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Working It Out is a health/fitness column chronicling MadameNoire Manging Editor Brande Victorian’s journey to drop the pounds and get healthy. Follow more of her story on

As I wait to hit my next big milestone, I thought I’d humor you with some of the funny tales that happen as you start to lose weight. For one, I’ve noticed that I never get to sit in the three-seater section of the subway with just two people anymore. About 50-70 pounds ago, people would just look at the empty middle space between myself and one other person and look away. They knew if they even attempted to squeeze in and just sit their booty on the edge of the seat, I’d have to hit them with a “You tried it!” Now, though, people just plop their arses down like there is plenty of room for them — which I guess if I’m not being my usual anti-social/anti-physical contact self — there actually is. And even though I still get a ‘tude when someone takes advantage of the empty seat, I do have to take time to relish in the fact that this unexpected “negative” consequence of weight loss is one of those small victories that you can’t measure with a scale — even if it does mean less personal space. Last Sunday morning I found myself experiencing a similar “unexpected consequence” in my home, and though I’m still currently shaking my head at myself, the story is just too hilarious not to share.

Now for one, I told y’all I’m doing this velocity diet that consists of only one solid meal per day. That factor alone implies the one solid meal should be something manageable for your digestive system — not to mention healthy. But last Saturday, NYC just so happened to have like the best weather ever and on top of that I was invited to a rooftop gathering so when it came time to partake, I cared not. I had Sangria, buffalo chicken dip, lamb tacos, chicken tacos… I was wilin’ y’all. And, as a result, my stomach was also wilin’ the next morning — so much so that I didn’t make it to my pre-scheduled run in Brooklyn with my friends. And as I laid in bed cursing myself for my lack of self-control (in between runs to the bathroom, sorry, TMI!), I touched my thigh and noticed something hard. I then proceeded to rub my thigh for a little bit longer and still noticed this hard patch, which had me — for a brief second — thinking, “Can you get thigh cancer?! Is this a lump?! Is my whole body effed up right now?!” Then, like the fool that I am, I laid back on the pillow and burst out laughing at the fact that what I was feeling was not in fact a cancerous legion, but rather, muscle. File this under #SignsYouAintNeverHadShit.

I swear my trainer has ESP because within minutes of my semi-freakout he was texting me to see how I was feeling after our workout the day before — and the squat jumps he put me and my thighs through. I proceeded to tell him about my episode; he laughed, and I thought to myself, it’s a damn shame when you’re almost 30 feeling muscles in your legs for the first time. But on a happy note, I’ve got muscles in my thighs!

Now that I know what’s going on, I have to stop myself from feeling myself up. I’ll literally just sit at my desk at work and start rubbing my thighs to feel how hard they’re getting, looking like a sexual harassment case waiting to happen. Or when my trainer is stretching me at the end of our workout, I’ll randomly flex my leg, and he’s like, “Is that what we’re doing now?” And I’m like, “Yes, this is the new-muscle-developing monster you created, deal with it.” And then he starts talking about me losing another 65 pounds and body-building and I block him out and remember my muscle building is just getting started. #SmallHilariousVictories

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