Thursday, January 28, 2010


Dear Fat,

Tomorrow completes Week Four of the nine-week training program I've undertaken in my efforts to destroy you. I only hope that my mild enthusiasm for running holds through the next five weeks.

I'm scared.

I've been eating more vegetables; yay! One of my coworkers has joined my efforts in the consumption of leafs. Yes. Leafs.

I feel I am at a crossroads of sorts. On the one hand, I can't wait to be free of you Fat, and all that you stand for. Namely, heart disease, diabetes and overall hideousness. On the other, I worry that by losing you, I'll also lose a part of myself. And not just the obvious: circumference, width, etc--but the scapegoat. Always before I've been able to shift the blame to you. "Oh, he wasn't interested in me because I'm fat." "I'm too fat to be pretty." "I'm too fat to dare to dream."

What happens when you're no longer there to take the blame for all my insufficiencies? Who's to blame when I'm not fat, and he still doesn't like me? What happens when I'm thin and my dreams still don't come true?

You provide a layer of protection from the world and its chilliness. How will I keep warm on these cold winter nights?

I have to make a choice. I need to have the courage of my conviction to do what's right.



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