Five years ago, I got really sick.
Before that, things were normal. I was a year-round athlete who could drink with the best of them and have a triple stack burger from Wendy's more than once a week without regret. Okay, maybe I wasn’t normal, but things were great.
Then in the Fall of 2010, I caught some virus or developed some condition — I'm not sure. Doctors didn’t know what to make of it either. Instead of a freshman 15, I lost 20. For three years after that I hardly ate. I subsisted on a diet of one bagel a day and some black tea. To be honest, I’m not sure how I was able to function.
The summer I interned in DC, I finally overcame whatever it was that made me want to throw up every time I ate. I should have been ecstatic. I was at first, but now there are lot of times I'm not.
Losing weight is hard, but putting weight back on has its challenges too. I got used to the way I looked when I was 108 pounds, and as a result sometimes looking normal, like I do today, looks fat to me.
I know I’m not fat. I run; I eat salad; I only drink on the weekends … for the most part. Still, sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and wish that I could be as small as I was.
I constantly have to remind myself that I didn’t look better then, and how unhealthy it was. I was skeletal.
The hardest part is learning to love how l look as a normal person again. I mean, I’ve always had a fair amount of girly “I hate how I look, I wish I could change __ , etc.,” but it’s much worse than it used to be.
My hips don't cut like corners out of my skin, and my thighs touch when I stand. Sometimes I have more than one chin in pictures. These are all things that never bothered me before I was skinny; now sometimes they do. I never used to think about the soft skin that sits just above my hips, but there are days when I hardly want to put on pants for fear of how they'll fit.
On days like that, my new goal is to let go of the unrealistic expectations about how I could look. I should never be thin like that again.
Instead, I should be celebrating. I can eat foods that I love, and I do so love food. My friends no longer have to feel awkward about going out because I can't eat things they want to try. I eat almost everything ... except beef. I never really regained the stomach for that.
Tonight, Lois and I decided to attend DC Fashion Week. After spending weeks on a waiting list, we got tickets. The event was at Dirty Martini, a swanky two-story bar near Dupont Circle. The night's topic jewelry.
As excited as I was about going, all I could think was, “I'm too gross to go — too fat.”
Wrong.
I was not too ugly to go. I was too cold.
In my sparkling heels, stranded outside the Farragut North metro stop, I was frozen. My toes had no feeling anymore. My only thought then was “screw this.”
Then Lois texted me, "Shake Shack is across the street."
Yes. That is what I want.
We met there, shivering and red-faced. I ordered fries, Lois ordered a burger.
This is what we've chosen over fashion week. This is where I realized I love fries more than fashion.
After we ate, we headed back over to Dirty Martini. It wasn’t really our scene. We took a photo in front of the canvas for posterity.
After that, we couldn’t find a reason to stay, so we went to get cheap drinks at a divey bar called the Big Hunt — much more our style. There, Lois snapped a photo of me and handed her camera across the table. I liked it; it’s the first time I’ve like a picture of myself in months.
I reminded myself that I am not gross right now. I was gross when I was 25 pounds underweight. It is disgusting that I, standing at 5’8, wore a size zero at H&M only a year ago.
My priorities should be friends, food, and fitness — in that order.
Fashion is trendy. French fries with friends are always in vogue.
Before that, things were normal. I was a year-round athlete who could drink with the best of them and have a triple stack burger from Wendy's more than once a week without regret. Okay, maybe I wasn’t normal, but things were great.
Then in the Fall of 2010, I caught some virus or developed some condition — I'm not sure. Doctors didn’t know what to make of it either. Instead of a freshman 15, I lost 20. For three years after that I hardly ate. I subsisted on a diet of one bagel a day and some black tea. To be honest, I’m not sure how I was able to function.
The summer I interned in DC, I finally overcame whatever it was that made me want to throw up every time I ate. I should have been ecstatic. I was at first, but now there are lot of times I'm not.
Losing weight is hard, but putting weight back on has its challenges too. I got used to the way I looked when I was 108 pounds, and as a result sometimes looking normal, like I do today, looks fat to me.
I know I’m not fat. I run; I eat salad; I only drink on the weekends … for the most part. Still, sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and wish that I could be as small as I was.
I constantly have to remind myself that I didn’t look better then, and how unhealthy it was. I was skeletal.
The hardest part is learning to love how l look as a normal person again. I mean, I’ve always had a fair amount of girly “I hate how I look, I wish I could change __ , etc.,” but it’s much worse than it used to be.
My hips don't cut like corners out of my skin, and my thighs touch when I stand. Sometimes I have more than one chin in pictures. These are all things that never bothered me before I was skinny; now sometimes they do. I never used to think about the soft skin that sits just above my hips, but there are days when I hardly want to put on pants for fear of how they'll fit.
On days like that, my new goal is to let go of the unrealistic expectations about how I could look. I should never be thin like that again.
Instead, I should be celebrating. I can eat foods that I love, and I do so love food. My friends no longer have to feel awkward about going out because I can't eat things they want to try. I eat almost everything ... except beef. I never really regained the stomach for that.
Tonight, Lois and I decided to attend DC Fashion Week. After spending weeks on a waiting list, we got tickets. The event was at Dirty Martini, a swanky two-story bar near Dupont Circle. The night's topic jewelry.
As excited as I was about going, all I could think was, “I'm too gross to go — too fat.”
Wrong.
I was not too ugly to go. I was too cold.
In my sparkling heels, stranded outside the Farragut North metro stop, I was frozen. My toes had no feeling anymore. My only thought then was “screw this.”
Then Lois texted me, "Shake Shack is across the street."
Yes. That is what I want.
We met there, shivering and red-faced. I ordered fries, Lois ordered a burger.
This is what we've chosen over fashion week. This is where I realized I love fries more than fashion.
After we ate, we headed back over to Dirty Martini. It wasn’t really our scene. We took a photo in front of the canvas for posterity.
After that, we couldn’t find a reason to stay, so we went to get cheap drinks at a divey bar called the Big Hunt — much more our style. There, Lois snapped a photo of me and handed her camera across the table. I liked it; it’s the first time I’ve like a picture of myself in months.
I reminded myself that I am not gross right now. I was gross when I was 25 pounds underweight. It is disgusting that I, standing at 5’8, wore a size zero at H&M only a year ago.
My priorities should be friends, food, and fitness — in that order.
Fashion is trendy. French fries with friends are always in vogue.
