I never really spoke to you about the last marathon I had in therapy. But those of you who have been following 25 to go from the begining might remember that I always do. Also, those of you who know me well by now may have realised that since the last marathon I have not really been myself.

The series of "bad" things happening have a lot to do with this. When the energy is low, the mind is in a mist, and the heart aches, a person can easily forget, lose things, etc.

For a person to gain massive amounts of weight, them being food lovers is never enough of a reason. There is always a serious emotional reason that comes along too.

It can be an unbearable emptiness that needs to be filled. It can be deprivation that brings rebellion. Or, as it is in my case, it can be a very vivid sexuality that scares and needs to be supressed.

The last marathon opened the wound of a very old trauma, one I almost had no recollection of.

I went to elementary school in a private one. Where the girls and the boys wear uniforms. Sky blue skirt, crispy white shirt, navy blue sweater, white socks, blue shoes, and the obligatory white or sky blue band in the hair.

The school bus used to come and pick my brother and I up everymorning. But sometimes we used to miss it and our mom had to drive us to school. Which we all did not like. Us cos we wanted to go with our friends, and she cos she had to change her plans at the time. The one and only reason we would miss the bus would be the hair band. I'd discover at the last moment that I had no clean bands. My mom would then send me to the little shop at the end of the block to buy a new one. At this shop, there was Mr. P., whom I knew since I was two. Sweet old man in his middle sixties, running a small shop with candy and newspapers and little stuff like hair bands. I used to play with his grandchildren.

I was around 6 or 7, when I went to buy yet another white hair band. It was early and quiet. He told me to go sit on his lap. Which was something he would do occasionaly. Take me on his lap, give me some candy, tell me how much more good a girl I was compared to his grand-daughter. I was enjoying the attention. And the candy too.

That one day, he caressed my thigh, and slowly slipped his hand inside my panties. I felt odd, I remember it so well, but not bad. After all he was my sweet Mr. P. I felt him like a grandfather. So he was caressing my vagina, and it did not feel awful. I was feeling warm. And then I begun to get restless because I suddenly thought of the bus. I told him I had to go cos mom would yell at me if I missed the bus. He told me ok, smiled, and told me not to tell mom anything cos she would feel jealous that he doesn't like her as much as he likes me, and I did not want to hurt mom's feelings.

Mom was indeed furious. Because she was worried of where I was. It had taken me lots of time to get back home, because I was trying to figure out an excuse. I remember her first words: Where WERE you?! I was worried SICK! What on earth were you doing?

I remember saying the wrong words: "I cannot tell you!"

My mom insisted and insisted and she was so worried that she really yelled at me at some point and I remember breaking down in tears and saying I did nothing wrong and then through my tears I was telling her what happened and how nice he was to me and that he cared about her too and did not want to hurt her feelings and that I knew he was right because look at how she was reacting!

Horror. Terror. Panic.

My mom called my dad, the doctor and my aunt. She sent my brother to school with my aunt. The doctor examined me. He made me lie on my bed and open my legs. He said to my father: "She is not ruined, do not worry". Ruined? Why would I be ruined?

I then learned all the stories of the big bad wolves out there. My parents on their best effort to protect me terrified me. But I was born a sensual woman. And this bifurcated me. It draw me away from my body. It caused a schism between love and touch.

All this was burried deep inside me. Till Sunday, July 17, 2005.

I begun to gain weight right after that incident when I was a kid. Till recently I thought that the reason was my brother (which is another long story). Then I lost the weight as a teenager. Then had an accident when I was 18 that did not allow me to dance anymore and gained 40 kilos again. Only that the accident happened cos I was "playing" with my bf while he was driving. Then I lost again the weight.

But then, I gained 60 kilos a few years back too. Back then, my vivid sexuality was the reason again. I had opened all windows and secret doors of my imagination with my Englishman. See, it was safe. Him in his study in England, me in my study in Athens. But the beast was released. I suddenly wanted to live out all my fantasies. My Englishman was hesitant to meet me, though I had proposed this twice. I was married. He was living with his partner. What if this was true? Then Angelos was finding most of them a bit too "weird". I was asking him to hire a pro and have a threesome. He refused. So I met a lesbian and had an affair with her. I almost destroyed everything I had managed to built and call my life.

Then, I begun to eat. Every day long binges. Cooking and eating cooking and eating.

When you are fat you do not run the risk of becoming a nympho. I mean what if you actually become one? All you would do was have a big collection of toys. Cos who would want to really get into the shack with you?

Layers of fat became my protection from the filth I still had left inside me after that incident. The filthy old me who was almost ruined! The stupid little girl who so naively thought that this big bad wolf was actually a big sweet bear.

Do you know how it feels when you remember these at the age of 36? It was like someone cleared a dirty window from all the dust accumulated in 3 decades and I could finally see what was behind it. A weird feeling of finally understanding why. A new sense of power. But immense amount of pain too.

I have a series of exercises I have to do daily so that my body releases all this stagnant energy. I have a series of exercises to do daily so that my muscles in certain areas learn to stop contracting without a reason. I have a series of exercises I have to do in order for my uterus and genitals to finally relax. To finally trust my sexuality, accept her, love her, feel proud of her.

I am looking so forward to them. I really get to a kind of nirvana thinking of me doing these exercises in the beach with Angelos (most of thme require a partner) in the island. And then exploring my body with him. All over again. Like the first time. Like I am a teenager ready to explore her first lover, ready to let her body be his toy. Like I never heard about bad wolves. Like I never heard or were told that I should not have sex because I would get pregnant. Because I am not 12 anymore. And I should stop acting like I am. I am married to the man I love and I so want to get pregnant. This is not a threat anymore you know. This is a blessing I am craving for.

I walked from therapy to the main shopping area downtown. Must be 3 to 4 km. In 40 C. I did not mind the heat and I have very little tollerance for the heat generally.

My mind was set.

Angelos asks me to wear a halter top for eons now. He has a little fetish with my collar bones and shoulders (among other things...heheh). I like my collar bones. I like my shoulders too. But I dislike my flabby, fat, full of stretchmarks arms.

I bought five different halter tops. You know why? Not to do my husband a favour. But to do myself a favour. The favour of seeing myself through the eyes of the man I love. The favour of accepting that even with these tragically plump arms I can still make my man drool.

Suddenly, after the session and the shopping nothing feels like it did yesterday. The urge to scream has been altenated by a smooth and serene feeling of hope.

And I am telling you all this because for once more I want to tell everyone that the body is amazing. The body remembers. And the body is afraid too. However, its ability to forgive is a lot greater than its ability to succumb to guilt. It really is a temple. And ladies. Never forget we hold the keys to the temple. We are the high priestesses after all.

To you all....sincerely thank you for making me feel I can share this with you.

Now, I will go buy a bra suitable for halter tops. Who would have though...hehehe :)