I'm The Fat One

I do not enjoy exercising.

However, I am quite tired of being fat.  Hence the walking.  I just walked 1.94 miles over the course of approximately 40 minutes, and I'm all sweaty and I feel fatter than ever.  I think it's because my t-shirt isn't quite big enough and it clings to my jiggly parts in a very early-90s, leggings-and-long-sweater kind of way that is definitely Not Hot.

So I'm at the beginning of a bid to stop being The Fat One, and a lot of this blog will probably be about that.  I'm The Fat One among my friends, and while I'm very smart, really funny and (seriously) extremely cute, the sad fact is that the first thing most strangers would probably notice about me is that I'm The Fat One.  It's disheartening and demoralizing, and makes me want to head to the Chick-Fil-A and get an 8-piece nugget with waffle fries and extra mayo.  Also a milkshake.

But why change now?  I've been The Fat One, at least in my own head, ever since I was a kid, although if I'm objective I can truthfully say that I didn't really start packing it on until my junior year of college.  Before that, I was just curvy, and more to the point I was healthy and could probably walk 1.94 miles much more quickly than 40 minutes, and without sweating, too.

But I frittered my 20s at an office job and on my couch, and since I can drink with the best of them and I love me some food, here I am at 30 with [redacted for sanity] pounds hanging on my 5-foot-nothing frame.  And now my knees are starting to creak when I walk up the stairs.  Swimsuit season is looming.  Wedding season is looming, and I have two fantastic dresses that I want to look fantastic in.  But if I'm totally honest, those are not the real driving forces behind my sudden upswing in determination.

The real driving forces are two male voices in my head.  One is the voice of a complete stranger, and one is the voice of one of my best and oldest friends.  But that's another story.