a fat suit

^ Melissa Gorga can unzip herself out of this fat suit. For me, starting an “unzip” recently at 60 pounds overweight, it’s not so easy. the fat suit is inside me.

—- —- —-

Sixteen days ago I began a diet, a regimen, by which to take control of my body. Being sixty (60) pounds overweight focuses the mind. There is hardly anything in life as personal as being grossly overweight. You carry that sack of fat around with you in all that you do, sleeping included. There’s never a moment’s peace from its clinging to the insides of your skin like tics in a neck. You can’t pretend it isn’t there, can’t will it away because once the willing is over, the overweight is still there, mocking you, daring you.

It knows how much you love food. BBQ, ice cream, pastries, a generous day meal of pork and onions or a feast of Portuguese delights at Antonio’s or The Roasted Pig. Your personal fat suit knows this, and it smiles knowing that your food lust is its ticket to ride.

Why does fabulous food exact such a price ?

The question hangs in the air, I have no answer. What i do have is a solution : eat no food — be a body neat freak. Not forever, of course, but for six to seven months, maybe more. People warn me to stay healthy : but they get it wrong. I am trying to BECOME healthy. Lugging a 60 pound fat suit inside me is not healthy. It also looks like crap. It looks crappy to me even more so than to others. they can stand apart and smirk; I have to live with it. i have to neat freak my body, clean every nook of it and dust my shelves, floors, table tops, bedsheets of my corpus.

So there I was, inundated with food, until sixteen days ago I decided : “enough.” that day I took in only two glasses of cider, a bowl of soup and a mocha latte at Starbucks (my one distraction). And so have I continued to do every day since, adding some glasses of white wine ona couple of occasions.

It’s quite stunning what can happen to a fat suit when it gets only 900 calories a day to sustain. Quite rapidly the fat suit sheds layers. Sixteen days of NOT feeding the beast has shrunk him good.

Yes, he’s still there, the fat suit imp, but he is definitely leaving. When I began this diet I could barely button my size 38 jeans. Now they’re quite too big, next week I set them aside for a pair of 36’s I haven’t worn in three years.

The goal is to lose a full sixty pounds. that will evict every square inch of my fat suit, and not only will my 38 jeans be well gone (“could I have really needed those ?” will be the puzzle), so will my 36 jeans and even my 34s, which have lain in my dresser so long they’ve probably given me up for hopeless.

Hello, size 32 jeans, the size that I wore in college, when I weighed 160, and it seemed quite normal rather than a goal so ultimate that reaching it now taxes all of my will power and time.

All of this effort I live with day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, and seen at that petty a level, the seven months it will take to lose sixty pounds seems almost unbearably long to go without food feeding. It is unbearably long, but I bear it because I must. every day of my diet I become that much more invested in its success, that much more determined not to give up.

The hardest is that there’s no escape. This is my body, even as i write this i am doing so with my body, it exists in real time and there are no shortcuts, none at all. None at all.

Onward, then.

—- Mike Freedberg / Here and Sphere

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