it's your problem, not mine.
I really am fat. I'm not going to give numbers or dress sizes or anything, but really, it's no big deal. I'm fairly active, I'm pretty smart, and am quite easy to get along with. I don't have a problem socializing with men (or women) and while I don't have an endless line-up of dates, it's got more to do with my own commitment issues than the wobbly bits that I possess.
There was a time (albeit briefly) where I weighed everything I ate on a plastic scale. I once knew the caloric content, the fat content and the carbohydrate value of almost any edible product out there. I knew just how many calories I would burn if I spent 45 minutes on the Stairmaster, and spent thousands of dollars on gym memberships, athletic wear, and excercise gear.
But not any more.
I got burnt out, and made myself even more unhealthy by obsessing over little things like having butter on my toast, which I like, or hopping on the scale, like I used to do about thirty times a day. I literally would make myself sick if I didn't make my nightly run before 7:pm, and felt completely disappointed in myself if I didn't make it to 6:30 am step aerobics. Add a child to the mix, and full-time studies in university with a 100% courseload and a part-time job, it was no wonder that something was going to give. I lost almost 40 pounds, but I was starting to lose a lot more than just weight.
I graduated with honours, and I had some time left to find a job. And I couldn't. So I took my girl out of daycare, and at the age of 4, we transitioned to a life at home. It was hellish in some ways, but definitely a pleasure in many, many others. Looking back, I believe that I had some sort of semi-breakdown. In fact, I'd almost want to label it post-partum deppression, because suddenly, after 4 years of exhausted, on the fly living, both Kole and I came to a full stop. It was the first time that I had spent that much time with her. She was lucky to have a placement at a fine, university daycare, which worked out well for me to drop in between classes. But once I was able to spend weeks at home with her, I realized how difficult it was. And I realized that the workouts were actually more harmful to me, rather than helpful. Mentally, and physically. I was so exhausted, and worn out from the hectic pace that I set for myself, that there was no major benefit being gained.
Like psychiatric help, I think I benefit more by focusing on my so-called problems less.
I stayed at home with her for a year or so. And then I went back to work. Again, it was back to being busy, back to rushing, and trying to figure out some decent method in time management. But it became easier without the gym schedules, scales, and diet entries. Instead, if I want to burn off some energy, I try to catch a game with a pick-up league in town. I go for hikes on the drumlin, and I ride my bike to work. I eat what I want to eat, and when I notice my jeans becoming tighter, I either suck it up and ban beer and bread for a bit, or I simply buy a more roomy pair.
Yes, I'm fatter than I once was, but I'm no less of a person because of it. People who assume that I'm letting myself go, are assuming incorrectly. I'm a lot healthier now, than I was back then. I don't have a problem with my fatness. I'm not afraid of the word fat and I'm not ashamed of it either. And yes, there are days that I wish I could be more toned and muscular, but I remind myself of what it takes to do it. And when I feel like it, I do take the long way home instead, or just give it when doing laps at the pool. I know that I can be a lot thinner if I want it bad enough. But for the time being, I'm happy the way things stand.
Fat is not a problem, it's just where I am at, for now.