My Fat Wakes Me Up at Night

There was a time only two years ago when I actually had to order Levi’s jeans online because our local stores didn’t carry anything smaller than a size four. Don’t stab me. I was finally directed to the juniors/girls section because the saleslady realized I was short enough to pull off wearing little girl pants.

Before you gnash your teeth and shake your fists to the sky over how unfair it is that some people are genetically tiny, let me tell you that I am teeth-gnashing right alongside you. I am not genetically skinny, but at the time I was a marathon runner and triathlete. My training schedule would have made the Olympic committee proud (I am also not genetically fast, so there really was no contact from said Olympic committee).

Then something terrible happened: I actually wrote a book that people wanted to read, and that made me become a writer. Gone were the frivolous hours in the evenings when I could put my children to bed then go for a thirteen mile run. Those hours were now taken up with me sitting on my enlargening ass in front of a computer screen.

And while I am now solidly tricking myself into believing these size eight pants aren’t too tight to wear to work, I am tired of waking up during the night because fat that didn’t used to be there only a matter of months ago is now rubbing against different fat that didn’t used to be there, either. It’s very disconcerting.

I know a lot of people who have a few pounds they could stand to lose, and those people tend to grab whole handfuls of their flesh and announce, “I need to lose weight.” I, on the other hand, carefully arrange my new fat rolls into odd shapes and tuck it into different parts of my clothing and announce, “Thank god I don’t have to go run thirteen miles tonight.” I said I DID run, not that I WANTED to run.

So for now, I’m inventing a new line of clothing that keeps all parts of your body from touching other parts of your body. Titanium fiber is involved. It looks a lot like those suits from the Tron movies, only it doesn’t light up because blue glowing pinstripes are incredibly unflattering and they’ll be mistaken for varicose veins. Of course, if I begin a whole new career path of inventing clothing that keeps my fat from waking me up, I’ll have to give up the extra time in my day that I used to use for personal hygiene. There’s no line of clothing for that.

My clothes will make people look like that. Really.

13 thoughts on “My Fat Wakes Me Up at Night

  1. Just this morning I read the short story, The Fat Girl, by Andre Ducus. And now this. I think tonight I’ll take an extra long walk. The exercise will help me sleep.

  2. Maybe you can get a blue-tooth recorder and write between gasps for air??? I have the same genetics–no exercise =weight gain. It doesn’t seem to matter how much–or how little I eat. SIGH. I haven’t tried the kids jeans but that would totally solve the problem of hemming everything I buy! Thanks!! I do get the little girl panties ’cause they fit but I do fear the day I have to explain the crowns and words “princess” on my underwear to the emts.

  3. I was a very thin and very fit thirty year old swimmer and runner, got married, had kids worked as teacher 16 hours a day and got overweight, unhealthy and fat. I had a break down, illness and had to leave teaching. I’ve been doing manual labour since, at 47, and writing. When there’s no work I do just half an hour’s exercise a day, weights, sit ups and a two mile run. In just a year I’m in better shape. There’s a happy medium in the staying in shape stakes; sort out the family, do the writing and work in half an hour’s exercise into the day; the best way being to buy a rowing machine or kit for home so that you don’t have to go anywhere to work out.
    After being stick thin, like you, the kids being born, each time four years apart, put my wife out of shape two times. I turned drill sargeant, made time for her and enabled her to find a space to work out. The result was that unlike her sisters she went back to her original weight and shape, but then their husbands are selfish. My wife is 47, like me, and is still a size 8 dress size and about 7 stone; she doesn’t work out any more, but she does work on her allotment a good deal, so that’s exercise. Anyway that’s what I say. Have a buffet day, grab a bit of everything and don’t overload the plate and get some kit for the house; I’ve worn out an exercise bike and rowing machine and I’m down to the ‘aero rocker’ a piece of equipment that I swear my wife bought in an attempt to kill me! It is hard work pushing up and down with both arms and legs, but I burn so much energy on it in just 15 minutes it’s worth risking the heart attack!
    By the way remember Manslation? If your husband says ‘You might try working out’ what he means is ‘I’d love you whatever you look like, but if you want to feel good about yourself, and I know you don’t feel good at the moment, I’ll help you do it.’ So don’t murder him if you ask him if he can help you make time to work out and he says something like that. (I still keep your husband murdering blog in mind when I comment). Damn I need a cigarette and some coffee…

  4. Pffft… C’mon, can’t you multi-task? I write everything on my site while competing in ultra-marathons. Or… maybe I just hallucinate the running part. In fact, looking at my site now, I’m pretty sure hallucinating is involved. Never mind.

  5. My writing fat expansion came in the way of boobs. They got enormous and because I’m menopausal too when I sweat at night, I have to cram my tee-shirt in-between my boobs so they don’t slide around on each other. Maybe that’s too much information.

  6. Your title just about choked me to death! Yes, I’m going to stab your smaller than size 4 behind. Oops, I mean size 8. Occupational hazard – writing = butt expansion.

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