I don’t intend for this blog to be a sounding board for my thoughts about my weight and dieting, but I feel the urge to say just a bit more about it. 
I’m not as fixated on my weight as I may have sounded in my previous post. True, my weight has been an issue for me for a looooong time, but as I’ve gotten older, I’m happy to say, it’s importance has diminished. I’ll be honest though, I would like to lose weight, but it’s not the focus of my life. It’s not just because I want to be “thin.” For the most part, I’m happy with my looks. I think I clean up pretty well.
There are other reasons why I’d like to be less fat.
I LOVE nice clothes. I’d love to be able to walk into a store and just grab stuff of the racks of “regular” sized clothing. Let’s face it, plus sized clothes can be a drag. Oh, they have come a long way, but I still have to search long and hard to find stuff I like. I hate being limited to Lane Bryant and Avenue when the urge strikes to buy clothes. I hate that the plus size department in most major department stores is shoved into a corner next to the maternity department. What the heck is THAT all about? I don’t need to be a size 6, but I don’t like being a size 20 either. I want to be able to go into any store, not a “specialty store” and find clothes that fit me AND I like.
And, then there’s shoes. Oh, how I love shoes. I love sleek, pointy toed, high heeled shoes. I love strappy, sexy sandals. I love chic, leather boots that go higher than my ankle. Do you know how depressing it is when the zipper on knee high boots won’t go higher than the bottom of my calf? Trust me, it’s depressing. Oh sure, there are “wide calf” boots in some of the plus sized catalogs. Plain and simple, I haven’t found one, single pair that I’d want to wear unless I want to look like a lumberjack. And those sleek, pointy toed, high heeled shoes and strappy, sexy sandals? Designers aren’t designing them for my overweight feet. They’re designing for fairies; light, airy, weightless beings with tiny, delicate feet on the ends of their slim calfed legs. They pinch and crush and squish and I wear them anyway. If I have to stand for any lenght of time or walk any distance, the ball of my foot goes numb and my big toe hurts. I guess I’m vain. I refuse to wear a sensible, low heeled shoe that would support my weight more comfortably. I know if I were lighter, my shoes would feel better. I want to traipse around in those fairy shoes AND feel good.
Then there’s Summer. Hot, humid, steamy, Summer. Summer is a challenge for overweight women and I’m not even talking about finding a bathing suit. I’m what you might call….voluptuous. Big chest, big hips, big thighs. There’s lots of potential for….friction. I know, I know, those of you who know me, just lost that cool, calm, sophistcated, impression you have of me. Sorry. But, I want to be able to take a nice, long, walk on a Summer day, wearing a pair of cute shorts that don’t creep up between my thighs and and chafe me raw. I hate that - or a skirt or some kicky, little sundress. My thighs don’t like skirts and sundresses in the Summer. There was a time when I wouldn’t wear a pair of shorts or a sleeveless top in the Summer. I hid myself in jeans and T-shirts all summer long. I’d swealter and be miserable. Now I wear shorts and sleeveless shirts, and I won’t say I’m miserable, but I’m not….comfortable. I really should buy stock in Gold Bond powder. I want to be cool and dry - without the assistance of corn starch.
We come now to health. I want to be healthier. I want to have low blood pressure without having to take a pill. I want to have low cholesteral. I want to wake up in the morning and not have my back ache or my knees hurt. I realize aches and pains are natural at my age, but lightening the load on these bones could only help, right? Here, we have a bit of a dilemma because all these things could be resolved if I exercised more….or at all. But, and remember, I’m being honest here, I hate exercise. I don’t mind a brisk walk, but you will probably never find me at the gym. Ever. So that leaves dieting, which, I know, is harder if I don’t exercise, but not impossible.
Once, several years ago, when my kids were young, I was dressed to go to a function at one of their schools. I thought I looked pretty good. I did look pretty good. I was running late, parked my car, and jaywalked across the street. A pickup truck passed by me and the young man inside rolled down his window and shouted, “You’re not only fat, but you’re stupid too!” He shouted this at me, in front of other parents who were also going into the school. It was just like walking home from school all over again and having Robert Watkins taunt me the way I wrote about in my previous post. I swear I went deaf and blind as I reached the sidewalk. My head swam with humiliation and I couldn’t think straight. I sat through that school assembly with a lump in my throat, hearing the guy in the truck over and over in my head. For days afterward, I heard him.
Stuff like that hurts. It hurt me then. It’s like a slap in the face, when you think you’ve grown up and you’re doing fine. You think you’ve accepted the way you look, even though it’s not the ideal. You think you’ve grown beyond worrying how other people see you. I know now that that guy in the truck was just a jerk and I shouldn’t have let him throw me for a loop the way he did, but I wasn’t the woman then, that I am now. I laugh about that guy now and if someone yelled at me from their truck tomorrow, tsk, whatEVER! Hahaha
I want to lose weight now because I want to feel better physically, not only mentally like before. I think I’m secure. I don’t need acceptance from strangers and I have acceptance from my family and friends. I don’t really know why I ask, “Does this make me look fat?” I do care how I look. I do want to look nice, but I know that I can look nice even if I’m fat, so why do I ask? Maybe it’s habit. Maybe I care more than I like to admit, but I don’t care so much that I can’t be happy with myself. I am happy. And don’t worry, (I know you’re not really worrying) I’m not depriving myself. I eat sensibly, healthily, during the week. I don’t deprive myself – there’s plenty of stuff I can eat and not feel cheated. And if I feel like blowing it once in a while and eating something cooked in butter or sauteed in oil, or called parmagianna or alfredo, I do.
Anyway, enough about weight, about fat and traumatic memories. I’m good. How are you?
