Just a Sliver of Chocolate Cake

Do you know what it is like to constantly struggle with your weight? I do, and have since I was about twelve. So why is it, when I am doing well, eating healthy, counting calories, and feeling good about myself, people always make me feel like crap. To any of you that know someone that is on that eternal diet, when you bring chocolate cake over for a dinner party, don't tell them just how good it is and then roll your eyes at them and say, "Oh, you can't have that." Because you know what, yes I can, I have just chosen the better path, and I have chosen not to put junk in my body.

Now, I am not one of those people that say that I can't help it; I am genetically predisposed, though my father's side of the family is filled with fatties. And, I don't blame it on fast food, because I am the first to tell you that I knew it was no good to stop at Taco Bell on the way home from the pub.

Tonight my ranting goes to a whole different level. About 2 years ago I lost over a hundred pounds. I was finally a slim size eight and, damn it felt good. I don't think that I was even a size eight when I was eight. But, I went back to school, I got lazy, and I spent my weekends working in a bar, boozing, and eating crappy all the time. So, needless to say I put back on a few pounds and that size eight is no more.

Now, here leads into the beginning of my current dilemma. When I got into that size eight I cleaned out my closet and took it ALL to the nearest thrift store, out of sight, out of mind, and off my ass. Though, I did save those great, old and comfy size 14 fat jeans, all of you ladies know the pair, for the special PMS occasion. Well after going to school all the time and dressing like a bum, and only wearing "normal" clothes to work, which consisted of a t-shirt and black pants, I have no clothes. The size eights surely don't fit, and those fourteen fat pants, way to snug. I refuse to admit it but I have let myself see size sixteen again. Well, between you and I, and anyone else that has seen me in anything but a long flowy hippie skirt, I am in denial that I really did get back into an eighteen.

I am the first to admit that I was eating horribly and not working out, at all. I let my life consume me. And, between working 40+ hours a week from Thursday through Sunday, and doing the school thing on Monday through Thursday morning, I just didn't care. When I had any time I was either studying or sleeping, or thinking about studying or sleeping while commuting to school or work.

Now, summer is coming and I am going to Nepal. I will be walking everywhere and it will be hot as can be. I knew that I needed to bust my chops and get back into shape and fit into the plethora of clothes that have been hiding from the world in my closet. I was doing so well until I broke my leg on my birthday, that was April first, and no that is not an April Fool's joke. Though, I am beginning to wonder if my life may be, just a little bit.

So, it is now five weeks later. After the first week of initial depression from the leg, setting in, well that and the pain killers and wine, I got right back on track after my minor setback. I have gone back to a restricted calorie diet of mainly vegetables, tofu, and the occasional dose of dairy. And I remember what it was like the first time in my life, a few years ago, that I made a conscious decision to eat well. I feel great. After the first initial shock for the first week or so, and the horrible cranky mood from the combination of broken leg, stuck in the house blues, and a little bit of sugar withdraws, that is. I have dropped fifteen pounds and those size fourteens are not so far off on the horizon that they were.

So, I feel great and I am super excited. But, it is within this that my rant lays. We had a family dinner party tonight. A friend of mind joined us and brought a beautiful chocolate raspberry cake from a Russian bakery in town. When my mom saw it she was so excited. All night the conversation was repetitively about the fabulous cake that my girlfriend brought. But, along with the cake, it had to have been said at least four times that I could not eat it, and said with disgust. Now I know that I shouldn't have snapped, but I did. There is nothing wrong with me. I am not sick. I am not allergic to it. I just don't want to put any junk into my system and right now, I don't want to make any exceptions. So why is it that every time it was said, it was said with disgust? Like I am doing something wrong, I am not. I just care about my body and want to feel good about myself.


The moral of the story is this. Don't tell a chunky girl that she can't have something when she can. But even more so, don't criticize others, when I am sure that you have a little room for improvement within in your self. Oh, and don't tease a girl with chocolate cake, especially when she hasn't had sugar for a month.