Friday, June 09, 2006

The 'F' Word

Working from home for two and a half years now, I’ve essentially become a hermit, evidenced in my deteriorating fashion sense, decreasing physical fitness and increasing weight (I’m obviously not the fasting kind of hermit). Unfortunately, there’s no reason to be prideful when you see your dog more than anyone else.

One day during a trip back home, I was sitting at my parents’ dinner table and my dad, having eaten his weight’s worth of pasta, pushed himself back from the table and released The Gut. I suddenly realized I am my father’s daughter. I don’t get ass’ilicious like my sisters, I get fat. Sagging, tummy-only, heart-disease-risk-indicator FAT. Dad will never actually be fat because he’ll never stop working hard jobs. However, if he got a desk job for two and a half years, I believe we’d start looking oddly similar.

It causes some confusion for people in my hometown who remember me as the muscular exercise freak I was two and a half years ago. They didn’t witness all those muscles devolve into gelatinous, centralized fat. So they jump to the conclusion that I am pregnant. And congratulate me. And then don’t believe me when I insist I’m not pregnant, I’m just fat (this actually happened more than twice).

Don’t get me wrong - I am very glad to have this body. I like this body. It functions well and doesn’t get sick very often. This body enjoys manual labour, has a mean right cross and strong lungs, and can walk comfortably at a quick pace for miles and miles. I suspect this body will get pregnant fairly easily ONE DAY, if that’s hereditary. And I think this body will actually last quite a long time, barring plane crashes or poisoning.

But this body is not meant to be heavy. And not just aesthetically - my back hurts all the time now, my thyroid is shit and I get weird joint pains. I just don’t feel well.

Losing the bulk is going to take some time, just like it did before, and a lot of hard work. And I will do it, if only to prevent murmurs of “shotgun wedding” come our special day* this October.

*’special day’ gives me the heebies.

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Blogger James ~ 9:42 AM

If I had a nickle for everyone who thought I was pregnant after moving to Toronto, I could have afforded to live there.  

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