Posted by: Chelsea Novak | May 8, 2003

We scream in cathedrals… why can’t it be beautiful?

Yesterday was a fat day. They happen to the best of us. And I suppose by saying that yesterday was a fat day I’m being a tad misleading as it makes it sound like I’m totally happy with my body the rest of the time. I’m not. It’s fat week really, or fat month, or year, or whatever. The point is yesterday I came home from work, had a bath and cried in the tub because I felt like a whale. And then I got even more upset when I realized that even if I only ate once a day and starved myself down to nothingness, I’m still 5’11 and have a medium frame. I’m just never going to be small.

That’s just not who I am. And most days, I’m pretty happy about who I am, what I look like and moreover how tall I am. I don’t contantly compare myself with the women I see around me. But sometimes “she” comes along and I get all freaky. I look at all the malnourished little Czech girls with envy and start taking note of any women I see that are bigger than me weightwise, kind of like a poll in my head. All the women I know that are taller than I am have that great willowy tall girl body type, as in, not the body type I have. I see heavier girls and wonder if that’s what I look like. I can’t tell what I look like anymore. I haven’t been objective about that for years and I worry so much that when I think I’m looking good I’m just deluding myself and I’ve become one of those fat-ish girls who wear things meant for people that are fit.

When “she’s” not running the show I get mad at myself for my behaviour. I refuse to be the girl who is trapped in the unending cycle of fad diets and workout tapes that never work or the girl who’s afraid of the bathing suit store. As much as I try to refuse to be her, I’m becoming her and I really don’t like her. Gah! STAMOS! I’ve turned into such an idiot about it that when I was watching “Clone High” with M last night I realized that the character I most identified with was Marie Curie. Talk about needing to overhaul your self-image.

“I’m a fat girl” whine aside, when I woke up this morning, I decided to do something. I’m really good at planning a diet or an exercise regimen, but application seems to be my undoing. But not today. I put off cleaning and blogging and all the other things I distract myself with, made a mini disc and set out for a run. Yep. I was going to run the layers of fat off my body, and maybe change my body frame while I’m at it. And I did run. I took the metro out the Vysehrad, where they have nice paths and views of the city and I managed to run from the metro stop to the church. It’s isn’t far…like maybe .5 km. I would have liked to run more save the feeling that my lungs were about to incenerate my body from within. I think running would be really fun if not for the burning.

Anyway, I elected to not run too much more than that, but instead walk quickly. I have no idea how effective this was, but I did work up quite an unfeminine sweat and get my heart beating at a place where it was quick, but not so hard as it sounded like a Drum & Bass show in my head. I’m going to try running again and try to go a little further each time before I start walking. Well see how long this lasts (or more accurately see how long my knee lasts) and if it actually does anything for me body wise.

It’s such an aggrivating thing to be bugged by. My life is pretty awsome and I have so much to be excited about and happy for but I’m unable to shake this. I say that I’m okay with my body and that it’s cool being bigger, but somedays that’s a lie. I’m okay with it in that I’m not tearing my flesh off my body with my own hands, but if I was presented with the opportunity to be 2 inches shorter and 40 pounds lighter I’d take it in a flash, because “she” thinks that I would be less unusual that way and that people wouldn’t give me the “Woah, you’re a big girl” look anymore. I’m a glamazon and I want to be proud of it. If the nagging diet bitch in my head could take corporial form nothing would give me great pleasure than drowning her.

Then maybe I wouldn’t sound like such a psychopath. Phew.



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