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I have gained a new appreciation for the difficulties of losing weight in the past few years. I have always known that I couldn't possibly understand the struggles of people who try to lose weight, since I stopped growing at 5'2" 100-105 pounds at age 16 and no amount of cheesecakes could make me gain an ounce. I happily disregarded all mention of calorie counting and aerobic exercise, things that just didn't matter to me. That was then.
Eventually, in my mid-30s, my weight started creeping upward, no doubt due to metabolic changes and taking birth control pills for a few years, until I weighed a colossal 130 pounds. No big deal, right? I went off the pill, stopped eating such heavy meals late at night, downsized my ice cream portions, and started getting more exercise. But I didn't lose weight. I stepped up my efforts but still didn't lose weight. I thought, this should be easy. After all, we're just talking about 10 or 20 pounds, right? It's not that easy, even though I didn't feel the need to return to my former stick-figure status. Normal skinny would be just fine.
Finally, a couple of years after going off the pill, I have lost about 15 pounds and am happier with the way my clothes are fitting. I cannot imagine the struggles I would be going through if I were trying to lose 50 or 75 pounds. My feelings have swung between humbling acceptance that I am not exceptional after all, and increased fear and disgust at the thought of obesity. I don't think my story is all that unusual, but it has made an enormous impression on me. The experience has shed some light on my place in the human race.
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