WEIGHT MANAGEMENT FOR THE SHAMELESSLY OPTIMISTIC

“It’s a hormonal thing!” Raise your hands if you’re either 50% of the female population that unfortunately has to deal with imbalanced hormones or the remaining 50% who conveniently takes shelter behind those clumsy scapegoats.

And raise both your hands if you can proudly claim to be falling into each of the above categories.

Come-on! Don’t be shy. I’d probably be the one leading the pack.

My journey with weight management is a rather recent one, but, that doesn’t minimize its importance or impact in my life. To better understand how I got to this point, you would need to know where it all began. And I’m not talking about the big bang! (although it would be fairly accurate to call it my big bang)

Flashback.. (No need to be dramatic and visualize it in b/w mode, ‘twas only 15 yrs ago – only being the operative word)

I have always been tall. Back in school, it meant standing at the end of lines, be it the morning assembly or Phys. Ed. I was (and still am) the anti-thesis of anything remotely sporty. In hindsight, it was nothing short of a miracle that I managed to maintain a near-perfect BMI.

College saw me reed thin and I strangely took pride in my distorted vision of a healthy body. My family called me BB – nothing to do with endearments like Baby, rather, it stood for Bag of Bones! I even won an extempore competition by speaking about a girl’s fight with anorexia (Believe me; the irony of the situation is not lost on me) Studying in a premier fashion institute, I loved it when I could fit into every modeling size garment that was stitched. The problems, so to speak, started a couple of years after beginning work. The monotony of working life crept in and with it, came its good buddy – complacency. As years passed, tasks were increasingly delegated to subordinates and slowly the will to do small errands by oneself diminished. Succinctly put, the size of my butt was directly proportional to the time I sat on it – which was quite a lot.

Jeans and trousers stopped mid thigh while shirts refused to slide down elbows; that’s when the crafty mind takes over. Oh, I blamed everything from genetics, to Delhi’s deplorable water quality to adulterated food and a demanding work schedule. And it worked. But at the end of 6 years, all that I ended up with was a body I hated and a man I loved.

At the risk of sounding blunt, the unvarnished truth is that most couples tend to turn a blind eye to the other’s physical faults. Before you start huffing and puffing, I wish to clarify – weight related physical faults that have occurred due to ones laziness. Case in point – a worried ‘Do I look fat’ from a wife/girlfriend/partner would be answered with a ‘How does it matter? We’re together now’, followed by a supposedly cheeky ‘Who do plan to entice?’. In my opinion, it’s the entire belief system of letting go once in a relationship, as well as firmly placing oneself in the ‘enticed’ category, which apparently calls for a funeral of taking pride in one’s appearance. But this is clearly a musing for another day.

Coming back to the issue at hand, when I reached the weight when people started wondering/rudely asking if I had a bun in the oven, I knew I had to do something! And when I decide to do something, I go all out!

Of course, I bought a pair of trainers and workout wear, yet sadly, they never saw the light of day.

But the shamelessly optimistic never give up!

I then decided to join a new therapy, which initiated weight loss at a cellular level. Goddammit! If anything got 3 trillion cells in my body to move it without me moving – I was all in. So for a month, a friend and I would rush during lunch break, brave peak hour traffic (you would know what I mean if you had to cross 3 schools at 1:30pm), and sit on an electromagnetic bed for 8 mins. Those 8 mins were equal to a 4 km walk on grass. After 104 kms, I reached the conclusion that my cells were stubborn little bastards who managed to escape exercise even in their microcosm.

Then cometh the greatest enemy of weight loss – Diwali (Closely followed by Holi). Nothing much to elucidate – I honestly, didn’t even try.

Diwali – Christmas – New year – Holi.. Oh! How time flies. *avoids eye-contact*

At around this time, I met a couple of my old college mates; they were quite surprised (read shocked) to see my puffer fish appearance. And here come the trusty ol’ untrusty hormones to the rescue (Yes, I know untrusty isn’t a word, but sometimes I like to make stuff up – so, sue me grammar police!)

It’s a hormonal thing! I blithely answered.

A brilliant escape plan if I do say so myself.

 

To be continued…

Curious to know what happens next? The story continues in God Bless this Hot Mess!