(note: if you don't want to hear about my body, my blood sugar, or my boobs [that might mean you, blood relatives!] please skip this entry)
i've lost weight. my scale has registered 149 twice in the last week. it's been a long time since i've weighed this little.
my weight loss is psuedo-intentional. both my docs (my pcp and my doc-for-down-there) have been getting on my case to lose weight since i am at high risk of diabetes. so, i've been half-heartedly changing some eating habits and stuff. but my multiple neuroses since the beginning of this year have actually enforced these habits. when i mentioned in passim that i was having trouble eating a couple of weeks ago, i didn't go into detail about how bad that was. in the last month, there have actually been days when i would have to force myself to eat. i've been trying to monitor this problem. i've also been trying to exploit it. some days, i feel like eating--a lot. so i do. i figure, so long as i average 1800 calories a day over a week, it's okay if i only eat 1200 on day and 2400 the next. and so, i've lost about 13 lbs since the new year.
i have complex feelings about this. on the one hand, 13 lbs is a bit much. it toes the line for "safe weightloss rate." but people who have only my health in their best interests have been telling me to lose weight. to get below 150. and besides, i've been thinking it would be helpful to lose weight for my role in this play. but i'm developing some dangerously cheerleader-like thoughts about my body and my appetite. i'm enjoying the weight loss, it's helping me look at myself in the mirror. and i'm beginning to enjoy the hunger pangs in my stomach--this is something i know is bad. and having worked in student affairs for several years (not to mention once dating a former anorexic), i know that this is a first sign of an eating disorder...
that said, i'm at HIGH risk of getting type 2 diabetes. everyone in my dad's birth family is genetically predisposed to obesity. in fact, my dad is the only one in his family who doesn't have diabetes. my dad, who probably ran an average of 30 miles a week when i was a child. who made running marathons seem like a matter of just paying the fee and wearing the tacky t-shirt. my endorphin-addicted dad who eventually started cycling when his knees started giving, this time averaging about 50 miles a week on his bike. my dad, who hiked the entirety of the appalachian trail, who managed to hit every state capitol between new england and south dakota on his bike until he had to stop because of high blood pressure. when he was in his mid-60s.
my mother's family is rather thin. but that's partly because they eat a japanese diet. that said, they are also genetically disposed to high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and, oh yeah, every type of cancer under the sun. woohoo!
so you can see why losing weight is generally good news, even if i'm worried about how fast it's happening and my emotional state around it.
and then, last week, out of the blue, wonderful partner asked me my cup size. now, most of you will know that i'm not about my boobs. i wear sports bras. because my main goal in using bras is for compression. so it's probably been at least a decade since i've measure out my cup size. i said, i dunno, c? then wonderful partner sighed and said, good. because i just read that women with cup sizes d and above are at even higher risk of diabetes. i looked for the article, it is here. phew, i said. then, the next day, i got curious and pulled out our measuring tape, found a website on measuring your bust size and calculated.
i'm a d. i might even be a dd. woohoo! i wish i was a girl. then i'd probably really be glad about all this. when i was little, i always thought i would be an illustrious member of the itty-bitty-titty-committee. but i wasn't. my friends would often voice that they wish they had my breasts. and i woud shrug. i've never much cared for my ta-tas, even if people i've been with thoroughly enjoy(ed) them.
but i am genuinely surprised. especially in light of my recent weight loss. i think that most of the weigh i've lost has been from my belly. this is great, but i wish i could just lose all my breast fat first. sigh.
shortly after my mom died, i was convinced that i would die of cancer. it's one of those things you think, right? i even quit smoking because of it (that lasted long!). but now i'm like, maybe i'll die of diabetes. i know you can't really die of diabetes. but i have morbid fantasies about losing parts of myself to diabetes, one limb at a time, until i became just a torso and a head. then again, no one really dies of cancer, either. they always die of "cancer-related complications." stupid shit like staph infections, pneumonia, or (in the case of my mom) a bump on the head.
who knows, i'll probably just choke on a chicken bone like mama cass.
all this thinking, though, has really reminded me that i've been living inside my body like i'm some type of guest. i've learned to accept that this is the body i will have for life. i've accepted it, but i still don't like it. i really, really wish i could.