Technically, I think the word is OVERWEIGHT, whatever. I am happy to be fat. (I would imagine, if you are reading this blog, you have some idea of who I am, what I look like. I can’t fathom why you would be reading this if you didn’t know me, or how you would have found this, but hey, welcome!)
For most of the last 10 years, I have not been fat, I have been obese. Never morbidly obese, just ordinarily obese. Truly, obese was not an identifier for me, I never really thought about it. Pretty busy having babies, breastfeeding those babies (endlessly). For about 8 of those 10 years I was either pregnant or lactating. I either had a baby growing in my belly, or resting on that belly. I didn’t see my feet for nearly a decade. Pretty convenient excuse for not noticing obesity.
About a year ago, we moved to Madison, became a one car family, started eating a lot more rice and beans. I took a job that was more physical than ANYTHING I had ever done before. I decided I wanted to lose a little weight. Maybe 40 lbs. So I lost 10, and thought, “that was easy, just 40 more to go”. Then I got to 20, and thought “that wasn’t so bad, just 40 more to go”. 30 came and went, “Little tougher, but just another 40”
Well, 45lbs later, I am now fat, and happy, and have 40lbs to go.
I am not naïve enough to believe that getting from fat to “just right” will be nearly as painless as going from obese to “just fat” has been. I imagine this last 40 will really hurt. It already hurts. Now I have to step up the exercise AND forgo 2nds at the dinner table. Now I will have to really make an effort, no, that is not true, I won’t be able to get to “just right” with effort. This is going to take WORK. Ugh.