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Warning: This blog is written under conditions of self-pity. Reader discretion is advised
Karma is a sour lil' witch, who was once done wrong and is now out for ruthless revenge. All my life I've taken pride in a chromosomal trait that I strongly believe I'm bestowed with... my true inheritance which is popularly know as 'fast metabolism'. I hogged and it never showed. Most called me under-nourished, I called me 'skinny and hot'.
I made it a point, a mission even, to rub my superior metabolism powers in the chubby faces of the obese/overweight population. Management folks call it negative reinforcement, but I prefer the phrase 'I'm hot, your not'. You would find me parked in an American food chain joint shoving my face with calorie-infected cheese-covered chucks of meaty heaven as I smiled politely at friends who wondered out loud 'Where does all that food go?!'.
Two years and a Bangalore later, the same set of friends know exactly where that food went. I repeat, Karma is a witch. I truly didn't realize the gravity of the situation, till I put on a sizable amount of meat, enough to feed a small African country. I can barely look at myself in the mirror without cringing. Yes, this is a blog post about my weight.
Phase 1: Denial
Every time my skinny fit jeans struggled to fit, I blamed it on the laundry guys. Those clothes shrinking idiots! I blatantly refused to believe the slightest probability that I might be gaining some. To counter the accusation from my friends and my clothes, I ate more in a bid to prove them horribly wrong.
When I couldn't deny the evident paunch, I blamed it on everything from standing too close to the mirror, to beer...from PCOD to water retention....from desk jobs to indigestion. And then it happened, I ran out out of excuses. Everyday, I bloat after hogging and like clockwork you will find me exclaiming, "I think I have a stomach infection!". Now that I look like a spectacle wearing cow in her 3rd trimester, I can't fool myself anymore.
Phase 2: Half-Admission and Self-Pity
This is where I am. Got TLC's chart topping single 'Unpretty' in a perpetual loop on the vinyl player in my head. I find myself looking at old picture of the thin me. I find myself being slapped by reality every time I pass by a reflecting object. I find myself blogging about it. And like clockwork I blame those worms/bacteria/extra-terrestrial aliens in my tummy on a mission to destroy me by taking away the one true thing I own (See: Fast Metabolism)
A few drinks down last Saturday, I stared into the vast view from sky scraper. Vast like my waist size. I made half an admission to myself, I think I might be a little overweight.
To be continued...
Karma is a sour lil' witch, who was once done wrong and is now out for ruthless revenge. All my life I've taken pride in a chromosomal trait that I strongly believe I'm bestowed with... my true inheritance which is popularly know as 'fast metabolism'. I hogged and it never showed. Most called me under-nourished, I called me 'skinny and hot'.
I made it a point, a mission even, to rub my superior metabolism powers in the chubby faces of the obese/overweight population. Management folks call it negative reinforcement, but I prefer the phrase 'I'm hot, your not'. You would find me parked in an American food chain joint shoving my face with calorie-infected cheese-covered chucks of meaty heaven as I smiled politely at friends who wondered out loud 'Where does all that food go?!'.
Two years and a Bangalore later, the same set of friends know exactly where that food went. I repeat, Karma is a witch. I truly didn't realize the gravity of the situation, till I put on a sizable amount of meat, enough to feed a small African country. I can barely look at myself in the mirror without cringing. Yes, this is a blog post about my weight.
Phase 1: Denial
Every time my skinny fit jeans struggled to fit, I blamed it on the laundry guys. Those clothes shrinking idiots! I blatantly refused to believe the slightest probability that I might be gaining some. To counter the accusation from my friends and my clothes, I ate more in a bid to prove them horribly wrong.
When I couldn't deny the evident paunch, I blamed it on everything from standing too close to the mirror, to beer...from PCOD to water retention....from desk jobs to indigestion. And then it happened, I ran out out of excuses. Everyday, I bloat after hogging and like clockwork you will find me exclaiming, "I think I have a stomach infection!". Now that I look like a spectacle wearing cow in her 3rd trimester, I can't fool myself anymore.
Phase 2: Half-Admission and Self-Pity
This is where I am. Got TLC's chart topping single 'Unpretty' in a perpetual loop on the vinyl player in my head. I find myself looking at old picture of the thin me. I find myself being slapped by reality every time I pass by a reflecting object. I find myself blogging about it. And like clockwork I blame those worms/bacteria/extra-terrestrial aliens in my tummy on a mission to destroy me by taking away the one true thing I own (See: Fast Metabolism)
A few drinks down last Saturday, I stared into the vast view from sky scraper. Vast like my waist size. I made half an admission to myself, I think I might be a little overweight.
To be continued...
hahaha. ditto! But when the scales tipped 5 kgs for me than what I've always been and the clothes stopped fitting... I started running like mad... literally... in the neighborhood park... down in my building... up and down my building stairs... and 4 months later... i have l lost 2 kgs and it feels a little better now :)
ReplyDeleteGood for you, girl! Bhaag Smi Bhaag :P *virtual self-slap for silly joke*
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