I’ve battled with my weight since I was eight years old. And I’m sick of it. The truth is, I love to eat and drink. I cook every night. I’m fascinated by ingredients, techniques and flavor.
I’m also too fat. By golly, I qualify as morbidly obese. That’s no good.
It’s no wonder that I’ve tried every diet in the book. Drugs, too. I’ve lost weight, regained it, lost it again. I’ve worked out. I’ve not worked out. I continue to gain and lose.
Now that I’m about to turn 44, I’m over it. For quite a while, I thought … “What the hell! Who cares if I’m fat? I’m happy, healthy and have roof over my head!”
But the problem is, I’m the one that cares, and a lot more than anyone else. I’m tired of being tired. Sick of being a little breathless when I climb the stairs. Fundamentally, I hate having pendulous boobs and a droopy chin and a capacious behind and triceps that can flap in a good breeze. All things being equal, I’d just rather not be fat.
My desire to be thin presents other problems as well. Because I love to eat and cook, I have a fundamental prejudice against fake stuff. Every single diet I have ever tried encourages fat people to eat fake stuff. Sugar substitutes. Pseudo-butter. Sugar-free this that and the other. Fat-free dressings. Bleech! The list is long and offensive, and I’m sure every dieter knows the list by heart.
I just can’t do it that way. So the purpose of this blog is two-fold: One is to find a way to eat that doesn’t force me to eliminate what I love. The second is to find a way to eat that doesn’t use any fake stuff. (That stuff will kill you!)
My intention is to post to this blog on a near daily basis for two years to see if I can do something over the long term that will make a diference. I weighed 210 pounds this morning. Too much, honestly, for any 5′7″ woman. Too much for me. So let’s see how it goes.
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