Let's Get Physical: Confessions From an Inner Fat Kid

So you'd think that summer would be the perfect time to shed some of the freshman 15...and you would be right, if you were reading the blog of a sane, logical human being. But summer for me seems to equate to scarfing down all the frappacinos and watching all the YouTube videos--one of which called me out on my own inner fat kid:

And that's when I realized--this shit is getting out of control. Like, sure, weight is just a number, but breathing heavily after one set of stairs and clogged arteries isn't. It's basically a shiny warning sign that death is right around the corner.

And so, I present to you: Kira's let's-avoid-the-bikini-for-awhile list!

1) If I eat standing up, directly from the fridge, or from a cupboard, I pretend the calories don't count. I've managed to convince myself that if I'm not consciously indulging in a sit-down meal, then I can eat all the chocolate in the world, and my hips can still lie to me and tell me I'm skinny. Easter is the worst. When I'm at work, shuffling past that Cadbury egg stand, I am forced to buy one to eat before my shift. And then one becomes 5. As it turns out, that's not, say, 50 calories. That's 800. Oops.

2) I eat the same amount as a perpetual exerciser when I'm sitting on my ass all day.
Once upon a time, there was a (slightly more slender) girl who did yoga for two hours every day for a month. This girl ate 2 servings of big-ass meals 3 times a day. We're talking scones, cereal, orange juice, peanut butter, the works. Said girl did not gain nor lose weight. Girl went back home and ate same volume of food (though not same quality) and watched people do yoga on YouTube.

3) Dairy Queen has literally been my go-to place for two years.
I don't even know how this happens. I don't hate DQ ice cream, but it doesn't send me jumping for joy. But it never failed--every single "date" I'd go on with my boyfriend at the time would end up at Dairy Queen. I think I spent more money on ice cream in one month than I did on a year's worth of makeup. And even when the relationship ended, I just solved the "what do you wanna do?" debate with my friends by consistently answering "Dairy Queen!" And I wouldn't just get like, a Diet Coke and a salad. Who goes to fucking DQ and gets a salad? Nope--it had to be a medium blizzard with tons of oreos and double fudge, because obviously small is for sissies.

4) I excuse any midnight snack by saying it goes towards my calories for the next day.

5) If I exercise, I justify that as an excuse to eat dessert. But "dessert" has gone from maybe a cookie or some fruit to a bowl of ice cream filled to the rim, doused in chocolate syrup, smothered in chocolate chips and whipped cream and all the deliciousness in the universe.

6) I slant my full-length mirror and duck face it up so as to create the optical illusion that thinness isn't so yesterday.

My only consolation is that actually being responsible for my own groceries means I'll live on nothing but coffee and sparkly things for the next year.

Namaste.