So it was a year ago now, that I was trapped in a size 14 T-shirt, in what was almost my very own cotton tomb- but even that near death experience, didn’t stimulate personal change. An experience loaded with embarrassment of the highest order, was not enough motivation for me to look at my girth and see….
My body shape has changed, it is a fact. My body is a work in progress or more. I ain’t no Robinson Crusoe there or should I say “Robinsina”. The shame of it all is that in 1996 I was fit- real fit, 4 times a week gym fit, play a whole game of netball at Centre fit, a healthy size 12 fit, did I appreciate my body then? Nup- I took it for granted, just like I do now, two decades later. Back then I thought I was fat… pfft! I see your 1996 fat and I raise it 18kilograms. I didn’t gain weight suddenly overnight, I am not an overachiever, just 3 kids, a set of disorganised skills of post-cyclone proportions, a decreasing metabolism, and an absolute criminal addiction to sugar, have all played their role in my widening girth.
I have always just expected my body to do its thing with little interference from me, which it has always done, with great efficiency despite my best attempts to consume chocolate at world record levels. Now that I have turned 40, people are telling me it’s much harder to get the weight off. Thanks for the pep talk peeps.
What we will refer to as the T-Shirt Incident of the Spring of 2015, was not enough of a warning cue or sign. It would take me a whole calendar year and 11 sneaky how the hell did they get here kilos for me to see…
Well, actually the seeing was part of the issue. We do not have a full length mirror at our house, so I hadn’t really seen me for a while. I take most of the family photos, so there was no photographic evidence to be seen. So it was a real shock, when I tried on a dress and saw myself in a full length mirror at a friend’s place.
Even seeing me in the reflective glass, it was shocking but well, just don’t look in full length mirrors problem sorted. Oh the brain is a powerful muscle, I need to train it for good not evil. What actually motivated me occurred while I sat at the dining room table eating my bowl of 2 crushed Weetbix. This way they don’t drown in milk or look dried out and beached on top of each other. It’s very hard to get the milk, to Weetbix ratio right when they are not crushed.
I was reading the Sydney Morning Herald, with my spoon in hand, I placed the spoon into the bowl as I have done proficiently every morning since I was 3, I leant over my bowl just a tad, to minimise spillage, and the bowl nudges forward. I move the bowl back, and repeat the process, same thing the bowl moves again ever so slightly, as if my breakfast bowl was on an Ouija board. Can you even do séances at breakfast time? I am thinking probably not, especially with your three sons also at the table in their catholic school uniforms?
5 spoonfuls in to what is a regular normal routine activity of daily living I am perplexed, I put the groundhog like newspaper down. I look at the boys. “Which one of you is moving my bowl?” They look at me unsure? With the tone in my voice, even if they were moving the bowl, no one is likely to fess up.
Mindfully I take my spoon in slow motion, scoop the Weetbix on, bend, a touch over the bowl, and lift the spoon to my mouth and then it happens. Oh no this is- well this is big- I see the cause. It is my upper torso that is magically manoeuvring my crushed weetbix about on the table.
This is it! If you cannot eat your breakfast because the crockery is being moved about by your anatomy then well Houston we have a problem. It is now that I am motivated to change. Something has to give, and I think we all know that it’s going to be my pants.