That's What She Said

When I started college, I was skinny. Not skin and bones or anything; I've always been a healthy girl. But I was thin. And cute.

Now I am merely cute. Sometimes.

Everyone has heard of the "freshman fifteen" and I was no exception in receiving that little gift. I discovered booze in college and nursed quite the love affair with it. I ate my share of late night pizzas and learned that nothing cures a hangover like Chinese food. Plus your sleep patterns are off, your lifestyle is weird, and when you are not stuffing your face with greasy takeout you are trying desperately to find anything edible in the cafeteria, which often leads to a high-carb intake.

So I wasn't totally shocked (or even dismayed) when I packed on an extra few pounds during college. What I didn't count on was that changing my lifestyle so dramatically in those years produced some really negative habits that have caused me to grow, and grow, and keep growing.

And that brings me to today, overweight and bearing little self-control to do anything to fix it. I should say that my husband (law student, remember?) and I are living on a very meager income; he's a full-time student and won't have a job during school until the fall. As a receptionist I don't exactly bring home the big bucks. So we eat a lot of pasta and things that are cheap and that we can stretch into multiple meals. Also I should mention that Zack and I have, well, different culinary leanings, so compromise is a must since we can't afford to diverge much on meals. Which means that I often sacrifice the healthier, more expensive, "rabbit food" for the less expensive, definitely less healthy "man food."

ANYWAY...

So, I have all these excuses for why I can't eat super healthy all the time. But then I realized that I just really like to eat, so I can't blame all my bad food choices on Zack (sorry honey!). I will pop open a snack at any time. Also I realized that it takes way too much food to make me feel uncomfortably full. A couple years ago I couldn't finish my food at restaurants. Now I am cleaning my plate and asking for a dessert menu (okay, maybe not really, but the difference between now and then is significant). I suspect that what's going on here is that I've become an emotional eater; or maybe I always was one and the stress of adulthood has just freed it in me.

And this last thing is something I can't stress enough:

I hate exercise.

Yes, it makes me feel good and powerful and strong. I like the endorphin rush as much as the next person. But for me, getting motivated to exercise is like trying to gear yourself up for that medical procedure you've been putting off; once it's over you can't exactly remember why you thought it would be so awful, but you continue to dread medical procedures regardless.

The gym is my own personal torture chamber, with all those cute perky distance runners and the buff guys lifting our combined bodyweight on the bench press. Sigh. I can't help but feel like that will never be me.

Alright so you've been patient with my little pity party here, and I appreciate that. I didn't write this to make people feel sorry for me, or to air the fact that I have no self control (well, maybe a little I did, on that last point). I am saying these things in public so that hopefully I will take control of myself and do something to start losing weight. I just need to be consistent and to remember that I am the boss of me; my hormones and my stomach and my emotions do not control my eating habits, my mind does.

So, Mind, just say no to Wendy's next time, okay? Thanks.