Everyone has a moment of reckoning. For me, it was a recent travel photo.
“Holy shit,” I thought. “When did I get fat? What is that thing on the front of me?” And not fat- fat, like, you can’t stop staring in Wallmart even though you know you shouldn’t kinda fat. Just… a newly formed appendage, a pot, who am I kidding here, a GUT. Damnit.
We have a song we like to listen to by Wesley Willis, a celeb in our college years. Wesley had a few hits, never on the radio, but great if you could go see him live. “I’m Sorry That I Got Fat” is one of them. The chorus goes: “I’m sorry that I got fat, I’m sorry that I got fat, I’m sorry that I got fat, I will slim down…” and then he goes on to tell you he got fat by eating McDonalds for something like, 8 straight years. The listener is unsure if he is apologizing to himself or to others, but either way we know he is truly sorry about it.
There were clues for me. My friend’s son asking me if I had a baby “in there” and then poking my gut.
“No honey,” I said. “That’s just from beer.” (I am nothing if not honest). He just looked at me and shrugged, as if, well, that didn’t make any sense at all. That could (should) have been a moment to take stock of the situation. But no, I plodded along, not really minding my shelf. Finding it handy for when pencils rolled off of the table, that kind of thing. Certain pants (I call them indicator pants, as they indicate a problem) went to the back of the shelf. And at no time did I feel pinchy underwear. After the moment of reckoning, I tried to blame someone else, but there was no one, so I decided my underwear hadn’t played their true part, and were to blame. They are supposed to alert you to a problem, cut off your circulation or something, right? No. They failed me. I checked the drawer to see why, and then had another light-bulb moment. Huh. None of these underwear had any elastic left. They are basically like cloth shammies that stick to me by sheer luck or through static electricity. OMiGod no one should be wearing this underwear. I mean, we all save a few for period days, am I right? The really awful ones that if you did get mown down and thrown into an ambulance, and they had to cut off your pants to save your leg or something, and they glimpsed a view of these underwear, they’d know right away….”Oh this really is a bAD Day for her. Those are period underwear!” Yes. We all have those. But you’re only supposed to have a few of them, the expendables. Not a whole freaking drawer-full of them. I hate shopping for underwear. You know why? It all comes full circle here. Because then I have to actually deal with MY GUT. (Guys, you do this too. Hold up your boxers to the window. If you can see through them, or if they have actual tears along the elastic, it’s time for you to part ways. It doesn’t matter if they were there when you got a promotion, or there the night you got lucky in the parking ramp. That night is never gonna happen again so why relive that pain by hanging on, you know?)
Sigh. It happens. Now I am trying full force to un-happen it, while still allowing myself to drink a few beers now and again. I have to accept that I do not have the metabolism of a racehorse, but more like the metabolism of a sea cucumber. I’m not sure, but I’m thinking they finish the leftovers of their kids plates too. You gonna eat that crust? Umyumyum.
After my good, long look I just happened to have scheduled oral surgery, which I thought was excellent timing. (More on that next time) I could drink shakes for awhile! Shed a few! Why I even came across an article, purely by chance, on SOYLENT! Yes it’s true, you can subside on nothing but the raw elements that sustain you. And it’s not dead people, like in Soylent Green.
The more I read, the more fascinated I became. But then it said something about high flatulence, and it instantly became less appealing. Fat and Farty… I mean, we all know that guy on the bus, and we don’t really want to BE him, you know? (Sorry, mister). So I stuck to shakes and liquids, and guess what! I didn’t really lose any weight! Because when your body senses it is being starved it tends to hold onto those pounds with renewed vigor, and especially in the midsection!! Oh hahaha, cruel nature. Thanks a lot. Awesome.
So I have a plan, and it involves way more exercise. It involves new underwear that will be slightly more pinchy (at first!) The indicator pants have been moved to the front of the closet. I should get a haircut, for inspiration, fool myself into looking like someone else so then I can actually act like someone else too. It could work, you have to use all available tools you know. And then I need to try, and try bit harder. I’m not at the “counting calories” phase yet and hope to avoid it, as it lends itself to obsessiveness…and I already have too much other shit to worry about, so there’s no room for that flavour of crazy. Not yet anyway.
You can help. Don’t ask me if I am pregnant. Keep drinking beer with me, but then call me the next day to see if I want to take a long walk up a steep hill, both ways. I’m still at the before picture, but now it’s out there. Now there needs to be an after.