I have been fighting the battle of the bulge for as long as I can remember. I was a carefree chubby toddler, an oblivious, rotund preteen and by the time I had gotten my bearings I was officially deemed fat.
Some people are blessed with the skinny gene. I, unfortunately, am not one of them. My gene pool handed me down among other things I resent, a pear shape? which resulted in the lower gargantuan half of my body to forever be in an awkward contrast with my petite upper half. Plus a metabolism that would finish in the last place even in a snail race?.?
As a result of this, I have been engaged in a lifelong battle with those pesky pounds which I have beaten down to a handful of five. This was several lifetimes ago, ? and yet “The loose five pounds” resolution somehow makes it to the top of my list at the start of every new year ?.
Several failed attempts that ranged from:
Dieting which transformed me into a ravenous, wild-eyed beast intent on giving the third degree to anyone who dared to eat in my presence.?
To yoga, where after several maddening chants of “find your inner peace” the only thing I ended up finding was my inner aggression.?
And lastly to strength training ???? which resulted in me resembling a five-foot Michelin man with caramel highlights.
Frustrated and defeated, I finally resigned to the fact that there was nothing I could do to part company with the fat cells seemingly super-glued to my lower half.?
The only other options available to me were a)surgery which I couldn’t afford ?, or b) praying for a miracle ?? which according to Cinderella's fairy godmother “take a little time✨”.
Leaving me with no choice but to indeed wait it out. All alone, depressed, hungry… Which reminds me it’s almost dinner time Nutella sandwich anybody? ?
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