Posts Tagged ‘humor’

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Today’s workout:  2 miles @ park

Crawled/Walked – 100 steps


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In my opinion, one of the hardest obstacles to any healthy diet program is outside influences.  They come in all forms;  that snack machine that stares you down each time you enter your office break room, the fast food place that is so conveniently located on your route home from work when you haven’t eaten in hours and you’re starving, or it can simply be the “impulse buy” section at the grocery store that is loaded with nothing but sugar and carbs.  For me, it’s my neighbor.

Bless his heart — he’s a pastor at a local church that runs a food bank — and when they have leftover food he brings it to us – his neighbors.  Some of the food is healthy, but the other half is not.  I am so thankful for this food.  He has saved me so much money in food bills that if I had to count, it would probably knock me out of my chair.  The only downside is the cakes, pies, donuts, and other super delicious, and super-bad-for-me items.    So the key, for me, is to get rid of everything that is not diet-friendly as quickly as possible. 

I have a small network of families who I share this food with, so I email them and they come pick it up.  On the days they can’t pick up right away, this junk food calls my name like a foghorn, “SHAAAAANNNNNOOOONNNNN, I’M IN HEEERREEEEEE…. YOU KNOW YOU WANT ME!”  It takes every last bit of self-restraint not to go dive into each and every one of the awful treats and gorge myself until my eyes pop out, especially when it’s PMS time!  UGH.

I haven’t found a tried and true method of avoiding the “cave”, but I try different things each time.  Sometimes I will picture myself when I was thin, and that will be enough to keep me away.  Other times I will think about how hard it is to walk now with the added weight, and that will be enough to piss me off and make me hate the naughty food.  Then there are those few times, like when I have PMS and a major case of the “fu*k-its”, that I say hell with it and have no will power to control myself.  It’s those times I am trying so hard to work on, and find a button to press that will keep me away.  Those buttons are hard to find when you’re craving sugar and salt and you’re cranky and just don’t care.  “I’ll stay fat, I’ve been fat this long, who gives a crap if I stay fat another day!  I don’t have a boyfriend anyway so who’s going to notice besides me?”  — And it’s that kind of thinking that is why I am still overweight.

Even though I might be the only one who notices when I eat the wrong foods, I am not the only one who notices I am overweight.  Besides, I am the one who counts anyway, and even if I truly was the only one who cared or noticed, that is enough.  If I know, that’s what matters, and aren’t I doing this for myself anyway?  Yes, I am.

Still, it is so hard to hold back at that crucial moment when I’m full-blown PMS, and I’m craving chocolate cake, and my kind-hearted neighbor shows up with a box full of it.  I just have to keep repeating things like “mind over matter” and “nothing tastes as good as thin feels”.

I guess there is no miracle cure, or one way to avoid the cravings and hold back, but I sure wish there was.

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“Before you criticise someone, walk a mile in their shoes. Then, when you criticise them, you’re a mile away and you have their shoes.”  ~Unknown

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Being fat doesn’t just mean having a big gut or thunder thighs; when you’re fat, you’re whole body is fat.  In my case, my face, my hands, and even my feet are fat.  I swear if it were possible even my hair is fat.  I no longer just have big boobs, I have a spare-tire kind of fat boob that wraps all the way around my fat body and produces “back cleavage”  (P.S. They don’t make a bra for that).  I wake up each day and  put on my “fat clothes”;  Walmart specials that I wear so often they are now stained or worn out to the point that it’s time to go buy more “fat clothes”.  Who can blame them, they are so sick and tired of being stretched over my fat that they are finally caving under the fat pressure.  My entire fat wardrobe can be washed in one fat wash load. 

I’m not really a Walmart clothing kind of gal.  I’ve always been proud of my taste in clothes — cashmere, silk, Victorias Secret — but these days I don’t feel good about how I look, so I wouldn’t want to defile a nice garment by stretching it over my fat ass and making it suffer.  It’s like putting expensive chrome wheels on a rusted out Pinto — seriously, why bother?  You’re not doing the wheels any justice and the Pinto is probably just going to explode one day anyway.  Nice things are meant to be displayed on nice things, not to be used to try to distract the eye from seeing what’s really there.  

To sum it all up, I’m sick and tired of being fat.  My days are spent constantly thinking about how fat I am and how miserable it makes me.  The thin girl inside me really wants to shed the fat suit and be herself again.  I want to wear a normal bra, not a sports bra because it’s the only thing that will hold up my spare-tire boob.  I want to wear sexy panties, not fat-girl hold-you-in type panties.  I want to look in the mirror and not be able to count how many chins I have — there should only be one and FYI it’s apparently comprised of bone, not fat.

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