No Calzone, NO

How do I feel about this whole being fat thing? Meh, I am overweight; that’s reality, it’s not cruel, it just is. Some people like to run around saying they aren’t defined by their weight– liars. You are, I am, she is, he is. I am defined and categorized by my weight, in the same way I am defined by my sex, my height, my hair color. All are a part of the whole that is me. But none of them stand alone.

Does it offend me, deep in my soul, that I ran 42 miles in February and lost ONE pound? Honestly? Of course it does! I’m no masochist– I don’t run because I love it with the same love as I have for the internet, or my books. Puh-lease. Now I run because it helps me tame the ADHD that threatens to take my brain off into SQQQUUUUEEEE land. Now I run because it helps me tame the impatient short-temper that I get from being surrounded by the leg-humping, stalker-worthy parts of being a SAHM.

But I started running because it’s the quickest, easiest way to lose those last 20 (30) pounds, right?

Wrroonnnggg. Not if I finish off a 3 mile run with a giant plate of nachos. After a day of finishing the food-left-behind by obnoxious children who are stubbornly trying to disprove the “children won’t starve themselves” hypothesis.

I ran yesterday, 6 miles at a pace of 10:35 per mile. That’s approximately 850 calories burned, leaving 2650 in order to lose a pound this week.

We went to Mellow Mushroom for dinner last night where my fat cells tried to crawl over my common sense and convince my brain that we deserved a cheese calzone– all that running, you know you want it. At 820 calories that calzone would have wiped out an hour of running.

It’s not that the calzone doesn’t taste as good as skinny feels—it totally does, another lie perpetuated by the desperately delusional. The taste of that calzone, however is NOT worth an hour of running. Instead I ate a respectable 395 calorie jerk chick hoagie.

——>>> Shiny Squirrel! it occurs to me, just now, that I would have paid a helluva lot more attention in algebra if they would have started talking about something I cared about– weight loss– instead of trains leaving stations. Just saying. <<<<-------- Yeah, my weight defines me, to a large (get it– large?!) degree.

Individual perceptions define individual truths– anyone smaller than me sees me as heavy, anyone large than me sees me as healthy. The only person’s opinion that really matters in any of this is mine.

What cannot be determined by visual scan happens to be the weirdest truth; I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been. Even Other Self, with all of her perky boobs and porn hair, was rotting her body with mountain dew, cigarettes, and booze. She certainly did NOT participate in any sort of consistent exercise, unless one counts smoking as bicep curls.

So, it’s with that strange reality–that I’m technically healthier, even at a heavier weight that makes me a winner. But I’m still gonna get back into those size 8 jeans, too.