My name is Mir, and although I am nearing 37 years of age, I have never really been on a diet before.
Oh, there were a few times when I idly said, “You know? It might be good to lose a few pounds,” and I was GOOD and VIRTUOUS for a day or two, right up until I saw something shiny and tripped and fell face-first into a bag of Oreos. I just never really had the need/motivation to diet—I have always been naturally skinny, and— OW! Stop THROWING THINGS!
Correction: I always HAD been naturally skinny. Past tense. Put down your tomatoes (besides, haven’t you heard? They’re covered in salmonella!); as I approach middle age I can assure you that my body has completely given up.
No one is more surprised about this than I am. I graduated from high school with a 22″ waist, despite eating whatever and whenever I wanted. Despite gaining close to 50 pounds when I was pregnant with my daughter, I bounced back effortlessly (“You Too Can Have The Extra Fat Sucked Out Of You Through Round-The-Clock Breastfeeding!”), and then did it again after having my son. I have never had to work at it, is what I’m telling you. And that is why you are so delighted to hear that I am distraught over having become a normal person at last.
Look, I had a hysterectomy, and although I’m on replacement hormones, it’s not the same. My metabolism has been slowing down ever since, though (sadly) my appetite has not followed suit. I’ve never been big on exercise; more to the point, I LOATHE exercise. (“You have to keep going until the endorphins kick in,” people keep telling me. I don’t know how to break it to them, but I am pretty sure I HAVE NO ENDORPHINS when it comes to getting sweaty with my clothes on.) My job is extremely sedentary. My husband likes to bring me ice cream because he’s very sweet.
One day I was trying to get dressed in spite of the fact that every single pair of pants I own had shrunk down in the wash, and I suddenly realized that no, my pants hadn’t shrunk.
My ass had grown.
Now, I’m NOT saying I’m fat. Nor am I saying that it’s necessary for me to remain the size I once was. But when all of my clothes are too tight and my thighs continue to jiggle for three minutes after I stop moving, it’s time to take a good hard look at the empty bag of potato chips on my desk.
So I’m on a diet. And Otto and I are exercising. And I HATE IT.
I am eating half a cup of Grape-Nuts for breakfast every morning. I feel a little bit silly paying for Grape-Nuts when I could just scoop up half a cup of GRAVEL every day, instead, but it’s easier to be virtuous when it says right there on the box that my measly portion of crunchy blandness contains all the fiber and protein I’ll need to sit here and be virtuous and hungry until lunchtime. Yes.
I’m eating a lot of plain non-fat yogurt and cottage cheese and fruit and veggies and I haven’t had any cookies or ice cream or popsicles or chips (or MEAT, because I’ve realized that’s where I’m way overindulging, so I’m backing off until I have my appetite under control) and without the kids here and with what I’ve been eating, truly I have lost the will to live. Erm, I mean, it’s a good thing that The Dining Room Redo Project carries on (and on and on) so that I have the motivation to stay alive long enough to see the walls finished and the new floor installed. AFTER that’s all done, I feel confident that either I will have acclimated to my new diet or I can behold the gorgeousness and then die peacefully. Either way.
Portion control is a humbling experience, particularly when you realize that you have been routinely eating enough for two people. In my defense, both of those people were VERY HAPPY and now this JUST ONE PERSON (me) would cheerfully stab you with a fork to have just one of those salt-and-vinegar chips you’re eating.
Nevertheless, it’s fit back into my pants or bust. Besides, I need to get healthier to ensure that I’m around a good, long time to continue irritating my children.