The Freshman 15: Eleven Years Later aka The Obligatory Post about Weight and Body Issues.

At Baby Blues BBQ in West Hollywood

Here's the thing, I didn't actually gain the freshman 15 when I was a freshman because I entered college on the heftier side. I was already used to housing a box of Little Debbie's oatmeal cream pies so the dining hall's warm chocolate chip cookies didn't really throw my body into a mess of mad weight gain. My drinking increased for sure (FOR SURE!) but so did my physical activity so I guess it pretty much evened out. By the time I graduated, I was thinner than when I started.  Cut to a year later, I'd spent three months drunk at The Williamstown Theatre Festival and the next nine eating my way through every restaurant in NYC and there she was again, Little Debbie of Alpharetta, GA. 

Then, I got serious, real serious about getting in shape and it worked. I cooked, I pumped, I ran, I lost. I went home one spring and my grandfather told me I looked "frail and thin" the most thrilling compliment I've EVER received (I even mentioned it in this post from 2010)...except today when my mom told me my upper body...note: only my upper body... looked anorexic at one point. (Not that anorexia is cool...c'mon.) So, now I find myself approximately 3 years from that spring, a year and half into another move and deeper in credit card debt thanks to EVERY RESTAURANT IN L.A. Because, apparently in my book, moving to a new city requires spending exorbitant amounts of money on things like: lemon ricotta pancakes, every single cheeseburger available, half roasted chickens, omelettes, baked oatmeal, ice cream sandwiches, "healthy" smoothies, lattes made the "right" way so they have that heart design on top, Korean BBQ, oh and let's not forget, copious amounts BEER...WINE...and BOURBON (see: these pix). Here's what I'm getting at, today I went to the doctor, got weighed and realized that I've gained TWENTY-THREE POUNDS in the last year and half. 


I'll be real, I knew my jeans didn't fit anymore (fuck, I ripped THREE PAIRS in an attempt to put them on this year) but I've compensated by rocking the shit out of some A-line skirts and a belt at the waist. I don't LOOK like I've gained 23 pounds. I doonnnnnnnn't.  It's just hearing the number, THE NUMBER. Oh the damned number. Fuck the number. But seriously... fuck the number, right? 

What I will say is this, I'm turning 30 this October and everything they (who's they?) say that comes with age is true. The body image issues I suffered from that drove me to look "frail and thin" just don't exist for me anymore. What does remain however, is the urge to be in shape. To be able to run a half marathon again. To get to Level 7 (of 9, let's be real) of Tracy Anderson's Metamorphosis. To cook more. To fit into my old and unripped-at-the-crotch jeans, because I just can't afford to buy new ones (because that money was spent on the last pizza I shoved into my face). Soooooo, here it is folks, my "I wanna be in shape again" post. If this were a movie,  the credits would now be rolling and there'd be like, a Florence and the Machine song playing. So, just get yourself into that head space. I'm off to eat some lean protein and lettuce. 

Damn, it was good...


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