I’m Not Fat, I’m Just Big Boned….

….and other excuses for being a big heffalump.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of brews--and chips--and salty jatz--
Of cabbages--and thins--
And why the tea is boiling hot--
And whether to have onion rings."

The time has also come for a touch of accountability, and I’m going to rely on you, my friends, to give me a good telling off when (…I was going to say “if”, but it would be pointless really, & it’s perhaps best to start off as honestly as I can….) my resolve begins to slacken.

(All pics are of “Hilda” created by artist Duane Bryers, some from here – I think she’s GORGEOUS, so wanted to use them… believe me, if I looked as good as she does, and had as many crazy adventures, I’d be very happy!)

I’m fat you see. There. I’ve said it. I’m not big boned, I’m not festively plump, I’m not a beefcake, I can’t claim that it’s puppy fat, I don’t believe I retain that many mega-litres of water, I doubt it’s a thyroid problem.

I’m unfit too, which is worse. Not so unfit that walking around gets me puffed, or I have to take a breather half way to the park, but that kind of lazy “I’m not running over there to kick the ball because I don’t WANT to, not because I would start wheezing like an eighty year old with lung disease” unfitness.

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t look upon “exercise” with disdain. I would dread Phys Ed class, walk the entire length of cross country runs, drag my feet up and down the football field slowly while everybody else, uh, played football…. I didn’t mind netball in my extreme youth – as I was tall it seemed I didn’t have to do much in the position of ‘Goal Keeper’ except stand on one foot & hold my arm out in an attempt to block a goal.

As much as I know I don’t like getting puffed & having my chest ache, & as much as I know I enjoy a beer & the probably-should-be-more-occasional occasional batch of fish & chips, I also know that being a l’elephant (…little elephant…) makes me unhappy when I don’t need to be, it makes me a cruddy role model for Le Punk and it holds me back somehow, waters down my self confidence when there isn’t a whole lot there to be watered down in the first place, so something really must be done.

But how?! The easiest way, I am told, is to not eat crap & to exercise. It’s always the exercise that is my undoing. I’ve just not found anything I love. I ride my bike out of necessity, sometimes it’s nice, riding to the park through luscious greenery in the early morning for example, but if that ride were uphill or even had a slight incline, I doubt I’d enjoy it very much at all.

When I was little and we moved from the cold, constant drizzle of Victoria to the hot, arid desert-like top of New South Wales, after fainting immediately with heat stroke, I went to the pool every single day. My hair was white and my limbs were brown & when I look at pictures I realise that I was a regular kid, not the big fat thing I saw myself as… although I WAS bigger. I’ve always been tall, often I was the tallest kid in my class until late secondary, and somehow in my head I equated tall with big & big with fat & as I think anyone with a weight problem will tell you, nothing makes you want to eat a doughnut more than feeling big and fat and alone. Eventually I gave up the pool & took to sitting in my room listening to the radio & hating everyone, but that was probably more of a teenage thing than a fat kid thing, although it didn’t assist the situation.

My mother (..you might want to look away now Mum, if you’re reading…) was big on deep fried meals in my teens, and I would request & be given a massive plate full for dinner. It didn’t help that this meal was often the only thing I would have eaten all day; I would prefer to sleep in longer rather than get up & eat breakfast & make my lunch so I would trot off to school most days with an empty stomach & no little lunchbox filled with neatly cut sandwiches & a juice box. Sometimes I would cage half a sandwich from my friend, but usually I would hang around before dinner, salivating at the smell of deep fried crumbed things sizzling away.

Whoa….! This seems to be getting away from me & I’m not yet out of my teens! There are many more issues, oh yes, & stories, & excuses… but I’ll save them, perhaps to share later, when I’ve had some sort of big fall & I want you to see how it might have happened (…don’t listen though, you mustn’t! Be hard, be strong, tell me off!).

I’ll finish by saying I’m giving it yet another go. The getting healthy bizzo. From NOW.

Will keep you posted.