Since high school I’ve never been quite content with my body — I always thought I was “too heavy” and the thought of getting healthy and losing weight was always at the back of my mind (including now). Going through old photos on Facebook, I’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion that I was in fact, not fat at all, but pretty darn skinny. I had a great figure, even. Alas, if I could tell my eleventh-grade (and even twelfth-grade) self that, I would have saved myself a lot of time spent worrying about my weight and how I looked.
It was strange, because looking in the mirror and even looking in pictures back then, I couldn’t really tell at all that I was fine. This realization, of course, only comes when I look at pictures of myself now and think, “Man, I used to be so fit. I should get in shape so I can look that good again.” It’s a little scary, actually, because I remember thinking the same thing to myself this time last summer, when I was a lot more in shape. The problem is that this revelation only comes whenever I start looking worse. My mum has always been on my ass about this, since as long as I can remember. It’s nice to know that despite all the twists and turns life throws you, some things never change. For example, I was about to eat a Fruit By the Foot today when my mother, out of nowhere, appears and berates me:
“No… you can’t eat that.”
“…well, I don’t want to say it, but… just don’t.” (translation: you’ll probably throw a fit if I call you fat, but I’m going to thinly veil what I mean so you get the picture.)
The solution is, of course, to not give a shit and eat my Fruit By the Foots anyways.