Where Was I?

In spite of women's lib, loving myself, not giving a damn what others think, the evil of subliminal messages in the media, and reveling in the fact that I am wonderfully made, I must admit that I am obsessed with my weight. Just like adolescent boys spend most of their days thinking about sex, I spend most of mine thinking of just how far in I can suck my stomach to appear less fat and whether or not anyone would even notice my effort. I'm constantly telling myself to sit up straight to avoid displaying all of my rolls, pull up my pants over my most prominent rolls, and to make sure my head is up straight so that all of my chins aren't showing at the same time. At the end of the day, when I let out my stomach, I'm exhausted. When I'm not obsessing about my rolls, I'm thinking about how I even got to this point. I ponder on where I was exactly when I went from having a tummy, to a stomach, to a belly, to a GUT. I think about that, and the fact that I should be ashamed of myself for being obsessed in the first place.

I know better and I've fed the rhetoric to many a friend in the past. I tell them they are beautiful. I tell them that the only kind of man who wants a bone is a dog. I even tell them that their curves are part of their appeal. I believe myself too. However, no matter how many times I give them the rigmarole, I can't seem to make myself believe the hype. I've noticed the looks I've gotten from people I knew in my much smaller days and I've noticed how many people don't initially recognize me. I've noticed how men who once looked at me as if they were kind of interested now look and shake their heads disapprovingly. I've even noticed that the "quality" of man to approach me has changed. I especially hate it when they approach me and tell me how they "like big women". That's the worst. There's nothing like having a man confirm what you already know but are hoping no one else has noticed. I do realize it's a constant battle. I know when I'm in the gym I'm supposed to be exercising for my health and well-being but in all honesty, a large part of the reason for the workout is the fact that I'm still on the market and I don't want to end up being the last picked and having to go home with some 2 foot 2 man with one strand of hair and the same number of teeth because he's the only one left who "likes big women". While I know this is incredibly short-sighted and shallow, it's how I feel most of the time nonetheless. Seriously, between all the self-conscious stomach-sucking, pant pulling up, head erect tactics and the gym, the frustration really just makes me want to have a big plate of french fries. Maybe that's the source of my new found belly...

Ultimately, I know all the right things. I have to want to lose the weight and go to the gym for the sake of good health. I have to love myself the way I am or else no one else (decent) will. I have to really believe I'm wonderfully made before a successful weight loss program can occur. All that, and, I have to put down the french fries.