I remember promising myself, in second grade, that I would stay the same weight forever. It did not cross my mind then that (a) I was still growing and would have to gain weight, or (b) eating a lot is not conducive to maintaining the same weight. Luckily, I exploited the great loop hole of unit conversion. I went from 50 lbs as a 6-year-old to a steady 50 kgs as a teen and adult.
For more than a decade, people have marveled at the disconnect between my appetite and my physique. Many kindly informed me that my luck - or as some would call it, metabolism - would not last forever. So I knew the day would come when I must start to watch what I eat. I also expected this to happen around 30. What I did not expect is for it to happen the week I turn 30.
I first noted a 4-pound gain over my birthday weekend. No big deal. A little too much House of Prime Rib and Baskin Robbins, but that doesn't happen all the time. I'll be back at my regular weight in no time.
A few days later, Tony catches me heading for free chocolate in the Admissions Office and points out that I've gained weight. No, he wasn't being mean. And he didn't know I was going to get chocolate. But that made me think.
Then this weekend, I can't fit into my dark jeans, and the scale now says I'm 7 pounds over the standard. Now this is getting serious. 7 is only one meal away from 4, but I will not let me closet full of clothes become obsolete. The horror of having to shop for new clothes! No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!