Today I bought some fat girl clothes. And somehow I’m OK with that.
About 18 months ago I went on a big low-carb push. Turns out if you never let flour or sugar touch your lips and you work out like you’re training for the Olympics, you can shed a few pounds.
I also lost inches and dropped about two dress sizes. I was on a smug high horse, telling all my friends that it really is so simple. Just eat the right foods, move your body and poof! You’re blowing around in the wind.
All was well and good until some life stressors reared their ugly heads. I come from a fairly dedicated line of stress eaters, and comfort foods (high in sugar and flour content) suddenly found their way onto my plate. Or just my hand, because sometimes a plate really is extraneous and slows a girl down.When you’re pregnant, you’re expected at some point to gain roughly a pound a week. That’s what I feel like I’ve been doing lately, except that my baby just turned four. You know you’ve got a problem on your hands when you think your stomach is protruding because surely you have a tumor in there. And in a sick way you’re sorta hoping there is.
The day typically starts out so good and well intended. Healthy breakfast (gets the metabolism going for all those calories I’ll consume the rest of the day), then typically a healthy lunch followed by whatever sounds good that my kids will eat for dinner. Noodles covered in cream sauce, anyone?
About a year ago I read a Time article which stated research shows weight loss is far more determined by what and how much we eat than how much we exercise. Because to burn off that piece of my son’s birthday cake (OK, it was three) I’d need to run a half marathon. Which proves why my gym dedication (is one day a week dedicated?) isn’t getting me too far. Around that same time I read a fabulous book titled French Women Don’t Get Fat. It’s the sort of book that can either really inspire you or make you really hate French women.
So because I’ve gotten tired of feeling like my circulation was being cut off by those damn skinny clothes, I decided to upgrade to something I can breathe in. Namely leggings and long, drapey sweaters worn by the store’s 25-year-old catalog models–and yet the store’s target audience is women 40+ with three or more kids. Or grandkids.
Maybe when life becomes all perfect again, I’ll rededicate myself to cutting the flour and sugar, and to doing something horrible like cross-fit or boot camp. Until then, I’ll enjoy wearing those stretchy leggings and tunics throughout the holidays.
A friend of mine recently dropped some weight after having a baby. When I asked her what she was doing to take it off, she said “fasting.” I didn’t like her answer too much because that sounded like starvation. She confessed to eating just one meal a day (lunch) for 40 days as part of a Catholic fast to end abortion (apparently that’s considered fasting if you’re Catholic). I’m all for dedicating yourself to a cause, and she looked great at our company holiday party to boot.
Maybe I’ll join a cause that’s fasting by eating just pizza every day.
Editor’s Note: Frankette started her fun time of the month the day after this was published, which as we all know accounts for at least 15 pounds of uncomfortable fat girl feelings.