I used to be very overweight. With ridiculous amounts of willpower, I got down to the weight I wanted and the (clothing) size I wanted. I lost 55 pounds overall. Unfortunately, my body seems to be confused. It seems to think that I live in the fucking arctic and that every calorie consumed must be devoted, immediately, to building up the layer of blubber that I need to survive in the frozen tundra.
All I want, really, is for my body to obey the laws of physics and logic. Over the past three years, it has been a constant motherfucking battle to not gain the weight back. I write down what I eat, every day, every calorie. I showed this log to my nurtrition teacher and she found nothing lacking in my diet. Of course, we can’t all be good all the time. My birthday, Valentine’s Day, a holiday, I might eat whatever I want. In one day of eating whatever I want, I can gain five fucking pounds. Not temporary ones, either. I can put them on in one day and spend a month taking them off. WTF is that?! I always learned that if you consume fewer calories than you expend, you should lose weight. I guess that’s true for everyone but me. I write down what I eat. I don’t sit on my ass all day - going to class involves running all over town. I never take the elevator, the bus or a cab. Even if all I did was walk to class, there is no way I am eating more calories than I am expending. In order to do that, I would probably have to spend all day in bed, not even showering. Perhaps I could shower if I rolled down the hall to the bathroom on of those luggage racks bellhops have.
I went home for break and stayed with my parents and “in-laws.” It was too cold and snowy to go out, so I have gained 13 pounds in two weeks and none of my fucking clothes fit. :mad:
Oh, yeah, and I’m immune to exercise. I have been doing between 250 and 600 abdominal crunches every day for the past few years. NOTHING. Nothing. Fucking nothing. I have no abs at all. Or maybe I do, they’re just buried under the squishy fat that I can grab in handfuls on each side of my abdomen. And no, I’m not doing them wrong.
This summer, I lived 3 miles away from work and school. I walked back and forth five freaking days a week, up and down hills, and hauling ass. (It didn’t even take 45 minutes.) I didn’t change my eating habits, either. I didn’t say, “Oh, I walk 6 miles a day now; let’s hit Burger King!” So, eating habits stay the same, but I add 6 miles of speedwalk to my routine. I didn’t lose a pound. Ok, maybe I gained muscle, right? WRONG. My thighs are just as jiggly as they used to be, and you can trust me when I say that’s pretty fucking jiggly. I don’t understand that shit. It’s too cold to go out now, so I run up and down the stairs in my building. I never skip it when I’m not in the mood.
I’m 21 years old. I have cellulite. It looks like I never work out at all. I have friends who are of comparable height, who weigh more and they all look better than I do. I am really at the end of my rope. All this careful eating, all this exercise, all this willpower, and for nothing at all. I don’t care if I’m 100 pounds. I don’t care if I am a perfect size five. I don’t care if I look like a swimsuit model. I just want some of my hard work to finally show. I want to look like I work my ass off, because I do. I want to stop struggling with this shit for nothing at all.
Whew! That was some steam that needed a serious blowin’ off. :eek:
~Mercury