The middle part of my day wasn't the most amazing. I had meetings in Tucson and Phoenix today, which meant I had to pick the lunch place wisely and also pack snacks. I was with a coworker and one of our consultants all day, and the lunch options were a basic American fare brew pub, PF Chang's, or a Japanese steakhouse. Since PF Chang's and Japanese food are all soy covered in soy with a side of soy (which I can't eat during this month), I requested the first option, BJ's Brewpub.
Here's the trick about eating out. People love to put cheese on things. They also love to mix cheese into things. And once they've put tons of cheese on and in things, they like top it with some kind of bread product.
I took me a long time to figure out what to order that had the least modifications and the least likely chance of it being screwed up. "Hamburger, no cheese, no bun. Did I mention no cheese? Great. Beet, arugula salad, no goat cheese. No french fries." Lunch was fine, and I am going to guess that the vinaigrette wasn't totally Whole30 kosher. I'm just impressed I didn't also order the cookie, ice cream sundae.
My main snack was a baggie of pumpkin seeds which helped take the edge off until my coworker decided that on the way back from Phoenix we would stop at Culver's for a bathroom break and an ice cream treat for him. He hesitated for a moment, but I told him I would be fine with it. I can do this!!! I can do this? For those of you that don't know what Culver's is, it is a fast-food chain of crack houses, and the drugs they peddle are homemade custard desserts and burgers cooked in butter. I got a bottle of water. He ordered a chocolate, vanilla turtle sundae with pecans, chocolate sauce, and caramel sauce. It smelled like heaven with a cherry on top. Literally. There was a plastic cup of heaven and a cherry rested right on the top. Right then and there I decided I was eating my emergency snack when we got back in the car, a date and cashew bar. Somehow it just wasn't the same.
He dropped me back at my car in Tucson, and I went to Sprouts for some quick grocery shopping on my way home. They sell bulk candies and chocolates at Sprouts. They have baked goods. They have bread. I was so painfully tempted, so I ate a banana on my way home.
I found a reserve of motivation tonight to stay strong and resist the sugar dragon. After I fed Taz and the cats and made my taco meat and put together a salad for dinner, I went to change into some comfortable pants. "Yes. Finally! It's Friday, my day is over, my dinner is almost ready, and I'm fixing to relax."
It's starting to get pretty hot here now, so I just recently got out my capris and shorts from storage. I grabbed a pair of capris to put on ,and they were a little tighter than last summer. Let me be clear. Last summer they were a tad baggy, and now my comfortable, fat girl, baggy capri pants were a little snug. Snug as in not baggy as in "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Proof that I gained weight this winter!" Like I needed more proof of that.
Being plump/fat/fluffy/chubby/chunky is a constant struggle of fitting into things and into places and spaces. It's a constant awareness of things being big enough for you or you being too big for them and a fear that you won't fit because you've exceeded the norms of whatever size is deemed acceptable. Not fitting is less common for me than the pervasive fear of not fitting, but the fear of not fitting exists all the time in hundreds of situations. The fear is like a constant hum in the background waiting to rear its ugly head when you are confronted with some situation.
I went on a work tour recently with 15 or more people that I was overseeing, and the place we were touring gave out these paper coveralls that everyone had to wear. "Oh, you give out coveralls now? You didn't do that when I was here last year" (or I would never have some back because WHAT IF I DON"T FIT!!!!!???????) Thank goodness I fit into the big boy size. Imagine being with a group and not fitting. There's no hiding from that.
Airplane seats and seat belts. I have a nightmare about not fitting into the seat belt. I was on a plane once, and it was close. I had to squeeze a bit. I almost had to ask for the extender, and something in my mind would break if I had to ask for the extender. There is nothing wrong with needing the extender, but there's some line in my mind that I don't want to cross over. I have a dear friend who told me about one flight she had to ask for one, and she cried. I understood why, even though I think she's beautiful and shouldn't give a shit about needing an extender. I exist in such a double standard. Things are acceptable and fine for friends, but I condemn myself for the same thing.
Roller-coasters. I haven't been to a theme park in years. I just haven't had the opportunity or desire, but I've read horror stories of people being too fat to fit in a ride. The thought of going makes me nervous, dreading a possibility that I wouldn't fit. I remember being younger (and significantly smaller than I am now), and I still got nervous on a ride when the operator went to lock in the safety bar. Would it close, or was I too heavy?
High school tennis team. I loved playing tennis. I still do, but I also hated dealing with uniforms for our matches. I remember being so nervous when it came time to give our sizes to get uniforms. Would the largest sizes they offered be big enough for me? When the school ordered uniforms, would they have sweats and tennis skirts that would fit me? Thankfully we found some decent skirts, but the standard issue missy sweats weren't going to cut it.
Dance recitals. I was in a dance class from elementary school into middle school. Each year, at the end of the class, we had a dance recital. The teacher would measure us and order us these fancy costumes for our recital, and I was always worried my costume wouldn't fit or that I would have a different costume because he had to order a bigger kid one instead of a regular one. I hated being measured and the look on his face as he wrote down my measurements. I thought, "Oh no!!! Now he knows I'm chubby!" Because before he measured me he clearly couldn't see I was fat? Really? Do you know how terrible it is to stick out at that age? From the beginning of dance classes until the very end of the year, I worried about the moment when we would have to order those stupid costumes. I wasted all kinds of time dreading that instead of just enjoying class.
There have also been activities I've done on vacations in past years or that I've wanted to do, like hang gliding or zip lining, and there are weight limits on these activities. For whatever crazy reason, I've always been kind of close to the weight limit of different activities like this when I've signed up for them over the years. Then I spend the weeks and days before said activity being insanely crazed about what I eat and my weight because I don't want to show up and be turned away because I'm chubbier than their chub-quotient. I don't enjoy any time up until then because I'm worried about fitting.
How exhausting to have this stupid, pointless anxiety. I don't even begin to touch on clothes and clothes shopping. That's a story for another blog. On that note, I'm going to change out of my "comfortable" capris and into my stretchy pj's. Have a great night everyone. Tomorrow I'm getting a 90 minute massage!
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