Countdown to Abs Update: Josette the Nurse Does Not Approve

It’s been 44 days since I embarked on my quest for abs so that I won’t race Honu 70.3 in shame. Jas and I are progressing along nicely, and save for a gloriously unhealthy weekend in Portland a few days ago, we’ve managed to shed some poundage thanks to the combination of constant exercising and counting calories via the My Fitness Pal app.

Right now I’m back to my Ironman Canada race weight. Huzzah! I’ve also noticed that my running has felt noticeably stronger, probably because I’m hauling less junk in the trunk. After this week’s track workout, Bridget and her mom commented on my relative speediness (which was actually an optical illusion because my friend and multiple Boston marathon runner Kirsten slowed down to run alongside me for the evening, thus making me look way faster and giving the impression that I can hang with the 3:13 marathon runner):

Karen: “You’re so fast!”

Me: “Thanks, it’s amazing how being less of a lard-butt does wonders for your running.”

Bridget: “So you have lost weight!”

Me: “Yeah, 16 lbs so far.”

Karen: “You know where I’ve noticed it? Right here!” She pats my back.

Me: “Uh, so I’ve lost back fat?!” Good lord, I knew I was a bit chunky but back fat? Really?

Bridget: “No! I think she means that you’ve got an hourglass figure now!”

At this point I stifled a guffaw. Being the boobless and hipless wonder that I am, one would not in a million years describe my figure as “hourglass” shaped. That chick from Mad Men has an hourglass figure. Salma Hayek has an hourglass figure. I am built like an Asian boy. In fact, one time at Express the salesgirl wrinkled her nose when I asked why this pair of pants I tried on looked so funny and responded with, “Um, because, like, you have no hips.” Whatever, so I don’t have a womanly body.

Today I headed to the UW Medical Center to get my weekly allergy shot so hidden evils like dust mites and pollen won’t someday kill me. While I was there, a newer nurse loaded up the syringe while my usual regular nurse, Josette the motherly African woman, popped her head in to ask a question. She noticed me sitting there, narrowed her eyes, and said in her slight accent, “Are you losing weight?”

Her tone felt like it was an interrogation more than a casual question, so I uncomfortably replied with, “Uh, yes.”

Josette: “Why?!” Now she sounded practically angry, as if I told her that I had just broken her favorite vase on purpose.

Me: “Um…I’m just…eating better?”

Josette: “But you looked good before!”

Me: “Yeah, well, I’m visiting my mom in a couple weeks so I’m hoping to escape her harsh judgment unscathed.”

Josette: “Oh you kids…you always think us parents are harshly judging you but we’re not.”

Me: “…..yeeeahhh, my mom really does. She’s Asian and brutal.”

I got my shot and sat in the waiting room for 30 minutes, then had my arm checked out by the newer nurse and was cleared to leave. On my way out, I passed by Josette, who chirped, “Bye sweetie!” Then she frowned and said, “No more.”

Me: “No more what?”

Josette: “No more weight loss!”

I laughed and got the hell out of there, figuring it was a bad idea to tell her I actually wanted to drop ten more pounds. Great, now I have a motherly figure in Seattle who’s telling me I’m too thin and one in Michigan who always tells me I’m too fat. You can never please a mom.