Click the pic for the original set of baby instruction comics. They're all quality as heck.
I'm a giant baby about my health. Down to the crying and the chubby cheeks. I expect to naturally stay in shape without doing anything special, and when my late-night-pizza-and-cocktails diet and office-based lifestyle do me wrong, I'm inexplicably surprised.
Since this post is the sequel-in-spirit to my "Bad at Moving" entry, let's explore this phenomenon in list form. First, here's a snapshot of me when I lived alone for two years:
- Office-lifestyle, but augmented by the constant, heart-exploding terror of a high-pressure job with mandatory overtime and enormous consequences for minuscule slip-ups. It's easy to burn calories when your "resting" heartbeat is 160 bpm and your autonomic nervous system responds to the sound of a ringing phone in the same way that a caveman's would respond to a roaring lion.
- Bachelor meals composed of raw carrots and ramen (I could afford better, mind you. I'm just, as I previously stated, an plus-size lady-infant).
- A devotion to my true religion, Sleep, in pursuit of which I never allowed myself a night shorter than 7 hours.
- A willingness to look like an idiot as I exercised in my apartment while watching "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia."
- An awareness that my too-lazy-to-eat college diet and the constant physical requirements of marching with tenor drums are no more, and so adjustments must be made.
And a snapshot of me now:
- Office-lifestyle in which, while I'm kept busy and work hard on important projects, I spend less time fighting debilitating panic attacks and more time snacking on the stash of emergency pistachios hidden behind my hanging filer (don't tell me you don't have an emergency stash of pistachios, you filthy liar).
- Irregular meals that I typically take at around midnight, when my roommates get back from their jobs (they have two jobs each). Sometimes I cook the meal, and since I'm cooking for more than myself, I often overdo portions or rely on cheap, prepackaged foods. Sometimes, since nobody has the time, energy, or money for regular grocery expeditions, we fall back on the inexpensive and easily obtained pizza from the shop both roommates work at.
- 6 hour sleeps are a luxury, but it's usually closer to 5 if I want to spend any quality time with Kelsey, who routinely works 16 hour days.
- An unfounded feeling of guilt if I exercise at the YMCA or in the less-workout-friendly new apartment without one or both roommies, since I either have limited time to hang with them, or they have little time to exercise with me and are left behind.
- I got no excuse for being like this. I want to come home, work on my writing, do marketing work for my existing novel, and (lesbi-honest), kick back and watch some cartoons to decompress.
Kelsey reasons that maybe I'm fat and happy. The past year has been pretty brutal, and it's just now getting sunnier. Guess I can't rely on constant anxiety and self-hatred to burn my calories and stop me from eating everything in sight. But, much like the act of moving, "healthing" can be broken into digestible pieces as well:
- Adhering to the serving size - this means counting out 15 sad little Wheat Thins, scarfing down the first 10, and then deliberately licking the seasoning off of the remaining 5 before eating them in mouse-sized bites to trick yourself into believing you ate a satisfying amount of food.
- Taking the stairs, even though you're wearing heels, and your life flashes before your eyes with each step. Better yet is going down metal stairs in heels, which sounds like someone rhythmically firing a revolver into a locker room for however many flights it takes to get to your destination.
- Not going out to eat.
- Crying because you're not going out to eat.
- Counting out a serving of veggie straws instead of going out to eat.
- Crying onto the veggie straws and watching them turn to mush (but at least they're sufficiently salty now).
- Exercising at the Y and wondering where your outfit stands on the scale of Professional Gym Bunny to I Didn't Realize This Was a Gym but I'm Stuck Here Now So I Should Pretend to Exercise.
- Exercising at the Y and wondering if the "real" gym people can smell your fear as you try a new and elaborate piece of equipment.
- Getting off the new and elaborate piece of equipment and walking with a gait that can usually only be acquired by drinking and riding a Clydesdale all day.
- Crying because maybe that also burns calories?
- Mixing vodka with your SlimFast shake to produce the most disappointing cousin of a White Russian imaginable and naming it a Skinny Russkiy.
- Drinking water partly because health professionals say you should, mostly so the Skinny Russkiy doesn't get its revenge on you in the morning.
- Stepping on the scale after a week of portion control, water-drinking, and exercising only to discover you've gained 5 pounds anyway.
I have a long way to go with this junk (in my trunk), especially with a wedding on the horizon. Sure, it's in late autumn, but what about dress fittings? How does that work, anyway?
Boy, it's a weird world. Healthing is hard. Wish me luck, and keep those cheese-and-tater recipes off of my Facebook newsfeed.
