What in THE HELL did I do?
How did I get here?
What happened?
I ate… a lot.
Not long ago I had an epiphany. I eat every meal like it’s a special occasion.
You know that feeling you get when you’re out to dinner for your birthday or an anniversary? That one meal your family makes and you all look forward to? Thanksgiving dinner? The anticipation before the meal. Having a little more than you probably should. Indulging until you’re uncomfortably full. I eat every meal this way. All of them.
The result of having done this for years is that it has now become my normal. This is what I’m used to, and not having a large meal every time I eat feels inadequate, almost like I’m doing myself a disservice. Logically I know this is super-backward and not all all true, but, more often than not, another helping sure does seem like the right thing to do.
This week I declined an invitation to play soccer with my daughter. Because I’m so out of shape I was terrified that I’d be an embarrassment to my kid. This is, easily, the single-most humiliating thing that I’ve ever experienced*.
I honestly don’t care what I weigh and I’m not terribly concerned with what I look like, but having to miss out on making a memory with one of my children because I’ve failed to take care of myself isn’t something that I’m willing to have become “normal” for me. Continue reading “Percentages and Happiness”
