Heavy, big-boned, husky, or even fluffy. All euphemisms for a truth that, no matter how much I want to deny or explain it away, stares me in the face every day. I am fat.
I don’t find the word “fat” particularly insulting, seeing that it is the truth. If somewhat calls me “fat” I don’t look down at my body in horror, finding that I’ve suddenly swelled up to over 300 lbs. In fact, I find it amusing that not only are they simply pointing out what is quite obvious, but they also somehow believe they are the first to do so and they are telling me something I don’t already know.
I am fat, but I don’t want to be. I want to be able to do the things others do, as fast and as long as they do them. No, I don’t want to run marathons or climb mountains, or anything of the sort. I would like to be able to breathe normally, not have to take insulin shots, and not feel like I’m going to have a heart attack after going up the stairs to my apartment.
I have had, and continue to have, so many health problems due to my weight and I am tired of it. Losing the amount of weight I want to lose (160 lbs.) is a huge challenge, and I am not one to run from a fight.
My wife believes that changes must be drastic from the start, and I disagree. If I am going to diet and exercise, I am going to ease into it. I understand her desire to jump start her fitness plan by going at it full force, but that’s setting oneself up for failure and discouragement. If I tried to run a marathon today, I wouldn’t make it one mile. Reflecting on the goal, and my failure of a performance, would most assuredly lead to quitting.
If I set my sights lower, like one mile at a time, I can build to marathon distance, regardless of how long it takes to get there.
I have been eating better and worked out a little this week, and hopefully will continue to do so long enough to reach my goal.