Strap in folks. It’s going to be a long one.
So, I’m fat.
I don’t typically talk about my weight with anyone except my nearest and dearest (basically Dan), but it’s something that’s constantly on my mind. Every time I need to find a cute outfit for going out, I think about it. Every time there’s an event and I’m with my gorgeous, thin friends, I think about it. Every time I look in my closet at all of the adorable summer dresses that don’t fit anymore, I think about it.
I’ve struggled with my weight my entire life. Some of my first childhood memories are of my younger sister and cousin calling me “fat girl” and not letting me play with them. Sure, that was super mean, but I cheated them out of many Candyland wins, so I think we might be even.
The point is, my weight has been a problem. About five years ago I had brain/spinal surgery, and the combination of the medications I took afterward and the long recovery time resulted in pretty major weight gain. My body was totally out of whack and freaked out a little bit. A couple years later it went the other way, and within a few months, I had lost almost 100 pounds by doing absolutely nothing. I had broken up with my longtime boyfriend, lost my job and moved in with my parents in my 30s, so I was deeply depressed. Admittedly I wasn’t eating much, but I also wasn’t exercising. Or sleeping. Or really doing any of the things they say you should do to lose weight.
The funniest part about this is that people couldn’t help but comment on how good I looked. I was unhealthy and miserable, my hair was falling out and my skin was sallow and dull, but my body was met with approval. I understand that people were trying to be positive and encouraging, but for the first time, I understood how someone could become anorexic. That external validation feels really good when you’ve spent your entire life listening to people comment on your body with concern, or worse, disdain.
Then I met Dan.
Because I’ve been happy and eating I’ve gained weight. A lot of weight. With my chronic illnesses that’s a bad thing. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about losing weight and getting healthy, and we just haven’t done it. We both work a lot, love food and struggle with motivation; it’s not exactly a recipe for success when it comes to going to the gym.
Now that Dan isn’t here I’m not eating the way I did. Before he came along I lived mostly on oatmeal, cereal, and various other breakfast foods, and I’ve reverted to that in his absence. I’ve been too afraid to go to the gym alone; what if people look at me? I’m so jiggly, I don’t want to be judged. I don’t want to be mocked. The more I think about it the more I panic, and I can’t convince myself to go.
So what’s a fat chick to do? Check YouTube of course.
I found a bunch of chubby girl/beginner videos, but this one is my favorite, and it’s the one I did this morning:
I’m super out of shape so I only made it about halfway through the video, but it’s a start. It’s relatively quick and doesn’t require any weights or anything, so there’s no reason not to do it. I’ve enlisted a friend to keep me accountable and gently harass me about it. I also plan to check in here, maybe weekly. I don’t really want to talk about goal weight or anything; my goal at this point is to just get moving.
Wish me luck.