I just finished reading both Half-Assed by Jennette Fulda and Two Whole Cakes by Lesley Kinzel. The first is a weight-loss memoir. The second is almost an anti-weight-loss memoir. I feel so torn between these two worlds. It’s crazy. On one hand, Jennette and I are basically the same person, except she could fit into one leg of my pants now, I’m sure, and I want to be able to do that. On the other, I’m pretty comfortable in my own body and own my fatness, much like Lesley. (And I will be reviewing both of these in-depth as soon as I get them back from their respective borrowers. Until then, just go buy them anyway. They’re fantastic.)
I’ve always been a big (ba-dum-chh!) supporter of the Fat Acceptance movement, but there has to be some middle ground where you can own your fat and lose it at the same time, right? I’ve been realizing more and more lately that I’m not as comfortable in my body as I like to think I am. I mean, I have big floppy upper arms. Of course I do. I’ve been off and on diets since I was 12. I’m also starting to get big floppy lower arms, too. I just noticed this today when I was scrambling eggs this morning. I need to fix this. It bothers me. I’ve never had fat hands/fingers in my entire life until recently, either. I don’t like it.
Another thing? Becoming so heavy you physically cannot move runs in my family. I’m terrified of this happening to me. It’s the saddest thing to see someone you love so much and someone who you always enjoyed going out with when you were younger not being able to get less than ten feet from the dining room to the bathroom without crying, let alone the stares and loud whispers about them if they go in public. I can’t let this happen to me. I won’t let it.
So, game plan: I’m working on my food. I don’t eat carbs until I get home from work, basically. Not because I’m all YAY ATKINS LOSIN THE POUNDS YEAH but because they make me crazy sleepy and I can’t even. Especially when my job consists of watching television in a very warm room until midnight. Even extra-strength 5-Hour Energy didn’t work for me yesterday. Usually that’s my last resort because it’ll keep me up forever.
I’m still paying for that gym membership I don’t use, but that crazy guy from my old cult who probably has PTSD and brags about how he takes his gun with him to the gym still goes there the same time I do, I think. I’m not comfortable with this. I tried to get out of my contract there and I basically have a better chance of getting an audience with Queen Elizabeth II than getting out of it before my two years are up. Ridiculous.
So, yes. This may be a return to the C’mon, Fatso of old. Except I refuse to go back to Weight Watchers. Ever. Oh my god.