I’m fat. I’ve always been a bigger person- I mean, size 12 feet? Come on. Even at my ideal weight, which according to “the charts” I haven’t seen since seventeen, I’m no shy violet. I’ve basically come to terms- even embraced- being bigger than the J Crew models, and never being able to order anything from Anthropologie.
Being big is one thing. Being unhealthy is entirely another. Gaining weight is like being the proverbial frog in the pot of gradually warming water- a few degrees hotter, a few pounds more, and pretty soon your legs are in some Frenchman’s mouth- or um, maybe I lost my metaphor. Either way, somewhere I went from being a big, healthy girl with strong legs and arms and slight tummy, to being just unhealthy.
The first time I realized it was walking into a Target. My reflection caught in the sliding doors, and I thought “Who is that big lady?”- Doh. It’s me. Holy crap. Ouch. It’s not a comfortable feeling. So what did I do about it? I bought a can of Pringles and checked out the sale racks. I’m already used to not being able to find shoes in regular stores, so what if I have to shop in the big-girl department? Except… except…
There’s so much more to it than that. Isn’t there always?
I’ve been on every program in the world. None of them have fixed me, even when I didn’t need fixing. Even Weight Watchers, which works, if you want to write down everything you eat and think about food every second of every day for the rest of your life. (I don’t.) But I’ve done their program. Three times. Nutrisystem. Slimfast. Suzanne Somers. Fit for Life. No carbs. Vegetarian. Vegan. Nothing white. The crazy lady in the 90’s with the shaved head… no, not Sinead O’Connor- the other one.
They all work- in the short term. But what they don’t get to is the “Why”. And that’s where I am now. A plan that will bungee-cord and whip-lash me back up after a short, exhilarating fall is not something I can stomach. Why? Because every diet out there is about the food. And I’m not fat because of the food.
I know what to eat. I’m a smart, educated woman. I know what’s healthy and what is just dumb. So why do I reach for the can of Pringles? Why have I gained 20 pounds in the last year of unemployment? Oh, there are so many “Why”s. And, that, think, is the answer to my question. Why. Not “what”. Not what , or points, or grams, or carbs, or combinations or calories or anything. It’s about WHY. And, until I solve that problem, everything else is just a Bungee-cord jump… good for a cheap thrill, but not taking me anywhere.