Are you there, Metabolism? It’s me, Moneypenny.
by Jane Moneypenny
I’m just going to come out and say it: I hate working out; I hate exercise; I hate that there’s a need to be thin. At my age in the 21st century, I’m not supposed to say things like that, but I can’t lie. I understand the importance, the need and the health benefits. I’m not anti-walking (or even anti-exercising) for a good stretch and breath of fresh air or conversation with a friend, but I absolutely hate the whole process of exercising.
Part of that may be due to my absolute love of eating and food. Back when my metabolism was that of a teenager’s, I was a strong advocate of “I would rather die having eaten a lifetime of amazing food than being thin and unhappy and missing out.” Growing up in New Orleans meant no one watched their weight or cared. Eat, drink and be merry! College was a wake-up call when everyone around me was obsessed with the gym, going for a run and eating healthy while I happily ate that 3am snack of chicken fingers after a night of partying.
I’m not thin by any stretch of the imagination but I’m also not fat. I’m a curvy girl that would rather indulge in a delicious piece of chocolate cake than go running for 10 miles at 6am. The common response to my dilemma is, “You just gotta find something you enjoy. I used to hate it, too” (in my defense, I’ve tried the workout DVDs, running, power walking, biking, etc).
So in celebration of my new year’s attitude, I signed up for a kickboxing class with a few girlfriends also struggling with the same issues. Frankly, it’s kicking my ass and I think the instructor sees me as “that weak girl.” No apologies, however, because I really am trying my hardest to give this exercise thing a chance. And if that means panting to death and thinking of steak while a way too skinny instructor yells at me to, “punch, not fling” over bouncy techno remixes, then okay. But I’m going to hate it all the way.
It’s hard being around super thin friends who claim their asses are huge, when in actuality, I’m double their size. I’m not negating their fears because every woman deals with these issues in different ways, but until you have a muffin top, just shhhh.Yesterday, I had to buy a pair of jeans a size bigger than usual. It was a bit sad, but not as devastating as it could have been, mostly because I was tired of having nothing fit. It long stopped being about the weight, but my refusal to drop the money for new clothes. But eventually, I had to face reality that those Freshmen 15 really were “Welcome to the Real World & Aging 20.”
The last guy I dated said he couldn’t imagine me 20lbs lighter and I’m not sure I can either, but it sure would be nice (or sexy washboard abs). Until then, I will continue going to the kickboxing torture and eating good delicious food (just maybe not after 8pm anymore).