My body hates me.
It doesn’t want me in it and isn’t just quietly suffering any longer. Things are getting bad.
It craves salt and fat. It loathes exercise. Its skin absorbs heat and UV radiation so readily that it turns candy apple red when exposed to a 75 watt bulb for more than 30 seconds. It has been exposed to a host of chemicals which await release from fatty tissues in order to cause disruption, corruption and mutation at the cellular level.
The evidence that my body desires a long term separation is overwhelming. I find bumps, scales and strangely colored patches on my body’s skin. There’s a knee that makes strange popping noises in the morning. There are ankles that feel as if they’re ready to cave with the least bit of provocation. It demands a surplus of air after lifting small children up just two flights of stairs. There is constant belching, farting and the excretory experience is only consistent in that it is never consistent. Plus, it’s fat.
Boy; is it fat.
It’s never been larger or heavier.
I’ve tried to force my body to accept our relationship by attempting some improvements. In fact, last week I fired my first salvo by doing the breakfast thing, choosing the right foods, limiting my portions.
I gained three pounds.
Granted, I didn’t keep it up over the weekend and ate crap what wasn’t good for me. But that’s what I do every weekend. One would think that if I behaved during the week and then continued with my regular habits for just a couple of days that I could at least maintain.
So, it’s clear my body hates me.
I know; I need to get my body to love me once again. But how do you rescue a relationship after it has gone so badly for so many years? Anything I do garners a nasty reaction. A trip to the treadmill therapist winds up becoming a massive, sweaty struggle that leaves me exhausted and convinced that I should never return for a repeat session. If I attempt to romance my body with gifts of cruciferous vegetables and fruit it pushes them away and whines for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. I’ve read books, magazines, scoured the internet and looked to others who have overcome these types of problems for inspiration. Nothing seems to work.
My body is angry, resentful and wants an attorney. And what makes these relationship problems all the worse is the fact that there are children in the mix.
I know my story isn’t uncommon, but I’m coming to the end of my rope (and at this weight, it’s really freakin’ difficult to hold on).