Not bad for a fat girl


But What Is My Body Saying?

This eat the right thing and get enough sleep and make sure to move my body thing just hasn’t been working out recently. I could give you all the reasons, but honestly, it will just sound like a list of excuses, so I’ll spare you the details and just skip it.

This, of course, has been an ongoing battle for me. Sometimes things click and I do well, and other times I slip into my old bad habits and any progress toward improving my health habits quickly disappears. It’s frustrating, especially since it’s purely my choices that derail me.

I had a conversation the other night with a yoga instructor about some of these struggles (as we were enjoying our cocktails and hors d’oevres). She has worked with all sorts of people over the years, with all sorts of body types and issues. She is also human, as has had her own struggles over the years. She has changed her diet more than once, and her advice to me was, “listen to your body.”

It sounded like good advice. Our bodies, after all, are incredible. They do so much for us, and they constantly make tiny adjustments without us even thinking about it. The whole keeping the heart beating and keeping the lungs breathing routine is awe-inspiring. The body is no dummy, so it makes sense to try to listen to it. I’m okay with this idea. In fact, I kind of like the thought.

The problem, however, is that my body and I don’t seem to speak the same language. I have no idea what it’s saying much of the time. I confuse fatigue with hunger, and I often allow myself to get to the point where I’m completely parched, or the opposite, my bladder feels as though it might explode. How come I don’t take care of these things earlier? I just don’t really seem to notice or understand the signals that my body gives. Either that, or my body gives me the wrong signals.

That was certainly the case during my pregnancy. I didn’t even know I was pregnant for five months. Yes, you read that correctly. And no, I’m not a hillbilly, I took Human Growth and Development in school. It’s just that my body didn’t react the way that most bodies do. As in, I didn’t know I was pregnant because I was bleeding every month. TMI? Sorry, but it’s true. By the time I knew I was pregnant at all it was late December, and by the time I found out my real due date (at my first appointment with an actual MD), it was the last day of February! My boy was born, full term, on April 1. Fitting, don’t you think?

So that’s a brief history of the lack of communication between my body and me. Yes, I will try to listen a little bit closer, but jeez, it doesn’t always work!


Damn You, Holiday Oreo Cookies

teachers%2520gifts%2520211Last week I went back to Weight Watchers, for the who-knows-how-many-ith time. All week I’ve done fairly well with my food choices, with just a bit of slipping up here and there. The truth is, old habits are very hard to break. Still, I was feeling pretty good about my choices until just a few minutes ago.

That’s when they got me. Those damn, damn Oreos.

I should have thrown them out when I went back to Weight Watchers, but I figured someone else would eat them. Nobody did. They sat untouched for nearly a week, until tonight.

Tonight’s dinner was uninspired. I stir-fried a bag of vegetables and added in some white meat chicken. It was fabulously simple, and it took almost no time to do (the chicken was already cooked). The sauce that came with the vegetables was good, and the meal looked and smelled delicious. The flavor, however, just wasn’t quite there. Maybe it was the chicken, I don’t know. It just didn’t quite taste as good as it seemed like it should have. Still, I ate my veggies and felt pretty good about my meal. For about five minutes.

Then I went looking for something else, something to finish off the meal. I opened the pantry, and there they were. I reasoned that my dinner was ultra-healthful so why not have some? Well, because I’m no good at “some.” Several cookies later, they were gone. So is any progress toward weight loss that I may have made this week. That’s not good, since Thanksgiving is coming up quickly. Oh well, Oreos happen. I have to just move on, and keep those damn, damn Oreos out of my house.


Nobody Looks at the Fat Chick Anyway

suitcaseI’m going out of town, to a family event. There are religious services involved, and at least two family celebrations. It’s back east, where the weather is colder and the events tend to be more formal. I just packed.

The last family event was my niece’s Bat Mitzvah, four months ago. It was summertime, so it wasn’t quite as dressy as an autumn event, but the daytime portion of the program was still a dress up affair. The evening party was advertised as casual, but really nobody wore what I would consider to be truly casual clothes. I wore a cute skirt and top, and was very comfortable with my choice. I didn’t even cringe when I saw the pictures the photographer snapped of me.

This weekend, however, is a different story. First of all, I don’t have a huge dress up wardrobe. A simple dress is about as dressy as I usually get, plus I have a couple of skirts and jackets that occasionally get pressed into service. Secondly, I’m currently the size of a small nation. I’ve gained weight since the last family event, and I’m dreading seeing my mother and hearing whatever “loving” comments she’ll make about it. I feel like a blob, and I feel like nothing fits me. I caught sight of my reflection in the window the other night eating dinner, and frankly I was taken aback. I’m huge. In fact, I’m terrified that when I board the plane in a few hours I’ll have to request a seatbelt extender for the first time in my life.

As I faced the empty suitcase I sucked in a breath and dove in. I mentally rehearsed several outfits, and even tried on a few blouses that I thought were iffy. Finally it dawned on me that nobody expects the fat chick to look good anyway, so why was I making myself crazy over this?

C’mon, you know it’s true. If you’re a big fat person like me, that’s all people really see. They don’t care that you’re dressed well or poorly, unless you’re off the charts on either end of the spectrum. Since I’m not going out shopping with a stylist (but wouldn’t that be great? My own personal episode of What Not to Wear!) and I’m not planning on turning into a hobo between now and my flight time, I have to be satisfied with what I have.

No, I won’t be the best dressed woman there, but I won’t be the worst dressed either, I’m sure. I put in some decent separates, and decided that I would make my final wardrobe decision just before each event. My family will be happy to see me for me, and the strangers in the room will only see the fat girl anyway, so it’s time to quit worrying.