So I’ve just put on five pounds. On purpose.
To be fair, this takes me from a BMI of 20 to one of 21, so I am not making a revolutionary statement. But it seemed my thought process, given our cultural focus on women’s weight, might of be of interest anyway.
As background, I have always been thinnish. When we were kids, at one point, our doctor told my mom she needed to fatten us up. Oh the 1960s. And so it went until a college summer internship in France left me 15 pounds heavier. Thrown into a state of distress and horror, I lost the weight but developed bulemia. The disorder persisted for a few years until one afternoon I thought, “To heck with this, I’m going to eat whatever I want.”
And for the rest of my life, I kept my weight where I wanted it, with some focus and discipline. No diets, no terrible sense of deprivation, just reasonable nutrition, a little physical activity, and helpful genetics.
Until about a year ago. I was 58. The usual tricks and intent stopped working. And then I started getting sick. Early in 2015, a prolonged struggle that turned out to be hormonal in nature. A bad cold in November. And recently the flu.
Finally I decided that my body was in fact trying to tell me something, that as I’ve aged I’ve come to need a cushion, real and metaphoric. Reserves. Five pounds of them, to be precise, and maybe more to follow.
I read so many articles about women trying to fight the pounds of midlife these days that I thought I’d add a different perspective. I made a decision for health. Also seems that some make the same decision for beauty. Iman, for example.
Shared in case it’s useful. And to counteract this, because, seriously?. Have a wonderful weekend.