just how bad DO I look?!
• What, she thinks I'm going to get BIGGER?!
• o.m.g. I am her low-point barometer.
• Someone please shoot me.

     Of course I realized I was being an ass, acknowledged that she was honestly just trying to do me a favor and said thank you. But I was still depressed. Really, really, really depressed. So I did what any sensible person would do. I stopped eating and moped around for the better part of a week. Yes, you heard that right. I stopped eating (much). No need to worry though, citizenry; I didn't go all Mary-Kate (or was it Ashley...?) on you.

     During my period of mopage I started looking online for local Zumba classes. You remember - the ones I said I was going to start attending but haven't yet. There are some places like the local Y that have maybe three classes a week during the summer. Then there are places with names like "We Love Zumba" that claim to be all Zumba all the time. Only, they're not. The classes they offer seem to cater to people who either have really flexible work schedules or do not work outside the home and have someone to watch the kids for a good chunk of the day. Since I'm probably going to be out of a job soon, I'm guessing my schedule's going to allow for a class or two. A day.

     There was one studio that posted videos of some of their classes. As expected, the instructor was a crazy Shakira-like being, swinging hips and hair and having a fine old time. The women in the class seemed to be following along ok - except for... (insert dramatic music here) the two women in the back row who had absolutely NO idea what was going on. They looked like someone's drunken uncles trying to do the electric slide at your cousin's wedding. Pitiful. And that's why I'm afraid to try something like this. I have all the coordination of an ox on crutches. I find it very hard to imagine that I will be the Shakira in the front row and have no problem believing that I will be drunken uncle number three in the back.

     Worrying about looking ridiculous during an exercise class is perhaps indicative of a larger issue. I'm always afraid of being thought of or seen as foolish or stupid. I worry that if I try something and it doesn't work out, then people will think less of me. I worry a lot about what other people think.  I'm not exactly sure why. By staying safely within the boundaries of what I know and what I know I can do, I feel confident, knowledgeable, and secure. I know my stuff. But staying safe has had a price. I don't try a lot of new things. I am not going to put myself out where I think I might look silly. Heck. I don't even jump out on the dance floor at weddings, even though everyone is doing something silly, like the chicken dance or something. I don't meet a lot of new people. New people are scary. I'd rather not go somewhere at all, even if it's just the dining hall, if I have to go by myself. 

     When did I become such a chicken? I've always been this way. I just hide it better sometimes. It's always there, though. Might have just a little to do with my weight problem, you think? Got a little self-confidence/self-loathing thing going on? Perhaps. I think this needs to be examined more closely. In the meantime, there are Zumba classes to be conquered attempted considered.

Oh, and does anyone happen to have a phone number for Greenpeace?