3 letter word starting with 'F'...

In conversation with someone who only met me recently, they made some remark about fat girls that I found a little offensive.

They then tried the ‘well why don’t they do something about it’ school of tedious self justification for what was, essentially, a very unkind and frankly stupid remark.

He accused me of only making a big deal out of it (I wasn’t even aware that I did make a big deal out of it – I simply called him a shallow fuck) because I wanted to be all ‘PC’ about it and that I didn’t really feel sympathy for them or have any true empathy for their situation or what might have caused it – basically, he called me a poser.

I conceded that to some extent, he had a point - part of me does ask myself IF they can do anything about it because I know it can sometimes be done.

The look on his face.....

Priceless.


When I was 18, I weighed 65kgs. I could have lost a few kilos, but I wasn’t fat so it wasn’t a big deal and frankly, I couldn’t give a fuck. My weight was static, I put no effort into maintaining it, let alone lowering it – I was comfortable and that’s all that mattered. Size 12 wasn’t a crisis for me.

Then I started taking drugs.

At my peak intake period, I was eating once a week (I am working on the theory that a potato scallop a week counts as eating… and to be fair, sometimes I varied it and had a piece of cake or an iced-chocolate or something….) and I weighed about 53kgs.

And you could count my ribs.

And my spine.

Then I met PB and life went to hell in a hand basket and I discovered the joy of comfort eating – no need to think. A hangover from my childhood dictates that food = love. (Side note – I still will not cook for people I don’t like, to this day, I will only cook for people I care about, interesting, no?)

At that peak intake period, I weighed about 86kgs, which, for someone my height is a fucking lot.

From there, life became an interesting series of ups and downs – I lost some of it, I put some of it back on. I never hit 86 again but I never got back to 65 either.

When I came over here, I was a size 18 and I made a deal with myself – I went out and bought a pair of jeans in a size 10 and promised myself that come hell or high water, I was going to fit in those jeans before I went home. I figured that as I was going to start breaking patterns, I might as well start with that one.

I dropped to a size 10 in about 4 mths and it was the hardest thing I have ever fucking done. Eating 8 times a day resulted in my being totally fucking sick of food. Sometimes I would think that if I ever saw steak, turkey or fish again, I would vomit. As for wholemeal pasta and brown rice… don’t get me started….

Walking became jogging became swimming became kickboxing – every time I started to plateau, I simply took on something else – I had to, because the second I lost momentum, I just wanted to give it up as too hard – no processed foods – no bread, no cakes, no sugar, no alcohol, no fruit juices, soft drinks etc – my idea of hell in other words, but I also knew that if I broke even once, it was all over.

I think it was the sheer size of the task that kept me at it, I also knew that the older you get, the harder it is to drop that kind of weight and I was fast approaching the point of no return …And I simply wasn’t comfortable with the idea of spending the rest of my life at a size that was clearly unhealthy for me.

So I got there and I don’t mind admitting that that was a very happy day for me – putting on those jeans was a fucking great feeling – pure satisfaction at achieving what I set out to do and in such a short space of time. I even stayed away from junk food for months afterwards because I simply wasn’t used to it anymore and therefore, had no desire to eat it.

Then of course, I discovered Krispy Kremes… and Haagen Daaz…. *sigh*

Bloody things.

After that, I hovered – anywhere up to 5 kgs extra wasn’t a disaster, but it was cause for concern, however, so long as I could fit in my jeans, all was well.

Then I ripped the jeans.

Alcohol + a picket fence + being chased by a friend wielding a bottle full of water + laughing too hard to jump all of 2 feet high = Ouch + big rip. (I should have just taken the drenching).

And since then I have been fucked. My talisman is gone! *sob* and my weight has been slowly creeping up. This stresses me out a little.

So after that conversation, I was talking to MH and she suggested that I pick out a new ‘Inspiration’ which I have done – it’s one of my fave dresses and it’s satin so it’s also very unforgiving (should have picked a Grecian one) but it is very inspiring.

On all sorts of levels.

Or I could go buy something new – the whole point of ‘inspiration’ clothing, surely - and have 2….

Hmmm…..