Oh Make Me Over

      Fitness was never an interest of mine. I hate running with a passion - stomach cramps, feet violently smacking against the ground... really, what's to like? And then the immediate sore throat. What the fuck?
     And dieting, who needs it? Isn't food a highlight of our existence? Isn't it the promise of a fluffy bowl of ravioli with savory sauce and nice, salty cheese that gets us through our shitty days?
     There's gotta be a better way to do this.

     I have a troubled history with food. I guess I should blame it on my parents' divorce since that's the trendy thing to do. When I was a kid, I ate. A lot. Actually, constantly. Fruit rolls ups, cheese cracker sandwiches, Dunkaroos (oh my GOD, what a horrible food); I engorged in it all, and it never occurred to me that I had to stop when I was full. I lived with my Mom the majority of the time, and she was crazy busy pursuing a nursing degree at community college and working part time as a house call hairdresser. As you would imagine, she wasn't home much, and when she was, she had to study. But even with her schedule, she was a wonderful mother, as was my second mother (my grandmother), who provided the roof and looked after me all day. It was a stuffy apartment on the main street in the center of town. The only windows were in the bedrooms. I didn't have a backyard, or a front yard. I had two adorable cats though. And lots, always LOTS of food.
     My mother and my grandmother didn't try to correct my eating. They used to tell me I had "baby fat", and that every other woman in the family went through the same "phase" as a child, and that each and every one of them magically blossomed into a beautiful, slender woman once menstruation hit. So even though I looked like Kirby, I didn't worry about it.
     That all changed every other weekend when I visited my Dad. He knew I had a weight problem, and he knew it wasn't just "baby fat." So it didn't matter if it was snowing and 20 degrees out - he made me takes walks with him around the entire damn lake where he lived. He made salad for dinner with tuna steak or chicken, and usually no carbohydrate. At the time, I thought he was mean, but I realize now it was tough love. And he wasn't that bad. He even let me have a whole scoop of vegan ice cream for dessert.
     But on Sunday night, I'd just go back home to my mom where I had unlimited access to string cheese and Chips Ahoy. And if that wasn't bad enough, both my grandmother and my mother convinced me that my father was abusing me by depriving me of food whenever I wanted it and limiting my portions. So you can imagine how I developed this negative, flip-floppity relationship with food.
     And we can't forget that I learned to associate exercise with negativity. You know the fat kid in gym class that can barely run? That was me. I was the one who made everyone sit around and wait while I desperately tried to finish my laps. I was the one always picked last for kickball teams. And the kid that everyone laughed at when she tried to run? That was me.

     By my teen years, I had somehow managed to slim down considerably. Walking the new dog had done it. Yes, really. That, and walking around town a lot with my friends who lived nearby. And I guess my Dad's annoying wisdom had finally been drilled into me. To be fair, my metabolism did change when I hit menstruation, but I still could have been in better shape.
     I would be a size 12 (I'm 5'9) up until the middle of college. It was only after I moved onto campus that I ballooned to a whopping 179 pounds. Thanks, Chartwells.
     When I got off the meal plan this past May, I decided enough was enough. I was going to lose weight. From about June through the end of January, I lost 17 pounds. When the following spring semester started, I conquered my childhood fear and signed up for a gym class, specifically "Aerobic Fitness & Weight Management." It's helped me immensely (and so has living at home and eating real food). In the past six weeks since the class started, I've lost another 5 pounds, my hips have shed a full inch and my body fat percentage has decreased from 34.5% in the beginning of February to 28.7%. I'm now officially in the "healthy" BMI range for my height, and I'm not even barely in. I'm pretty far in.
     My current weight is 156 or 157, depending on the day. My goal is to get down to 145, but there's more to it. I want to be toned. I want a line going down my stomach. I want to be... I want to be... smoking hot.
     But I don't want to be miserable. I don't want to work out every single day of the week, and I don't want to go on the Raw Foods Diet, or the "I don't eat at all, and when I feel like I'm going to faint, I eat a cube of cheese" diet like this girl:

     I want to make changes now that I can continue even after I've reached my goal weight and toned up. I want to change my life.
     My grandmother used to tell me, "There's always an easy way to do something." Okay, so she wasn't entirely right about the baby fat thing, but she was right about banging a butter knife on a stubborn jar to release the air, and I'm absolutely convinced there is wisdom in what she told me. There's always an easy way to do something. And by easy, I don't mean no effort. Of course there's effort. By easy, I mean finding the most efficient means by which to do something, and in a way where it doesn't fight you back. It feels natural.
     So, that's what I Want a Hot Body, But I'm Lazy and Hate to Cook is about. Efficiency. Finding the easy way.
     Will you join me in finding the easy way?

- Jill <3