Goodbye inner fat girl
I wish someone else at work would do something interesting sometimes. I'm getting fed up with the constant attention and comments about my weight. I know that I should be flattered and proud that people notice it enough to want to talk about it, but really, don't they have anything better to do?
It's boring, and it's dull. I eat well, and I exercise. I do stuff that I should have been doing for the last 10 years rather than the last one year, and it's as simple as that. I don't need to be reminded that I was bigger than Wigan's props (thanks Billy) or that partners have been discussing my weight (thanks Peter and Michael) or that my suits were made out of enough material to provide tent accommodation for a small family (OK, so no-one quite said that, but I know they were thinking it).
I know that it was part of my past, and that I was horribly obese, but I don't want it to be part of my future. I don't want to be forever dogged as the person who lost a load of weight, with the ongoing scrutiny to see whether it starts creeping back on again, or the ongoing questions as to how I did it. I just want to be me, to be the person I always was, but not covered in a layer of lard.
I want to move on, and I want to forget the obese me. Move her to the footnotes of history. I've realised that the inner fat girl just doesn't seem to be there any more. Of course, I do still eat the occasional calorific fatty treat, but I do it in a different way now. I don't do it through boredom or loneliness or compulsion, I do it consciously and deliberately, and I balance it out with healthy food and exercise. I don't crave all that bad food (this morning I was looking at the menu of the local indian takeaway as I waited for the bus to town, and I realised that I didn't actually fancy any of it. I used to love curry, but it held very little appeal, and I preferred to think about my chicken and mediterranean veg meal that I'm making tonight). I don't have an ongoing battle with myself, I just eat what I feel like most of the time, because what I feel like is good stuff. She isn't there, luring me into temptation, into the abyss. She's gone. So I want to close the door on all that, and say goodbye.
This means that, as well as the trip to the running shop (I'm actually getting quite excited about this now), there is another job for the weekend. I've cleared my old clothes out of my wardrobe, but at the moment they're sitting in a bin bag in the spare room. There might also be some under my bed, come to think of it. They need to go. I'm not going to go back there, so why do I hang onto them? I want to keep one particular suit, size 22 which was about the only thing I could wear for work for a long time. I lost a little weight in 2004 and it got loose, then by this time last year it was getting tight again. I've not tried it on for a few months, and I can only imagine how much room there is in it now. I want to keep that, so I can take the obligatory standing in one leg photo when the time comes, but what use is the rest of it? I need the spare room clear of junk for when I get invaded by my family at the start of February, and I need my life clear of fat clothes. I'm not going back there.
The big news of the day was me spending £12... on my half marathon entry. It looks like I'm doing it! One thing though, it will hopefully get me an hours worth of beauty treatments at the gym. They're running a "beat the trainer" competition and if you cover more distance than the trainers during February then you win your choice off a list of prizes, and that's the one I want (although I could take the month's free membership and spend the money elsewhere, but the treatments cost more than that and I've wanted one for ages). Now, it may be that the trainers are also training for a half marathon and are therefore confident, but as long as I can count time spent running outside as well as on the treadmill (and I need to check this before paying my entry fee, because I'm not going to do my weekend runs on the treadmill just so they count) I reckon I'll wipe the floor with them. With a schedule that says I need to run 20-22 miles per week that's going to be fairly hard to beat. Particularly when I turn up on the morning of the 27th February and announce "can I add 13.1 miles from yesterday to my total please". Oh yes, those beauty treatments will be mine!
(By the way, I do find it mildly ironic that almost every time I get accosted by someone in the office and grilled about my weight it's on the way back from the chocolate machine clutching a galaxy bar)
It's boring, and it's dull. I eat well, and I exercise. I do stuff that I should have been doing for the last 10 years rather than the last one year, and it's as simple as that. I don't need to be reminded that I was bigger than Wigan's props (thanks Billy) or that partners have been discussing my weight (thanks Peter and Michael) or that my suits were made out of enough material to provide tent accommodation for a small family (OK, so no-one quite said that, but I know they were thinking it).
I know that it was part of my past, and that I was horribly obese, but I don't want it to be part of my future. I don't want to be forever dogged as the person who lost a load of weight, with the ongoing scrutiny to see whether it starts creeping back on again, or the ongoing questions as to how I did it. I just want to be me, to be the person I always was, but not covered in a layer of lard.
I want to move on, and I want to forget the obese me. Move her to the footnotes of history. I've realised that the inner fat girl just doesn't seem to be there any more. Of course, I do still eat the occasional calorific fatty treat, but I do it in a different way now. I don't do it through boredom or loneliness or compulsion, I do it consciously and deliberately, and I balance it out with healthy food and exercise. I don't crave all that bad food (this morning I was looking at the menu of the local indian takeaway as I waited for the bus to town, and I realised that I didn't actually fancy any of it. I used to love curry, but it held very little appeal, and I preferred to think about my chicken and mediterranean veg meal that I'm making tonight). I don't have an ongoing battle with myself, I just eat what I feel like most of the time, because what I feel like is good stuff. She isn't there, luring me into temptation, into the abyss. She's gone. So I want to close the door on all that, and say goodbye.
This means that, as well as the trip to the running shop (I'm actually getting quite excited about this now), there is another job for the weekend. I've cleared my old clothes out of my wardrobe, but at the moment they're sitting in a bin bag in the spare room. There might also be some under my bed, come to think of it. They need to go. I'm not going to go back there, so why do I hang onto them? I want to keep one particular suit, size 22 which was about the only thing I could wear for work for a long time. I lost a little weight in 2004 and it got loose, then by this time last year it was getting tight again. I've not tried it on for a few months, and I can only imagine how much room there is in it now. I want to keep that, so I can take the obligatory standing in one leg photo when the time comes, but what use is the rest of it? I need the spare room clear of junk for when I get invaded by my family at the start of February, and I need my life clear of fat clothes. I'm not going back there.
The big news of the day was me spending £12... on my half marathon entry. It looks like I'm doing it! One thing though, it will hopefully get me an hours worth of beauty treatments at the gym. They're running a "beat the trainer" competition and if you cover more distance than the trainers during February then you win your choice off a list of prizes, and that's the one I want (although I could take the month's free membership and spend the money elsewhere, but the treatments cost more than that and I've wanted one for ages). Now, it may be that the trainers are also training for a half marathon and are therefore confident, but as long as I can count time spent running outside as well as on the treadmill (and I need to check this before paying my entry fee, because I'm not going to do my weekend runs on the treadmill just so they count) I reckon I'll wipe the floor with them. With a schedule that says I need to run 20-22 miles per week that's going to be fairly hard to beat. Particularly when I turn up on the morning of the 27th February and announce "can I add 13.1 miles from yesterday to my total please". Oh yes, those beauty treatments will be mine!
(By the way, I do find it mildly ironic that almost every time I get accosted by someone in the office and grilled about my weight it's on the way back from the chocolate machine clutching a galaxy bar)
posted by YP at 9:16 PM
1 Comments:
Don't worry, everyone is just getting used to the new you. Its been 4.5 years now since I was really big. Now my friends and coworkers are just amazed with the distances I run -- "... WTF, you ran for 9 hours? ..."
They have forgotten all about the fact that I used to weight 290 lbs.
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