This post may contain affiliate links, which means I may receive a commission, if you make a purchase by clicking on the links on this page.
The genes were there, but I had a healthy fear of looking like a blob, so… when things started to get out of hand…. I did what I had to do to get control of the situation.
But then… I met Mark and I became the happiest creature alive.
And happy creatures eat… they eat bowls of ice cream and candy bars and drink soda. They eat lots of pizza and cheesecake and pasta…. until one day, they look in the mirror and realize they are fat creatures. Then… they are no longer happy.
I’m a fat creature now.
And I can tell you a few things about lard.
It obscures your identity.
You will completely lose yourself under the weight of it. You will look in the mirror and not even recognize yourself. Seriously… when I catch a glimpse of myself I get startled and think, “Good lands! Who is this hideous mountain of obesity staring back at me?” And then I run away because… I can’t let myself go there. I’ll get swallowed in remorse and I just don’t have time to slip down that slippery slope. I have a son to take care of. A husband to feed. A house to clean…
I just… try not to think about it. But then I see an old picture of myself.
And then I survey the past few years and the answer is easy.
Distraction. Life. Depression. Munchies. Pregnancy. Exhaustion. Better things to worry about. Failed attempts. Defeat.
The list goes on… but here I am.
Four years later and 90 pounds heavier.
Can you believe that nonsense?
Do you know what that lard has done to me in the past four years?
I don’t want my picture taken. Even though I know I will regret not capturing moments with my family years later. I am ashamed to let my husband see me. Kind of puts a damper on things if you know what I mean. And it’s aged me. It has dreadfully aged me. I dread going out in public. I groan when I see old acquaintances because I know what you say when you walk away…
“Man…. She’s really put on weight.” “Wow… she really let herself go.”
But then I get over it because I go home and think the same thing about you. 😉
We all got married and turned into fatties.
Even the pretty ones.
And yes… humor helps mitigate the devastation.
Don’t worry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing with you. 😉
And being a tubby-lardo elicits annoying advice. Like, people are so eager to pounce on the topic at the slightest hint of opportunity. Almost like they think you haven’t noticed and you need them to point it out.
Are you stinking kidding me?
You don’t think I’ve noticed that I am 66% larger than I was before I got married? Girl… please. Don’t mess with me. I am heavier now and I will crush you.
Lard will make you feel like all you are is a failure. When the scale jumps five pounds higher because you ate an Oreo, it’s like…. what’s the point?
“Pass the chips.”
“Aren’t you dieti….?”
“I SAID PASS THE CHIPS!!!!”
So there’s that.
And it completely destroyed my health. It obliterated my hormones. It stole my fertility. It complicated an already dangerous pregnancy. Even now I’m dealing with things that could potentially improve with weight loss.
But for some reason nothing motivates me.
Infertility didn’t. Hormones didn’t. Pregnancy didn’t. Finishing pregnancy didn’t. Precarious health didn’t. People’s opinions didn’t. The doctors remarks didn’t. Know-it-all comments didn’t. My discouragement didn’t…
All of those were really good reasons to get serious and yet none of them have added up to real motivation.
And I’ll tell you why.
Because it’s scary.
The starting point is outlandishly far away from the finishing point, and I’m afraid of getting lost somewhere in between. And when you are a tub-o-lard like me, you kind of feel like you are the embodiment of failure.
.But…. seven months from today, I will turn 30.
The last several years of my life, even though they have been filled with incredible blessings, they’re kind of a blur. I’ve gone through a LOT. My life has been spun around and around and shaken upside down… marriage, miscarriage, infertility, drastic moves and life changes, crippling sickness, a premature baby and post-pregnancy complications, a CVST and months of treatment… and that list doesn’t even scratch the surface. I’m just going to be honest when I say, I am a shell of the person I used to be.
A much larger shell…. but a shell, nonetheless.
I lost myself in my latter 20s.
Lost myself, but found a lot of fat in the process. LOL.
But things are settling down now. And I’m getting my footing. And I’m looking ahead to that big 3-0 wondering how I can usher in my 30s, in a way that says,
“I’m taking it back.”
I don’t want to cross over into the next decade sad for what I no longer am. Sad that it seems so old and I am so far behind.
I want to run toward that day and embrace it.
On April 20th, 2018, I want to give myself the gift of a lifetime.
So… I’m going to do whatever it takes.
I’ve got a lot of work to do, but if I have to sing “Happy Birthday” to myself on a treadmill for the next 7 months to keep the goal in front of me, that is what I am going to do.
I am gonna step back into my heels again.
I’m going to get rid of this heap of blubbering lard…
Even if I waddle and cause an earthquake in the process.