I'm on a mission

After months of turning a blind eye to the reality that is my weight, I am finally admitting my guilt. I’ve probably snubbed it because I was enjoying myself too much carbo-loading and indulging my cravings.  No, I am not fat. I just gained.  Well, I was a happy gainer.  For once, I went home sans any parental sermon of how sickly I look.  I WAS happy until I found it quite a challenge fitting into my jeans – my jeans that normally and perfectly fit.  I thought my tees were shrinking and started blaming it on the fabric.  But they couldn’t all be shrinking at the same time, could they? And my arms looked twice their normal size in a picture.  My tummy began to form flaaaaabs. Noooooo.

That’s when it hit me. Growth, at this point, would be all horizontal for me.  I didn’t want to look like a cute little orb bouncing her way into the world (pun intended).  That was when I had to move on from the stage of denial and face this brutal fact of my life.  :)

But dieting was clearly out of the question.  I never really got into it – closest I did was pre-prom which was a total failure.  I ended up eating Jollibee burger yum after every school day instead.  Heck, I even chomped on pizza moments before putting on my prom dress.  That was how secure I was. Naks.

Actually, I do not know how to diet properly and I don’t think I need to. I was too secure with the fact that I never really ballooned in my entire life.  Sure I gain, but I also lose weight fast – as in furious fast. Give me a few days and I’d be back to normal. But apparently, a woman’s metabolism changes through the ages.  But, you’re too smart NOT to know that, Aiken! Well, sorry to disappoint.  I banked on this psychological backbone and convinced my brain I’d never really have a problem changing wardrobe sizes – at least not until I was thirty-something.  Well it proved effective – until now.

It started towards the last quarter of the year.  It was finals season and I was stocking up on all the edibles.  It' okay to do that, but it’s not okay when you’re eating and not moving.  The holidays came and my parents were glad to see me looking healthier than ever. Come January, a lot of people commented on my weight.  My, look at you! *Sabay squeeze sa arms* (Well thank you very much for rubbing that in.  Nagkasakit na ako sa lagay na ‘yan, ha.)

Normally, those punches would’ve set off an alarm. But fortunately for me, I was the girl who could not be moved. I refused to yield to the pressure! It was crazy. I was never an advocate of dieting, never a stickler for a nutritional regimen, and I never cut off on eating – ever! I love food! Those who often eat with me know this.  I love food and I find delight in eating good food. Now if you’re my crush, you’d probably find this odd. But of course darling, my tummy was probably filled with puke-inducing butterflies if I (ever) dined with you. Just so you know though, if I had my way, I wouldn’t even hold back.

So, I love food and this fondness was (and is) fueled with stress from law school.  I would crave for the unhealthiest stuff and satisfy this unhealthiness – este, cravings. I recall a week when all I ate were pasta and fries almost every day and cake almost every other day.  Blame the hormones and whatever gastrointestinal shiz there is that’s pushing me to gobble.

What adds salt to the wound is my lack of exercise or any significant physical activity for that matter.  The only “exercise” I do is walking from the dorm to the college and back.  That’s it.  Most of my time is spent sitting down or sprawling in my bed reading and writing, reading and writing. Welcome to law school.


So what brought about this sudden change of heart?

I still love food. I thank God I do.  And I don’t think I’d stop loving it soon.  But I hate it that I couldn’t wear the clothes I want and that would normally complement my frame just because I feel so discomfited.  The thought of having to spend unnecessarily just to change my wardrobe is a joke.  The fact that I’d run out of breath after just a few minutes of fast-paced walking is a jab at my ego.

Aaaah, yun pala yun eh. Egoooo. Pffft.

Well, not really but it was major epiphany for me right there. I was fit before. I had muscles. I jogged and swam without getting dizzy. I didn’t wheeze like some puny loser after a kilometer sprint.  I was fit, then. What happened to all the fitness? Apparently, it’s no eternal magical state. It takes effort to sustain.

And though sustenance is really not a major goal right now, at least I have mustered enough guilt to get my body back in shape.  Let’s get sexy – este, lean- back. Harhar.

So to jumpstart this endeavor, I started cutting on the big meals and started eating smaller meals more frequently.  And I hit the Orbit Track! With no warm-up! *major slap on forehead*

My roommate told me that 15 minutes of exercise would already leave me sweating mad. I brushed it off and thought it was too short a time for exercise.  I’d probably do 30. Major NAAAAAKS!

After what felt like a reasonable stretch working the machine, I checked the time: 2 minutes. 2 freakin’ minutes. Whuuuut.  The clock must be broken. Haha. But it wasn’t and I was just really out of it.  So I extended out of self-shame.

I probably lasted 10 minutes and had to stop because I was feeling lightheaded. So much for not taking my iron.  In a nutshell, if exercise was a measure of wealth, I’d probably be insolvent.

But because I love a good challenge, I will mount that thing again tomorrow, and definitely do better than 10 minutes. 11 perhaps. :)

And…there goes my mission.

Gotta bring leeeaaaan back.