I Didn't Get Fat By Accident, But I'm Still Cheesed

Miskela

Ridiculous musing. I have this little dialogue with myself often.

I will sit and stew over the fact that I can't eat any old thing I want without repercussions. It's not fair, I tell you! And I have absolutely no cotton-picking reason for it. Maybe it's because when I was in high school, I never counted a calorie in my life and it didn't matter. Oh wait, I was 17 with Gym every day whether I liked it or not. My sister was always tall and lanky, 5'7" with lovely blonde locks and a quasi-modeling career with John Casablancas.

I, on the other hand, was short and stocky, built more for the coal mines than a runway. I wasn't fat, but I did notice "the gut" at ten years of age and it irked me a little. Paying attention to my weight was really not on the high list of priorities in high school. They were, and I quote:

a) Boys
b) Talking
c) School work (mayyyybe)
d) Sports
e) TV

Since there were no Internets back in 1983 - 1987 we had to occupy ourselves with things like "playing", outdoor hockey, and monkey bars and adventure gyms. Or, we just went to each other's houses and watched Cheers.

Even through college I didn't worry about my weight. Ish. I think I may have packed on the freshman *mumble*, but at some point I apparently lost it, too. Then I met my husband, moved out of the house, and discovered fast food for reals. Wow, they aren't lying when they say "convenience food", are they? Imagine my shock and horror when I packed on 25 pounds!

Again, it bears repeating: 5 pounds on a 5'2" frame is not subtle. (And this girl carries her weight well.) No one would ever guess that I weighed as much as I did when I was at my highest.

So my big problem is my brain. I have this sense of food entitlement that is utterly and completely illogical. Does anyone else have this? This is the ridiculous idea that you can eat like you're seven years old and not gain a pound. And if I do eat mercilessly and gain weight, I'm shocked and appalled by it. Even though I've conveniently forgotten to weigh myself or try and slip into those jeans that have suddenly become a bit tight.

Actually, that's being generous, those jeans leave marks in my skin. Wait, what? When did that happen?! Oh wait, I know. It's when I was slipping into my comfy stretchy work-out pants that are oh-so forgiving.

I finally jumped on the exercise bandwagon. Thank goodness walking is fun and entertaining, especially if you're yapping with someone else. Oh bless my girlfriends who are willing to walk with me. Otherwise, it's my iPhone playlist for the hundredth time - which, I know I like these songs, I paid for them after all - gets a little tired.

There must be a book somewhere. Maybe it'll help me reset my brain and not have this food entitlement that I inappropriately (and incorrectly) feel. Maybe you guys have ideas. And don't get me wrong: I, too, count the days until I'm "off this diet" and I hope and pray that I won't fall back onto the crazy train and put on weight and do this all over again.

But I still have those food dreams. I still do. And while my dreams may not be Industrial Light and Magic 3-dimensional awesomeness, that cheesecake tastes exactly like cheesecake. And it tastes good! So, this is why I'm cheesed. Because I'm a dolt who can't seem to reconcile reality with desire.

I suppose knowing is half the battle. (The other half is not grocery shopping while hungry.)