AHEM, I mean diet… I’m going to a dietician tomorrow afternoon. Why? Because I am clinically obese- according to all the books and charts I have dared to consult… I look like a bubble on toothpicks! You know those drawings of people that kids do in nursery school when they first learn to hold a crayon properly, the big round circle with four stripes depicting arms and legs (and too many fingers)? That’s what I look like, because my arms and legs never get fat… I do have the right number of fingers though. All my fat sits between my shoulders and my crotch, with an extra chin or six for good measure! When Damien and I went to the doctor last week I spotted this beautiful business card with a big red strawberry on it. I love strawberries. It was only after I picked it up that I read it was for a dietician. I took it as a sign. I sent her an email the next day telling her what I weigh now, how tall I am, that I intend rejoining Virgin Active next year and asking if she could phone me when she had an afternoon appointment available. And of course- asking whether I would have to pay her up front, or if she would claim it from my medical aid. She’s going to claim it. Bonus. You see- I’ve gotten myself into a very obvious cycle. I get angry with myself for eating so much crap; and then I eat some more because I’m angry. I eat when I’m depressed or angry; and unfortunately the starches are my comfort food of choice… pasta, bread, rice, potatoes and Macdonalds cheese burgers! My weight has been pretty much stable for several years now, and it’s been bugging me even longer. Honestly- I think that if I had more than just a bathroom mirror in my house I might have gotten a fright sooner- but I never see my whole self, so by the time it struck me that this was getting out of hand it was too late. It also gets to me because I have a very limited wardrobe and because I used to look fabulous! No really! I was once svelte, thin, and gorgeous. Skinny enough to shop off the shelf… someone who could wear a bikini if it weren’t for the stretch marks! Someone who wore men’s size 32 jeans! I should have taken more pictures- ok, granted I was 18 and walking 4km to work every day, and I doubt I’ll ever get THERE again, but I HAVE to do something now. So, on Monday I will post what she said, how I cried and what I plan to do next. I am considering noting my weight and any losses or gains on a week by week basis- but I haven’t decided yet.
There Is Never An Excuse
One in three is not a statistic - one in three is a crying shame.