I hate my hair. Really. My whole life, I have hated my hair. It started when I was little, and I had uncontrollable curls, and I would scream when my mom would brush it. Eventually, she cut it off and I had a super stylish puffy mess of hair on the top of my head, that everyone in school dubbed my ‘fro’. That was middle school. The worst time to have something that is so easy for kids to pick up on, and make fun of.
Fast forward… As an adult, I (mostly) learned to love my curls, found products that worked in my hair, and even had some decent days, where it didn’t look like a… fro. I even learned how to straighten it myself.
Since I lost weight, I also lost hair. I always had an issue with it not growing, but it started to fall out in a glorious fashion when I lost weight. Apparently this is normal. I did everything I could to keep it healthy. I took vitamins, I got it cut on a regular basis, I stopped straightening it, I even stopped coloring it, yet nothing seemed to help.
Finally, I decided, I would color it, but only enough to give it the illusion that I had thicker hair. You know, color play… It didn’t work. I hated it. I seriously hated it. I don’t know if I can say that I have ever actually liked when someone did my hair. I’m so critical, and I expect so much more when I have the reveal in the mirror. Why can’t I have the “What Not To Wear’ experience??
Anyways, I lived with that hair color for months. I never stopped complaining about it, and I never went back to have it fixed, or cut. One, because I was scared again, and two, because I really didn’t want to spend the money, any more.
One day (who are we kidding… one very early morning at 3 a.m. when I wasn’t sleeping), I had the bright idea to find and order hair color on Amazon. And I did just that.
Two days later, a bottle of color arrived. I have NEVER colored my own hair. I am petrified of fucking shit up, and only being able to blame myself. Yet, here I am, about to color my own hair.
I completely protect the bathroom from being stained with color, change into an old shirt, and get going. Two hours later, I wash out the color, watching a bright red swirl of water run over my white tub, and down the drain. The more I washed, the more color came out. I figured I was all set, wrapped my head in a towel, and let it dry. When I took the towel off, I was a little scared, and then I looked closely. I actually liked it! I don’t know if I was convincing myself that I liked it, or if I really did, but either way, I was satisfied.
Over the next couple weeks, every single time I washed my hair, I would watch the swirl of red dye go down the drain. Every time I went swimming, I would watch it roll down my shoulders off of my wet head. In fact, I refused to put my head under water in a pool knowing that I’d leave an embarrassing trail behind me.
It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I liked the color, and I felt slightly bad-ass for how bold it was.
What I didn’t even think about, or anticipate, was what would happen when I sweat.
So, here we are. It’s gym day. No more ‘Upper Body’, ‘Lower Body’ crap. Every time I am there, it’s a full body, full speed (until I die), don’t quit, ‘you can drink water later’ kind of work out. Every time I’m there, I sweat like a monster… because I’m disgusting, and also because it’s hot as balls in the gym. This day was no different.
At the end of my session (one where I believe I may or may not have actually shed tears when Franz told me to flip the tire), we walked out of the gym together. We got outside, the hot sun shining on my already steamy, sweaty head and face. In the middle of a sentence, Franz pauses and looks at me completely concerned. A face I haven’t seen before, because usually it’s a ‘I literally don’t care if you die’ kind of face. While looking at me concerned, he says, ‘Umm, I think you’re bleeding!’
‘What?’ I asked, while looking at my arms, and shoulders… (turf burn is real, I swear to GOD!!!!)
‘You’re bleeding’, Franz repeats, while motioning to his neck.
‘OHHH! No, that just my hair dye. No big deal….totally normal’ I say.
I start laughing, and Franz just looks at me like I am a complete moron. He laughed a little and told me I was dumb. And to be honest? I probably looked pretty dumb…. with red dye ‘blood’ sweat, dripping from my head, down my neck and shoulders.
P.S. I dyed my hair three times with that bottle, and I ordered a new (similar) color… Can’t wait to see how bad I look, when I sweat, this time!!