Wednesday, August 11, 2010


CAUTION: I'm a little dark and despairing (and whiny?) about my weight in this post. I'm not writing this for encouragement or sympathy, just feel a need to think this through and write it down for me. Feel free to skip it, and if not, to respond (or not) however you'd like.

A few truly exceptional people decide to improve themselves just because they want to. Most of the rest of us, after some behavior or addiction gets worse and worse, reach a point that we can't bear the cost and make our change. This point varies across all extremes, from "Oof, my size 2 pants are a little tight!" or "I can only distinguish 4 of my 6-pack abs!" to "I don't know where my child is tonight." or "I don't like being in the emergency room." The latter level, of course, is the dramatic focus of most popular media, but the people whose bottom point isn't rock bottom are also making decisions based on their need to change.

I'm overweight. I sweat conspicuously at normal temperatures or with the mildest activity. I've broken chairs (at a wedding reception being the most memorably embarrassing), and not fit in others. I have diabetes, with symptoms that already influence my life and an even more unpleasant long-term prognosis.

Last May I stubbed my toe and went on since there wasn't any pain. The next day it was completely purple (although fortunately undamaged) but still painless, which led to my efforts last summer to lose weight and try to get a handle on my diabetes. In addition to my scare, I had encouragement and scholarship donations to egg me on. After losing 32.5 pounds in 2 months, I'm back to where I was (and have fluctuated pretty significantly since).

Where's my bottom? I'm really truly afraid to find out. And more afraid that there's nothing to find.

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