I used to think being fat doesn’t matter as long as I’m healthy. Wrong! Being overweight is opening an invite to a host of diseases. There’s this saying, “A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!” that’s not a lie you know. It’s too easy loading up on calories; the cakes, the snacks, the butters and co. But unloading it is frankly a b*tch!
Looking at old photos, I wasn’t a fat kid. Wasn’t the skinniest on the block either, just happily middle ground. Then college kicks in. The fresher’s blues, cured by turning to food but not doing regular sports. Now that was smart. Lemon chicken and Orange Duck were my vice. How sweet it was! I could do worse, but yeah, food is the drug of my choice (and yes, I’ve watched too many Oprah episodes to count). And I bet, even after more than 10 years, I’m still paying for those luscious crispy fat fowl skins coated in those yummy sauces.
It’s not like I wake up suddenly 3 sizes bigger, but never underestimate the power of denial. I don’t like dramas so when clothes don’t fit, I don’t fret. I don’t sweat it, I just get a what fits.
Then I got married, got pregnant and my warped brain screams, “Yay! A valid reason NOT to lose weight. Yippee!!!” The birth of a baby doesn’t downplay it. Heidi Klum can lose all her pregnancy weight in 2 weeks for all I care. I’m breastfeeding. I need nutrients so warped brain says, “Triple yay to mindless eating! Yay yay yay!!!” Is it any wonder I continue to be big? Yes of course I could eat healthily, food combining and all that. Denial. Remember?
And before you know it, those cute fab outfits don’t fit no more. But even when I could no longer shopping for clothes off the peg, that still doesn’t make me convert. I just make my own clothes. “I have 2 kids!” and the world nods understandingly. Worse still, some friends were turning into making and selling clothes so they cater to my size. Suddenly I can still have new, chic clothes. Problems solved!
But you can’t keep abusing your body and not paying for it. Nu’uh! No way, no how. My right knee gives way. It hurts for a whole week before I finally get it checked to the doctor. One MRI later… I’ve damaged my knee. It’s a bit torn, or was it ruptured? Forgot the medical terms, but as seen on the MRI result, a bit of my knee is not where it should be hence the pain. The culprit? Overweight excerbated by high heels. The funniest thing? I don’t even wear sky-high heels anymore! Not since I got pregnant the first time round which was over 5 years ago. But the damage is done.
Still wanna be in denial now? I have to lose weight. I just have to. Unless I want to start saving up for a knee surgery down the line which is a very real probability should I can not reduce the weight down. Oh it’s hell. It’s not easy breaking out of that comfort zone. I have to make time for exercise. I have to truly watch what I eat. It’s a lot of work!
The thought of a knee operation is seriously scary. But my repressed vanity is also screaming out. Dammit I like looking good! I like to have the option to wear heels if I want to. I want to be able to buy clothes off the peg from a mall! And, most importantly, none of my children are called Gilbert Grape.
It’s a struggle. I haven’t won yet. I have a long way to go. But the way I see it, if I really am grateful for what has been given to me, then I have to stop abusing it and start respecting my system. I need to give my health a chance.
The ‘W’ problem. It’s an ongoing battle. One that I aim to win. Good luck, me.