For those who weren’t around, let me fill you in…
I used to imagine The Fat Pants as some Godfather type…like Chaz Palminteri or Robert DeNiro in a dark suit speaking to me with that calm “I’m about to kill you” tone… hands clasped together, index finger tips touching his lips as if imagining my murder. As with all mob bosses, there is a mob behind them. The Fat Pants is the ring leader of the operation... the one who stays behind the scenes and controls everything. Then there are the “Enforcers"…the “muscle" to carry out orders. The ones that were specifically tasked with keeping me in line were the Double-D Harness Bra and the XL (and later the XXL) Shirt. They were sent to me on a daily basis to ensure my self-loathing and discomfort. And there were other henchmen staked out at every corner… McDonald’s, Chick-Fil-A, Arby’s, Pizza joints...pretty much anything with a drive-thru or delivery service. Below the “henchmen” are the peons they control…in this case, Me. And so…there was my lot in life…getting squeezed by The Fat Pants…literally.
Well… they’re back. The lot of them. Nearly to the point of with a vengeance. I’ve kept quiet about it. First it was denial. Now it’s shame. After publicly annihilating The Fat Pants by losing over 70 pounds...keeping it off for 2 1/2 years... only to privately gain close to half of it back…
To say that I’m not proud of myself would be putting it extremely mild.
The thing is… the first time I offed The Fat Pants, it kind of happened on it’s own. I didn’t really work at it. Sure, I changed a couple of things like not eating an entire pizza, but honestly, it still baffles me… and everyone else. I really didn’t try to lose weight I just did. In fact, one day I just decided not to worry about it anymore. I literally said out loud to myself that I was going to be “fat and happy.” I was going to accept myself as I am and forget about it. Live in peace. I don’t bother the Fat Pants and they won’t bother me. Somehow that triggered a slow and steady, yet miraculous transformation. In 18 months, 70 pounds rolled off of me like water off a ducks back.
Things were much different back then. Life was different. My job was different. My support system was different. My family was different. My mind was different.
No blood. Not a whole lot of sweat. But there were certainly tears. Oceans of them. I guess anger, mourning losses, and hustling for paychecks burns fat and calories too! Who knew?
Thankfully, many things in my life have changed for the better. Thus changing the definition of “fat and happy.” Except I aint so happy about being fat…again. I want the life I have now with the body I had then.
As far as how I will get that body back, it’s abundantly clear that lightening has no plans to strike twice. Do not pass GO, do not collect $200. No get out of jail free cards. I got one freebie and it has not gone unnoticed by the Fat Pants. This time, they’ve made sure that I will have to have to work for it.
And so… the journey begins again. #DieFatPants2
How's that for adventure, eh?
I am currently 3 weeks in on my plot to murder the Fat Pants (and for good, this time, because not being able to wear my favorite Wonder Woman shirt is really pissing me off!)
Once again, I’ve decided to take you with me. I couldn’t do it completely alone before. This time, I will need you more than ever. I will no longer be a prisoner in my own body. I have fully resumed my seek-and-destroy-mission.
To The Fat Pants, I utter my favorite phrase from Mortal Kombat... YOU WILL DIE!
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