Rifling through some old pictures this afternoon, I ran across a shot of me standing next to the tomato plants I grew on our patio last summer. My dad and grandma have faithfully planted huge gardens every year since I’ve been alive, so I know a little about what tomato and other vegetable plants look like. It was nothing for the two of them to have three or four garden plots scattered over the hill between our house and Granny’s, and they were huge, too. These plots of earth sprouted forth cabbage, onions, squash, cucumbers, beans, rhubarb, peppers, corn, tomatoes and potatoes. And I should know— I’m the one whose little white hands turned black with dirt from having to pick up all the rocks!
So, yes, I’m fairly acquainted with the various life stages of vegetables. Imagine my surprise, then, when the tiny tomato plants I placed in two large flower pots grew with the fervor of Jack’s beanstalk. My tomato plants were H-U-G-E. Huge. As in, taller than me. I have never seen tomato vines grow that high. Steve used to swear you could sit on the couch, look through the sliding glass door and actuallly watch them grow. (I think the MiracleGro I faithfully fed them may have had something to do with this.)
Unfortunately, the vines grew so high that they were unable to support themselves, and soon it became that we would arrive home in the evening to find the plants broken and falling over. And because of this, they couldn’t produce any decent fruit. A few little persistent tomatoes appeared, but they never got bigger than large grapes and they quickly rotted. Despite the enormity of the plants, they weren’t healthy, and they didn’t prosper.
The same could be said about the girl in the picture. She’s big, and if something doesn’t change soon, her chances of prospering will be slim.
You know the saying about not realizing how fat you are until you see a picture of yourself? It was totally written about me. I couldn’t believe what I saw, and that photo was taken almost a year ago, so I’m sure it’s gotten worse since then. I know it’s gotten worse. Steve and I talk about how we’ve both put on weight in the past two years. (Although I think he looks great). Right before I met him, I lost almost 30 pounds. Well, almost all of that has come back in the time since. My friend Leah once told me that people naturally gain weight when they’re happy. I must be the happiest freakin’ thing in the world, the rate I’m going!
It’s not that I hate myself. I don’t. I like me a whole lot, and I’m more than content with my life. But I want to be healthy. And I want to look good. Those folks who tell you that they want to lose weight “just” to be healthy ... well, they’re only telling half of the truth. They want to look good, too. Society trains us to want to look good. I’m not going to get into the debate because no matter what your opinion is, you never win. I will say this: I don’t see what’s so horrifyingly wrong with wanting to look good. I want to look good, and I want to make sure my body will be able to carry me through a good, long life.
So there.
The question now is, what am I going to do about it?
2 comments:
I understand and feel your pain. I faithfully avoid cameras now if they're pointed in my direction. I made John quit taking my picture because, no matter how sexy he said I looked, no matter how much he complimented and idolized the picture, it just depressed the holy heck out of me to see the pictures and see how heavy (I'm going to refuse to use the word fat) I've gotten.
I had lost 20 pounds. I know it's back. I feel it.
I think you and I both could benefit from Erin's recent quest. She went on a 21-day sugar fast. No artifical sugars, just natural ones from fruit, etc. She didn't lose much weight, she said, but she feels amazing! She's not moody, not depressed, is more active in life... she's much happier, she says.
I'm going to try it. We could keep each other in line, be moral support.
I for one, as a Jenny subject matter expert, think that you look fantastic.
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