Weight A Minute!

There are things I enjoy in life: sex, good friends, having sex with good friends, booze, sharing booze with good friends, having sex after drinking booze, having sex with good friends after drinking booze...eh, you get the idea. Something else I love is food. To me, one of the biggest pleasures in life is good food, and I am no more likely to quit indulging in food than I am in any of the above.

Why am I telling you this? Because the American obsession with "weight" has been driving me crazy lately. Weight is just a number. More specifically, it is a measure of the force of gravitational pull on your mass. If Americans are so obsessed with this number, why don't more of them live at the top of Pikes Peak? At 14,115 feet you weight considerably less than you do at sea level. This obsession with the actual number seems to be generational. My mother's generation relied on one thing: the scale. I don't even OWN a scale, nor have I ever.

Where the fuck am I going with all this? Hang on, we're getting there.

When we were preparing to move into our new house, PSD's mother (genetically petite) said that she would like to see us each lose twenty pounds (random arbitrary number).

Now let me fill in some background for you.

I am by no means petite; I am 5'8" tall and curvy from head to toe. I have been working out since I was 19 years old. Until I had my daughter, I was in the habit of regularly attending 5:45 am spinning classes and after I had her, I would still make it to the gym at least 3 times a week. In the past year and a half, I have been lazy as hell (new relationship, please read previous posts) about working out plus I have a thyroid condition that wreaked havoc on my body until they got it regulated. I have put on quite a few pounds, but I am still in reasonably good shape.

PSD is a cyclist. When I met him, he was riding 100 miles at a time; the only thing he rides these days is me. But despite being lazy the past year and a half (new relationship, use common sense), he is still in reasonably good shape, too.

PSD's mom has an unhealthy obsession with weight. She is one of those naturally petite people who feels the need to eat tiny portions of food and count every morsel she ingests. If she wants a piece of cake, she can't just eat the cake, she has to give us a speech justifying WHY she can eat the cake.

I know his mother meant nothing by her comment, but it got me thinking. What would a number -20 actually do for me?

Would it help me earn more money? No.
Would it make my daughter listen to me at bedtime? No.
Would it remember to take out the garbage for me? No.

So why do I need this number -20 at all?

Now I enjoy fitting into my clothes, who doesn't? I don't weigh myself, I prefer to judge by which jeans I can squeeze into and how they look. I know that many outfits that didn't fit at the height of the thyroid debacle now fit again, so I am pleased. I see how I look in photos now, compared to last year, and I am pleased. But last year, at the height of it all, I didn't feel badly about myself. I just simply got some new clothes that fit and looked good and moved on.

So why should I chase this -20?

I have never counted calories. Life is too short for me to worry about how many M&M'S® I am stuffing in my face during a PMS attack. I believe in living with no regrets, this rule applies to food, as well. Who wants to be on their death bed and worrying about all the delicious food they never tried? I have always been a healthy eater (with a healthy dose of sweets here and there) and I just stay active. Exercising is for staying fit, not for furthering your unhealthy body image or masking your eating disorder.

I spent a good portion of my life as a Barbie Girl. I am tall, I was always thin and I am very pretty.

In high school I did a lot of local modeling, a good portion of it for swimsuit stores. I was a size 5 with a gravity defying C cup.
Was I any happier? No.
In my twenties I maintained my figure and added a fantastic wardrobe and a knack for accessorizing to the whole package.
Was I any happier? No.
Four months after giving birth to a ten pound child, I was two sizes smaller than the day I got pregnant.
Was I any happier? No.

Facts:
I can shop in normal clothing stores, I do not have to resort to stores that have the word BARN in the name.
My ass does not yet have its own zip code.
No one has ever run away screaming upon seeing me naked.
I am more confident now than at any other time of my life.

So what does -20 do for me?
NOTHING.

I make no apologies for who I am.
I am comfortable in my skin.
I am happy.
I refuse to sacrifice that feeling for a number.