Tuesday, August 24, 2010

A Revelation About Being Overweight

First, let me start by saying I am fat. I'm not husky, big boned [well, that's partly true] or "Rubenesque". Second, I don't need pity or criticism. A healthy dose of narcissism with a pinch of self-deprecation does the trick. I have been overweight for some time now, and over the past 6 years I've gained 90 pounds. And kept it, like a treasure.

I've not always been this way. When I was in high school I could eat what I wanted and never gained weight. I played tennis and was in show choir [believe it or not] and was busy. When I became pregnant with my first son, I gained about 50 pounds and eventually lost 25 of it. I can remember so distinctly saying to friends, "Don't let me get up to [this size] jeans! I'll kill myself!"

I should be dead.

I keep thinking that there's some fat girl wandering around in my clothes - and they don't fit her. I mean, honestly, I surprise myself in the mirror. I literally can not believe that is what I look like.

A lot of, "Don't you know your body is a temple?" and "You're really unhealthy with that extra weight!" or "Do you need an extra helping?" I'm not often kind to myself.

I know the Lord made me and that I'm a wonderful person and He loves me - but I'm destroying the temple. Every time I choose something sedentary instead of active [which is made more difficult with more weight!] or choose to eat something I know is terrible, I'm slamming a sledgehammer into the temple. But until now I can't say I really "cared" if you catch my meaning.

You see, if I "cared" I would stop. If I "cared" I would make the right choices. If I "cared" I would push through the walls that I've built up around myself. Instead, I have excuses, and pitiful reasons as to why I should eat what and when I want. I have limits to my physical exercise. I don't have to do these things. Food is my kryponite. I can't help myself.

And then I had the revelation. It was so strong that my heart beat faster and reality seemed to fade into the background for an instant.

If I admit that I can't help myself, then I've already been defeated. If an adulterer says, "I can't help myself" they will lose their marriage, or family, and everything they care about. If an obese person says, "I can't help myself" they will die.

Death.
A heck of a motivator. If I keep doing what I'm doing it will kill me. My children won't have me, my husband will be a widower, and I will have been useless.

There are a lot of things out there that can try to take me out: cancer, traffic collisions, war, malaria, airplanes, zombies ...

But how can I allow myself to become one of those things? To let myself continue to kill me?

I can't. I won't.

It doesn't matter how many times you've seen me post something about losing weight, or going to the gym or this diet or anything like that. What matters is that I keep trying. That I never give up. Because once I give up, I'm dead.

I hope this is my life changing epitome, my stunning revelation, my ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. I don't know all of the reasons why I overeat [I do know a few of them] so maybe this will be an adventure of discovery as well. If eating better and exercise don't do enough, I'll see a doctor. If that doesn't do enough, I'll see a counselor.

One way or another, I'm going to win this.