You know it’s time to lose weight when your daughter begins to make remarks. She sounds so innocent, but those little innocent words are like daggers into your fat soul. Need an example?
We went to Wendy’s the other night because I was dog tired and had no energy to cook a meal. I know, shame shame. So we went to Wendy’s and as we were sitting there with our dessert, Frosties, of course, Addie begins her I’m-really-tired whining. “Can I come and sit in your lap, Mama? whine whine” I answered very sweetly, “I’d love to have you sit in my lap, Addie, but there’s no room.” Emma, ever the Type-A helpful one, pipes up, “Yeah, there’s no room because Mommy’s got too much fat on her belly and there’s not room for you and her fat belly.”
Now, I know my daughter wasn’t trying to hurt my feelings or being malicious. But I wanted to cry right into my Frosty.
Why is losing weight so hard? I suppose dieting isn’t really fun. You’ve got to eat consciously, eat healthy, it costs more to eat healthy so you spend more at the grocery store, you’ve got to watch for “hidden” bad things, like if your fish was cooked in butter and so on. Then you’ve got exercise. I’m sure there are some freakazoids out there who get a high from using the spinning thingy at the gym, or do that Carrie Fisher thing in When Harry Met Sally and get an endorphin rush from walking. I’m not one of those people. I tried doing pilates the other night, and I was doing that one thing where you lay on your belly and then lift your head and arms and legs (which, by the way, babies do all the time, have you noticed? Which I think of when I’m doing that pose and then I start to laugh thinking what I must look like and have to take a break because I’m laughing so hard I’m out of breath). All I could think was this hurts, let’s stop. So I did. Stop, I mean.
There’s gobs of pills out there, all boasting of being #1 in weight loss. I once read a blog about Alli, and oh.my.stars. I must have lost at least five pounds just by laughing. You can read about that here.
I can remember once in college, I went through a tiny phase where I took Dexatrim. I just wanted to see if it worked, and by golly, I lost a few pounds. But I didn’t go shouting through my dorm that I was using a pill to put off the pounds (haha, alliteration) because, you know, that just wouldn’t sound as cool. So I had them stashed in my bathroom. We had dorm room checks once a week to make sure there wasn’t grime and slime dripping from every surface of the room or something and my RA and her assistant meandered through my room, checking the toilet, the trash, dust or whatever. Then they came up to me and said, ever so sweetly, “Kearsie, we’ve noticed you’ve lost some weight and we’re SO PROUD that you’ve done it without the help of a PILL!”. And they patted me on the shoulder and walked away. I think I just sort of smiled, in a I’m-smiling-but-on-the-inside-I’m-grimacing sort of way. That was the end of the Dexatrim for me. I never knew if they were just being mean or if they were really being serious. It was tormenting.
It’s kind of tough being Eskimo, because our bodies are actually made to collect fact. So if there’s a greasy cheeseburger sitting there, my mouth is watering and all of my collecting genes are shouting “YES! MUST STORE UP FOR THE WINTER!” No matter that the average temperature of my own personal world hovers somewhere around boiling point. No matter that I’ve spent the last 18 years of my life in the South, where you walk out the door shvetzing through your blouse. Hard to believe that just 100 years ago women ran around in hoop skirts and long sleeves and stockings. Yuck.
Perhaps if we all band together, albeit through this vast web of nets, we can all get fit together. Perhaps swap healthy recipes and tips on working out so it doesn’t seem like so much work. Whaddya’ll think?