Isn’t it funny how you can know something, deep down or in the back of your mind, but it never bothers you until someone close to you mentions it? So in the last 3 or 4 months I’ve gained some weight, not a ton (8 pounds to be exact – I checked), but enough that I had noticed and it was bothering me.
Now keep in mind that in the last few months I have also had pneumonia, the flu, started college again, taken two vacations and had my damn birthday – all of which joined forces to make it either hard for me to work out or hard for me not to want to EAT ALL THE TIME. Because working out is fine for me. I’ve subscribed to the “no pain no gain” newsletter and I read it faithfully. But food? Food is my weakness. I love food! I love the smells and tastes, I love cooking and experimenting… I just LOVE FOOD.
Not so good for the waistline apparently.
But I HAD noticed and was taking steps to get back on track. I’ve been to the gym and have been working my poor lungs back into workable shape. I’ve started to be a little more reasonable about the eating at home (because we have far too many social engagements for me to control it all the time) bringing back more natural foods, fruits, veggies, lean meats, blah, blah, blah… I even dug out all my old notes from the nutritionist. And then I went and did two very, very important and scary (and maybe crazy) things…
I threw out my “rainy day” pack of cigarettes. Both of them. I know, I know I said I was going to do that months ago… Well I did it now. Happy? Better late than never no?
And y’all? I signed myself back up for boot camp. Oh yeah – that’s right. Me and 5:00 am are going to get reacquainted. But seriously… that program BEAT me into shape, it DRUG me KICKING and SCREAMING into shape. I think I need a little of that again.
SO having taken the above steps in the last week or so I was certainly shocked and appalled last night at dinner when my mother pulled me aside and said “looks like you’ve gained an awful lot of weight sweetie.”
NOTE – if you are Southern you believe that adding “sweetie”, “sugar” or “darling” on to the end of whatever you say makes it seem alright because you truly care about the person you are saying these things to. As a Southern woman I realized last night that “sweetie” does NOT in fact make things better!
To top it all off when she called to apologize this morning (I was maybe a bit distant at dinner after that – y’all come on!) she couldn’t leave well enough alone… I got to hear about how it’s a mother’s right to be worried about their children and how clearly something must be wrong because I’ve gotten SO FAT and don’t I know I can talk to her about anything? Also, she was genuinely concerned that the new clothes I had bought myself for my birthday (in a smaller size than last year!) weren’t going to fit anymore… I was wearing one of those outfits LAST NIGHT! Perhaps it makes me look fat and I should burn it right away…
Why is it that a woman who is almost 30 can be reduced to tears of frustration on the freeway in morning traffic by her mother? How embarrassing is that? I’m sure all the other motorists thought my dog had died or something… I guess I should be embarrassed that something so trivial as being called fat makes me want to cry but… Jeez it’s been a rough road to here and I’m certainly not FAT by any means and I’m no where NEAR the weight I was when I most definitely WAS fat. It’s frustrating.
It’s enough to make a girl run to the bathroom and stick her finger down her throat.