I’m fat. There, I said it. That’s got be step one of a twelve step program or something. I should be halfway, or one twelfth of the way, towards being skinny now. Isn’t that how it works? I remember a year ago, after training for a couple of marathons, after getting in decent shape, and after getting married, being told by some older friends that I would start gaining weight. They said that just by virtue of my marriage I would spend less time working out and more time eating. They said my body would change. I scoffed at the idea, but here I am, one year later, feeling more out of shape than at any time since high school.
Of course, I’m also reading about and studying psychiatry for medical school right now. Anyone who’s ever taken a psychology course knows what I’m talking about when I say that reading the description of any arbitrary body image disorder and I can convince myself that, yeah, I might have that. Then again, I’m also reading about diabetes, and with a pretty strong family history the only really protective factor for me not developing adult onset diabetes is losing enough weight that I consistently underweight. This is, of course, a fact that I have known since college and avoided for a number of reasons, owing mostly to the fact that I love to eat.
So, my solution/resolution of the moment: accounting. Maybe if I keep one of those inane food logs I can stay aware of all the unnecessary junk I’m stuffing down my gullet. Maybe I can un-normalize the concept of “lunch dessert” which has become less of a treat and more of a dietary staple as of late.
Bathroom scale: 198 lbs (who knows how accurate?)