I don’t tell people that I’m trying to lose weight.
I say that my stomach hurts to explain away saying no to cake. I tell people that I’m meeting friends at the gym to ensure that I couldn’t break my plans with the elliptical. And I pay no attention to how my clothes fit so that people don’t know how often I think of my body.
I don’t like drawing attention to the fact that I’m trying to be healthier.
And I know exactly why:
I don’t want the embarrassment that comes with professing to be so devoted to my health, only to renege on my goals and go back to openly professing my love of brownie style cookies.
Because that’s what happens. A lot. I prove exactly how much I’d like to get and stay fit by going to the gym every day, eating exactly the right foods, and beinga model of excellence for all of those with similar goals. And then something happens that makes me slip (that unknowable force that suddenly takes away the happiness you feel when running and leaves your only source of satisfaction as entirely dependent on consuming an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s) and I’m left floundering to explain to those same people that I suddenly don’t have plans with friends at the gym and that my stomach is miraculously feeling better and do you have any extra cheese I can put on this sandwich?
I know that it would be good to get support from those around me, and I know that so many people would be there to cheer me on if I could only be open and honest with them, but that’s hard when I’ve rightfully come to expect failure from myself.