Gonna Fly Now

I hesitate to talk about my torturous food and weight journey, because I know it gets old. I only write about it every year or so, but it is so much the fabric of my life, I beg your indulgence. There are two extra-grand struggles that I wear like a garment. These are the things beyond those ole everyday sin problems that emanate from me like hot magma. One is my ongoing quest to truly trust God. The other is my wrestling match with my (literal) flesh. 

When I was young, free, lithe and full of sunburned vigor, I always worried that I was fat even when I wasn't. It may have been a first world problem, borne of too many Twiggies on magazines and the ever-burgeoning weight of peer pressure that started post-WWII. Industry produced washers, dryers, dishwashers, TVs and telephone lines that changed the world, not always for the better. Then there's Cap'n Crunch cereal. We got lazier, fatter, more bored and yet more stressed as technology overcame physical labor. We worked longer but without our hands. We obsessed about image but not character. There's still hope, but not without sincere intentions. 

I went for a long season with little-to-no processed food, losing a whole lot of weight along the way. Then one morning I woke up with an aching thumb. Before I could blink, I couldn't put my own clothes on. Ken took off from work to help me get dressed and do the necessaries. I went to naturopaths and regular doctors too, lots and lots of money changing hands. They puzzled over me, put me on all sorts of supplements and medications to free up my joints. My pain was untenable. Strangers and friends suggested all manner of help, medicinal and herb-wise. I never really tried the herbs, but I still wonder about that. Eventually, something shifted and began to help some. I am still in constant pain, though now manageable. I think I'm a lot grumpier now too, sorry to all who love me. Meanwhile, my metabolism was sincerely hijacked and I began to gain weight, even though I was still weighing and measuring my food and eating non-processed. Somewhere along the way I truthfully got sick and tired of it and threw caution to the wind. The addict found a way to excuse her sugar and flour addiction. Think about it -- it's white and all ground up and perfectly legal. Time stands still for no one, and the meds, the blood pressure and the A1C loomed precariously over my head once again. 

I've had people say all manner of things to me in my lifetime about weight...mostly in this vein: "Go ahead and live and eat what you want. Life is too short to skip dessert." Others tell me to just be moderate. Tried that. Didn't work. Still more say that I need to accept where I'm at and just be at peace. There's no peace when they come to amputate my toes, because I decided to indulge my hippie self and live "free." 

I have resolved that I will not give up the fight. I will not throw in the towel. I will do the best that I know to do and trust the rest to God. I rise again, to wrestle the beast. Cue the Rocky theme. After all, tomorrow is another day...