The Big Girl Blues

The seasons are starting to change here in Alabama, and the girls around The Drunch table are slowly but surely making the shift from sleeveless shirts and shorts to cropped pants and short sleeves. And cardigans and denim jackets are coming out of hiding to work their magic at turning summer dresses into fall fashion pieces.

I bought a pair of tall boots today and some closed-toed flats, determined that this year would be the year I managed to stay one step ahead of the weather. My usual m.o. is to wait until the first cold snap, frantically dig through my closet for warm clothes, choose the least stained, least faded ones with the fewest holes and then use them to limp through until the first big sale of the season. Then I skim through everyone else’s leftovers hoping there’s something left in my size. If it’s remotely flattering, I consider it a bonus.

Not this year! I declared. This year will be different. And it certainly has been, but not in a good way. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve found a few things (primarily in the shoe department), but for the most part I’ve held myself back. Not only because there’s a whole heck of a lot of fugly out there, but also because I’ve gained some weight — quite a bit of weight, in fact. Enough to take me up an entire size from where I was at this time last year.

I wish I could say it’s the first time such a thing has happened to me. But it isn’t. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. But I’m not. In fact, I’m just as surprised this go round as I have been every time I’ve discovered that those sneaky little pounds have once again crept back around my mid-section.

I’ll pause here to acknowledge what some of you are saying:

“Stop trying to look like a movie star or a model. They’re airbrushed to unattainable perfection.” Agreed, and that’s never been an aspiration of mine.

“Well then, you should just learn to accept yourself as you are and tell yourself that you’re beautiful at any size.” This is a lovely thought, and I absolutely agree with it in principle. In fact, it’s the philosophy I adopted for most of my twenties. I tried not to think about my weight as a number on the scale, going so far as to refuse to own one for many years. But as my pants size crept from 10 to 12 to 14, I started to feel slightly alarmed. And when my largest pants would no longer button, I realized I was on a slippery slope to obesity, and worried about the health problems that awaited me if I didn’t stop myself from continuing down this path.

Why can’t I find a happy medium and stick with it? I’m not sure, but I can tell you one thing. I have never in my life felt full. I’ve felt bloated. I’ve felt overstuffed. I’ve even felt sick from overeating. But at each of those stages, there was always room for just one more bite. A bit of dessert. A sip of Mountain Dew. Or just one more taste of the oversized entree that should have served two, but instead stuffed one.

Of course stress is a factor — if for no other reason than the stressor occupies my thoughts to such a degree that it inhibits my paying attention to what I’ve eaten. But to blame stress entirely is to allay responsibility…and ultimately I can control my weight. I just don’t always choose to put in the effort it requires.

I’ve gone through my closet, found the least faded, least stained items with the fewest holes only to realize — surprise, surprise — they don’t fit!! And I keep refusing to buy new warm clothes because I don’t want to have to buy a larger size. Such a quandary! What on earth is a big girl to do?

My current answer is Weight Watchers Online, coupled with a removal of all simple sugars (Yes, I’m talking about my Fountain Mountain Dew — and chocolate. GAH! The sacrifice). And I’m also crossing my fingers that the weather holds out long enough for me to make it back to last year’s level of fluff.

I have no intention of going to extremes. I like food far too much to give it up indefinitely. But I have a lot of reasons to stay healthy, and four of them are asleep downstairs.