In my 20's, my set weight was 175. Then when I got up to 30, I had already verged into the 180's. People said I was just filling out, getting more muscular, so I never thought much about my habits. Then I started enjoying alcohol on a more regular basis, and I was in the 190's. I've been blessed to never need to own a scale, so I would only see my weight every few months when I happened to visit my folks' home. Come February of this year, I was nearing 205. One of the guys at my company commented that I was getting larger more than a few times. I didn't care, although I was wondering why he was commenting on anyone's appearance to begin with.
Then, around that time, I had about a week of completely unrelated depression, and I just stopped feeling like rewarding myself with some kind of sweet each night. I would eat really healthily all day, and then figure I deserved cookies or a slice of cake or something, really all just so I could wash it down with milk. But suddenly, they stopped bringing me pleasure. I didn't really make any resolutions. I just stopped eating sweets regularly. Maybe on a weekend when offered, but not on my own. Sometimes I would get a craving, delay a few days, then resolve to indulge, and it wasn't as good as I'd remembered.
In May, right around when I started receiving disturbing messages from a student, I found myself conversing with students during our break time instead of getting my requisite daily sandwich. I was getting a "healthy" sandwich (Mediterranean), with lots of vegetables and so forth, but it had processed chicken and hummus and processed grains and all that. I was getting a literal "potbelly." So, once again, I didn't really resolve to stop eating them, I just happened to. I was kinda sick of them anyway. I could tell that I was dropping more pounds, I felt better, and I was saving lots of money.
By the time I went to the doctor in June for a checkup, I was down to 190, although their scale said 193 for some reason. He said I was very healthy, although, since my dad had his knees replaced years ago, likely due to the extra weight he'd been carrying, I could probably stand to drop another ten pounds. I was drinking much less and felt better, so I figured I could do that.
When September rolled around, I'd made it to 183, without really trying. I guess I was just eating fewer calories and getting around more.
Then I got sick and couldn't eat anything but saltines for 5 days, and voila, 175 again.
And then my students had to go and buy a bunch of croissants to celebrate completing their test, and left seven of them on my desk. An hour later, I felt like I could sumo wrestle with a grizzly bear.
I liked being larger, I gotta admit. I'd always been on the skinny side, but when I gained weight, I felt powerful. But now I just feel better, which is more important.
Anyway, the occasional croissant is still a beauty to behold, and I more deeply value and cherish the food which I do have the privilege to eat.
Then, around that time, I had about a week of completely unrelated depression, and I just stopped feeling like rewarding myself with some kind of sweet each night. I would eat really healthily all day, and then figure I deserved cookies or a slice of cake or something, really all just so I could wash it down with milk. But suddenly, they stopped bringing me pleasure. I didn't really make any resolutions. I just stopped eating sweets regularly. Maybe on a weekend when offered, but not on my own. Sometimes I would get a craving, delay a few days, then resolve to indulge, and it wasn't as good as I'd remembered.
In May, right around when I started receiving disturbing messages from a student, I found myself conversing with students during our break time instead of getting my requisite daily sandwich. I was getting a "healthy" sandwich (Mediterranean), with lots of vegetables and so forth, but it had processed chicken and hummus and processed grains and all that. I was getting a literal "potbelly." So, once again, I didn't really resolve to stop eating them, I just happened to. I was kinda sick of them anyway. I could tell that I was dropping more pounds, I felt better, and I was saving lots of money.
By the time I went to the doctor in June for a checkup, I was down to 190, although their scale said 193 for some reason. He said I was very healthy, although, since my dad had his knees replaced years ago, likely due to the extra weight he'd been carrying, I could probably stand to drop another ten pounds. I was drinking much less and felt better, so I figured I could do that.
When September rolled around, I'd made it to 183, without really trying. I guess I was just eating fewer calories and getting around more.
Then I got sick and couldn't eat anything but saltines for 5 days, and voila, 175 again.
And then my students had to go and buy a bunch of croissants to celebrate completing their test, and left seven of them on my desk. An hour later, I felt like I could sumo wrestle with a grizzly bear.
I liked being larger, I gotta admit. I'd always been on the skinny side, but when I gained weight, I felt powerful. But now I just feel better, which is more important.
Anyway, the occasional croissant is still a beauty to behold, and I more deeply value and cherish the food which I do have the privilege to eat.
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